Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I rest my knee on the edge of the bed and stretch out next to her. “Come here.”

She rolls to her side and inches closer to me until she’s pressed tight to my front, her mouth on mine in pure need. I groan with a deep satisfaction that echoes in my chest as she hikes her leg over mine, opening herself up with not much between us but those dangerously loose shorts.

“I like kissing you,” she whispers against my lips. “You make it delightful.”

So simple, so sweet. How does that one declaration punch through my chest and squeeze my heart? How can I express that I never even liked kissing before her?

I can’t think of any words, so I mash our lips together, slipping the tip of my tongue over hers. I brush one hand along her ribcage, walking my fingers to the hem of her shirt and tugging it up. Tonight, she’s not as shy. She allows me to strip it up over her head, leaving her in another sheer, nipple-baring bra. Tonight, it’s blue.

Then she presses her hands over her breasts, blocking them from my view.

“What are you doing?” I carefully pry one hand off her breast and guide it into my outstretched palm, holding it above her head.

“Hey,” she protests and twists her head to stare at our linked hands.

“Margot, I’ve been dreaming about your breasts. Please don’t disappoint me.” It’s cruel to guilt her when she’s so eager to please. I dip down and suck her nipple into my mouth through the material of her bra.

She gasps and wiggles.

I release her nipple, leaving a nice wet spot on the cup of her bra. I blow a stream of air on the stiff tip, watching with fascination as it pokes against the sheer material. “Like that?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good, then show me.” I nod to the hand still covering her other breast.

Her body quivers as she bares herself. Then she goes beyond what I asked, slowly raising her hand to where I’m still holding her other wrist hostage.

My heart kicks as she lets me gather both wrists in my hand, pinning her in place. “Yes.” I kiss her cheek. “Good girl.”

I run my hand along the length of her body, stopping to cup her breast. I tease my thumb over the hard ball of her nipple and she arches into my hand. Leaning back, I take a breath and a moment to absorb every inch of her. Skin—pale, smooth, and perfect. Body—plush, curvy and soft in all the right spots.

“Can we take this off?” I hook my finger under the center of her bra.

She nods quickly. I release her hands and help her turn to the side where I quickly unhook her bra. I trace my fingers along her spine, then tug her down again.

I bite my lip, then blow out a slow breath while I take her in. Margot’s so timid, she’d probably die if I told her she has the kind of tits men spend a lot of money jacking off to. Pretty dark-pink areolas lead to prominent tips that respond so beautifully to every touch and lick. Between the strip club and the MC’s porn empire, I’ve seen my fair share and hers are spectacular. Since she’s feeling vulnerable right now, reminding her that I’m an expert in this field seems like a bad idea. But damn.

I pull her closer and feast, rolling my tongue over one nipple, then the other. Christ, I could play with her forever and never get enough.

“Oh!” She lets out a sharp cry and teases her fingers through my hair.

“You like that?” I swirl my tongue around one rosy tip.

“I do. I never…I never thought…” She arches her back and shifts her legs.

I haven’t touched her below the waist since we climbed into bed, but she sounds like she’s already halfway to orgasm.

“When do I…” She sneaks her fingers under my T-shirt. “When do I make you feel good?”

How do I explain that all of her genuine reactions, every soft sigh and whimper, already make me feel like a fucking king? Her delicate fingers trace over my skin, shooting fire through my veins. I’m balancing on a knife’s edge, so close to stripping down for her and baring my scars.

But the thought of her reaction stops me cold.

What if the warmth in her eyes flips to pity or horror. Or worse, what if she seeks answers I don’t want to share? I don’t want to take her out of the moment or have her look at me in a different way.

“A man likes to take care of his woman first, Margot.” I slide my hand down her body and tease my fingers along the edge of the waistband of her shorts, then keep moving lower, cupping her hot center. I groan with satisfaction. “Your little shorts are wet.”