Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

“There’s no hurry. I’ve got you.” He presses more kisses to my neck and cheek. “Relax and close your eyes. Just let your body feel. Stop thinking so much.”

I never stop thinking.

But for him, I want to try.

Why can’t I stop wondering how I measure up to every other woman he’s ever held?

“You’re so pretty stretched out like this for me,” he whispers in my ear. His strokes increase in pressure. “I could touch you here all night. Just like this.”

I rest my head against his shoulder. Endless moans and high whimpers scrape against my throat.

“Love those sexy little sounds you’re making.”

The whole point of this was to teach me how to please a man. How can he be so focused on my pleasure?

My hips buck against his hand. I try to hold still but he breathes out, “Fuck yes” like he’s in awe of my body’s every movement. “Do that again. Again. Keep going.”

“Oh!” Little stars burst behind my eyelids and a loud buzzing in my ears drowns out everything. After a few heartbeats, I blink my eyes open and find him staring at me. I curl my hand against his cheek, pulling him closer. Our lips meet. “Thank you,” I whisper. “That was really nice.”

“Nice?” He lifts two teasing eyebrows.

Did I just insult him again?

He dips his finger under my panties. I hiss as he touches me with nothing between us, except all my hair down there.

“I didn’t…Guys usually prefer no hair, right? I wasn’t sure…it’s usually a little tidier.” My entire body floods with heat. Why did I let time get away from me today and forget to shave?

“Stop.” He spreads his hand, cupping me, and lets out a long, satisfied groan that vibrates against my ear. “You feel perfect.” He inhales a sharp breath. “I love that you’re so fucking wet,” he hisses as he glides one finger between my lips, heading lower.

Fear grabs me and jerks my body to a stop.

His fingers stop exploring but stay where they are. “Why are you tensing up?” he asks, his breath warm against my cheek. “Hmm? Tell me.”

“I don’t really like that.”

“Don’t like what? Be specific.”

The hand under my panties remains still. Like a car with the emergency brake pulled up, not going anywhere. But the hand anchoring me to his body shifts under my shirt and cups one breast, lightly teasing my nipple.

“What don’t you like?” he asks again.

God, this is mortifying. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut.

I did ask him to help me, though. “I don’t like, you know, fingers rammed inside me.” I jab my finger in the air like I’m stabbing at an elevator button.

His body jerks, like maybe he’s trying to swallow laughter. “Did someone do that to you?” he asks in a tight voice.

He’s not laughing. He’s angry.

I pull a shoulder forward in a half shrug.

He rests his forehead against my temple. “Were you wet like this?” He slides his fingers against me, then trails them along my inner thigh.

No, never. “I don’t think so.”

“I won’t put anything inside you unless you ask me to,” he promises with an aching sincerity that I actually believe.

A little overwhelmed, I turn my head and kiss him. That teasing tongue of his sweeps against mine at the same time his fingers begin rubbing directly against my skin, no material between us this time.