Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 36: Chapter 36

Kayla’s POV
I told myself this was the doctor’s bidding. But I knew it was more than that.
I slipped between him and the table, then sank to my knees.
Lance’s gaze tracked my every movement.
I reached for the top of his pants, his arousal already straining against the fabric. “May I?” I asked again, meeting his eyes. From where I knelt, he towered over me.
He gave me a lazy, male smile before he settled back. Waiting.
Cocky bastard.
But this time, I was the one in control.
My fingers were steady, sure, as I unfastened his pants. My head was wholly clear. Not like the first time I’d knelt before him.
The muscles in his thighs shifted against me as I pulled him free and nearly gasped.
I’d never get used to the sight of him.
He was enormous in my hand—so hard, yet so silken that I just ran a finger down him in wonder. He hissed, cock twitching as I brushed my thumb over the tip. I smirked as I did it again.
“Stop teasing.”
It was more of a plea than a warning this time and gods, that made me bolder.
My fingers shook a little as I stroked them down the thick, long shaft. The skin was so impossibly soft and yet he was hard as steel beneath. He shuddered, and I lifted my eyes to find his gaze fixed on my hand.
“How do you like it?” I asked, my voice husky, thick with heat.
I wrapped my hand around his cock—my fingers barely able to reach around him completely. “Gentle?” I gave a teasing, featherlight stroke.
Lance glared at me, jaw tight.
A harder stroke. “Like this?”
His chest heaved, his teeth shining as he gritted them.
I grinned, wicked, and on the third pass, I squeezed tighter, letting my nails gently scrape along the sensitive underside.
His hips jerked off the chair, but I pressed a hand against him. “I see,” I murmured, and repeated the motion, this time twisting my wrist as I reached his flushed tip.
He tried to hold still—but his control was cracking.
“And this?” I purred, lowering my head. “Do you like this?”
I flicked my tongue across the swollen head, tasting the salty bead gathered there.
Lance jerked at the contact with a bark of, “Shit!”
Everything in my body turned molten then; a surge of wetness slicked between my thighs as the taste of him filled my mouth, salt and something more, something vital. I hadn't known I was this filthy. This hungry.
“Oh, gods,” Lance panted. And the words, the groan they were borne on, were so delicious that I sucked his tip into my mouth and grazed my tongue along its underside.
He leaned his head back against the chair, hissing.
So I licked up his shaft in one long motion. Rubbed my thighs together as I tasted him, felt all that hot, proud steel against my mouth. I licked down the other side, coating him, making it easier for myself as I put my mouth around him again and slid him between my lips.
He filled me almost immediately, and I glanced down to discover there was enough of him still exposed that I needed to add my hand.
“More,” Lance grunted, and I made another pass at him, pulling him out nearly all the way before swallowing him again, letting my throat relax, desperate for as much of him in my mouth could fit.
“Fuck, yes—”
Just before his hand speared into my hair, gripping, I realized he was holding himself back.
Didn’t want to ram himself into me, hurt me, or displease me.
It warmed something deep inside me.
But I wanted him to lose control. Wanted him wild, rough, undone. So I dragged my teeth—lightly, just enough to sting.
Lance bucked. I let him, greedily taking him deeper, my hand encouraging him, coaxing him. When I pulled back to the tip and licked around it, I gazed up at him from beneath my lashes.
His eyes were on me, heated and glazed with lust.
And when he met my stare, beheld me looking up at him—
That was when he interrupted me.
Pouncing was a better word for what Lance did.
One second, he was in my mouth, my tongue flicking over the broad head of him; the next, plates clattered across the table as he swept them aside and hauled me down onto the wooden surface.
In a breath, my pants were yanked to my ankles.
Bent over the dining table, my bottom half entirely exposed, I ground my aching nipples into the wood surface, savoring the brutal crush. My sweater, my shoes—all stayed on. In fact, my pants were only pushed down to my ankles, restricting my movement further. Leaving me utterly at his mercy.
And as his cock at last sank deep into me, the two of us groaned. He stood behind me, one hand braced on the desk, the other clenching my hip as he pulled out nearly to the tip, then pushed back in slowly. I writhed.
“I could fuck you for days,” he said against my sweaty neck. I moaned into the wooden surface. “I’m fucking soaked with you,” he growled. His fingers slid to the apex of my thighs, circling my swollen clit.
”Lance,” I breathed at the first taunting stroke.
He pounded into me at a steady, deep pace. The liquid slide of his cock into me sounded obscenely through this otherwise silent dining room, that I was sure, the guards just outside the door could hear.
His balls brushed against me, tickling me with each powerful thrust. “Yes.” I wanted him imprinted on my very bones. “Harder.”
“Fuck,” he snarled and pulled back from where he’d braced himself. “Hold on to the desk.”
I stretched to grip the edges just as his hands landed on my hips. His thighs pushed into my own, spreading me further—as wide as I could go—and he gave no warning before his hands tightened and he unleashed himself.
Exquisite, punishing thrusts slammed so deep he hit my innermost wall, and my eyes rolled back into my head at the sheer bliss of it. He became savage, unrelenting. I might have been sobbing at the pleasure, the sheer size of him, so large there would never be any getting used to it. Every unrelenting push had me inching against the desk, the wood teasing my breasts, and I nearly wept at that, too.
Lance’s fingers dug into my hips so hard I knew I’d bruise, maybe loved that I’d bruise. That he’d been this way because of me.
He shifted his stance, and his cock plunged even deeper, rubbing against that spot, and the sounds that came from me weren’t anything like before.
“Fuck, yes,” he snarled as I cried out. “That’s it, Kayla.” He accentuated each word with a savage thrust. “Do I feel good to you?”
I whimpered my answer, then managed to say, “I like it when you fuck me just like this. I’ve thought about this. About you. About your cock.” I had to fight for words. “Since the last time...”
It wasn't a lie.
“Good,” he growled, mouth hot at my neck. “Because I want to be the only thing you think about. I want you ruined for anyone else.” His pace faltered as he licked up the column of my neck. I could hear the taunting smile in his words as he whispered, “Because your pretty little cunt is all I ever think about.”
His words lit a fire under my skin.
“I love it when you fill me,” I moaned. “When your seed leaks down my thighs, and I feel it for hours. I crave it.”
Lance swore violently. His thrusts grew wild, unchecked. Only my grip on the table kept me from flying forward.
He came with a roar, his cock pulsing deep inside me—and the instant I felt it, I shattered.
I screamed so loud, he clamped a hand over my mouth. I bit down, and still, he kept moving, pouring himself into me over and over.
His seed spilled out of me, and still—still—he wasn’t done.
He slid his fingers through the slick mess, then rubbed slow, sinful circles against my clit. “You have no idea what you just started, Kayla,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear.
But I did.
And as my legs began to tremble again under the relentless stroke of his fingers, I knew:
Lance was never a man who got satisfied easily.