12
King
He couldn’t have replied if he wanted to. The second King had tasted Effie, he knew he had to have her.
Effie squealed as he pushed her onto the plush fur rug in front of the fireplace. As he kissed her neck, the scent of roses nearly took his breath away. He traced the curve of her jaw with his tongue, every turn burned into his cortex.
Effie pulled at his shirt and he felt her nails as they dug into his skin.
“Since when do you like it rough?” he asked with a grin.
She wiggled beneath him, frustrated. King caught her slender wrists above her head.
“Slow down,” he commanded. “You’re not the one setting the pace here.”
She chewed at her lip and gazed up at him between thick lashes. With one knee, he parted her legs easily. King took his time and drank her in with his eyes.
