“Well, no, but it seems like an absolute waste of time when the main event is what you’re looking for in the long run.”
“Main event? Jesus, don’t make it sound like a freaking job, babe. Sex is not about just sticking it in and coming as fast as possible. It’s about the buildup, the intimacy, and everything required to make the end result explosive. Oral sex? It’s not oral sex, babe. I’d eat you out, like I was sucking on my favorite desert and licking the bottom of the bowl for that last drop.”
“But…the hygiene,” I mumble, my face going blood red.
That makes him laugh hard, and I feel the need to kick him in the face with my boot before he stops with a snuffle and shakes his head.
“Hygiene? What the fuck are you talking about, woman? You’re clean, I’m clean, and that’s about as much as we need to know about each other before I put my mouth on your pussy.”
“Language! And no, that is not all. Dammit, King, I don’t like the thought of your nose and mouth there.”
I’m on my back, my butt on the back of the couch, knees spread with King’s head planted in my sex before I can blink. He takes a long deep sniff, shoving my skirt up to my navel with a growl of impatience.
I’m mortified and frozen with shock as he loudly breathes me in, and then groans, rubbing his face against the wet crotch of my panties.
“You smell like musk and clean pu— woman.”
Oh, oh well—
Ahh!
The silent moan is trapped in my lungs when he opens his mouth right over my panty-clad sex and starts licking at the fabric, his teeth scraping over my clit with a certain pressure that has me bucking my hips instead of shoving him away as I know I should.
It feels so good, so intense and intimate, as he keeps rubbing that mouth and his face all over me before the sound of ripping penetrates my haze and a draft hits my naked sex.
“Wha—oh.”
His mouth is on me, his wet tongue going straight for my folds and the hidden, swollen nub nestled between. I can’t think, never mind protest, as he spreads me with his thumbs and starts rubbing those lips over my clit, groaning with pleasure.
“You taste…”
Please don’t say sweet, I think, moaning loudly when he stops to tongue me lower and burrows his tongue into me.
“Tangy,” he finishes, his mouth pressing deeper as one thumb goes to my clit and starts rubbing wet circles around the bud.
The pleasure is extraordinary, and deep, and hard, as I lose my sensibilities and shove a hand into his hair, keeping him exactly where I need him as I rotate my hips and put his mouth exactly where I need it.
He doesn’t stop, and never once complains or pulls away, not even when the pleasure gets so intense and aching that I shove myself way too close and grind into his mouth, wanting that pinnacle that I haven’t reached in years, not even the one time I masturbated.
“King.”
“Uhhhn,” he groans, pulling up to take my clit into his mouth. He sucks, hard, without let up and starts flicking the tip of his tongue over my clit in a rapid beat that has me clenching inside and panting for it.
The tumult hits without warning and I orgasm hard, screaming out loudly and clawing at his head as waves and waves of wet, aching release flood me and send spams of pure bliss through my body.
He keeps going, licking till I have to force his mouth away when the sensitivity becomes painful.
It takes a while as I pant and try to drag air into my lungs, but when I do surface and open my eyes, it’s to see King leaning over me, smiling like a shark.
“You were saying?”
“I should probably examine the difference between the vagina’s pleasure centers and those of the penis,” I chirp with a grin, biting my lips to stifle a giggle when he scrambles to the end of the couch and starts ripping at his pants and boots.
“Oh hell.”
I have so totally touched King’s penis before, I have, but I want to swallow my tongue when he shoves his clothes off and leans back, his sex bobbing as it stretches toward his navel in all its glory.
Jesus, the man is not small, not by a long shot, and I have to put that in my mouth? I wheeze silently, taking in the hard shaft and violently engorged tip that’s already wet and leaking fluid the more I stare.
“Don’t be intimidated by the size, babe. I’d never force you to take more than you can handle.”
Handle?
“King, geez…was it this big before?” I wheeze out, my mouth still hanging open as I take in the sight.
He laughs, his muscled stomach tensing, and it makes him bob and sway a little before he settles down and runs a hand over my cheek.
“I didn’t let you look last time because I didn’t want to freak you out. You don’t have to do this—”
“Are you crazy? I’m freaking dying of curiosity here.”
The groan he lets out when I grasp him is like music to my ears, and I scoot closer, coming to rest on my knees between his spread thighs, his shaft throbbing in my hand.
I’ve read books where the guy is supposed to be like too thick for your fingers to meet, but I am totally glad King’s penis is realistic because—damn—the man is already thick enough to give me pause.
I’m aroused though, still so aroused, and getting lustier as I start dragging my hand up over him, my memory of this so much tamer than now, because now I get to see him and feel him all at once, and it’s perfect, so damn perfect, I think as I take in the hard flesh covered in smooth, dark pink skin, the bulbous head leaking fluid and the large balls beneath.
Good God, the man is beautiful and so damn confident as he leans back and gives me free rein, his muscles tensing as I lift my other hand to swipe over the wet tip.
Oral sex for me is a no-no since the fluid part just eeeks me out, but I’m suddenly ravenous and dying to know his taste as I lean forward slightly and swipe my tongue out, collecting the small drops.
King groans and goes tight beneath me, his long-hissed groan letting me know how good that feels. So I do it again, and again, my own moans loud and vibrating around his flesh as he grinds his ass into the couch.
That little taste makes me want, like I never have before, and before I can understand what I’m doing, I have my lips wrapped around as much of him as I can swallow.
It’s sexy, forbidden, and so arousing to have this much power that I don’t think once of any of my previous protests. I can’t. All I can do is suck and lick at him, wanting more of him, needing his taste in my mouth as I start stroking my hand up and down, using my spit and his pre-cum to start a rhythm that is more instinct than technique.
King starts growling and snarling the more I get into it, and I feel his hands in my hair, cradling me tenderly as I make love to him with more enthusiasm than I could have guessed.
“That’s…yeah, suck harder, babe. So fucking…uhhn, yes, Kins. Yeah, lick me more. Shit, you gotta pull back babe, I’m going to come,” he grits out, his hands pulling gently at my hair.
Like hell. I’m taking it all. I need to know what it’s like to have him go crazy under me and give me what I want. Most of all, I want—just for once—to let go of all those ideas I live by and just enjoy this.
So I keep sucking harder, letting him know I’m with him and almost scream my own pleasure when he tenses beneath me and goes impossibly harder beneath my tongue before he starts spewing into my mouth.
“Kinsley. Shit. God. Yes.”
The first shots slide right down my throat as I swallow, but the rest I carefully take into my mouth, the salty taste spreading over my tongue as he keeps coming.
It’s a lot, I won’t lie, but I keep going until he finally goes limp beneath me and sighs his pleasure. My own arousal, as I rise and wipe my mouth, staring down at him with a smile, is already burning bright again.
I feel tense, empty, and oversensitive between my legs, but I ignore it all and just take in King. He’s sprawled out and panting, those gray eyes peering at me from betwee
n slitted lids as I smile and just enjoy what happened.
First blow job. Hell yeah, check.
First orgasm from having a man lick me…check, check, and check again.
First time I know that I don’t give a shit about tomorrow, only that I can’t live without what we do now? I feel off center all of a sudden and yet free in a weird way that has my chest pulling tight.
“Kins?”
“That was the hottest thing I have ever felt. Ever,” I say softly, looking at him with a dazed expression I just can’t hide. “I can do that a lot. A lot, a lot,” I say, grinning tremulously.
King finally grins after long minutes of inspecting my expression and opens his arms to me.
“That is just the start, babe.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He smiles, his hand going down to my sex and sliding through the sticky heat collecting there.
“Uhhm, that, yeah, right there,” I moan when his finger slides deeper and pushes up into me, my muscles clutching at the thick digit.
I can’t help writhing as I flop down onto his chest, and I feel him growl when I look up and lick my lips, his eyes focused on them with laser focus.
I want his kiss so badly I don’t wait for him to lean down, instead cupping his face and pushing up, my lips just a hair’s breadth away from his.
I’m so close to orgasm already as he starts thrusting in and out of my sex. All I need is that one touch, just his mouth on mine, and I know I’ll explode again.
“We should so—”
Definitely kill someone, I think when the door rattles and someone starts knocking with a heavy fist, making King snarl. I want to snarl too, and I whimper when he pulls away and withdraws his finger, my inner muscles screaming in denial when they clutch at empty air.
“What?”
“King! You better get down here, man. Jericho’s about to kill someone, and I don’t think that shithead sheriff is going to be much help if I call.”
He curses and snarls, grabbing his pants to pull them on as I flop onto the couch and moan my distress.
“I’ll be right back, Kins. Right fucking back, baby. I want you spread out on my bed, naked and ready for me when I get back,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’m going to eat those lips when I get back.” He grins. “Both sets.”
He’s gone before I can pull him back and demand he do it now, leaving me aroused and frustrated as I heave up onto my feet and hobble to the bedroom.
Sex. Lots of sex, I decide as I strip out of my clothes and fall into bed, kicking the covers away with a snarl. I want him to find me here, open and waiting, when he gets back.
Chapter Ten
King
I’m about ready to kill someone by the time dawn starts rolling around, the sun just peeking over the horizon when Jericho and I walk out of Storm’s place and slide into his truck, our faces set in stone.
After breaking up the bar fight from hell and wishing my old pal wasn’t such a hothead about guys looking at his wife, we got a call from Blaze and hauled ass out to Storm’s for a quick meeting that ended up taking hours instead of the minutes I was counting on.
My dick actually hurts I’m so hard from the memories of what Kinsley and I did and were about to do, but this couldn’t wait.
“So, it’s Zulu,” Jericho growls, his hands tightening on the wheel hard enough to make the thing creak its displeasure at him.
Just hours ago, I walked into Storm’s ready to bust his ass for interrupting my night, only to have him turn to us with a deadly expression and information I am still not sure I wanted in the first place.
The shooting at the Designers’ ball a few weeks ago—the event I was investigating before I called my contacts and put them in touch with Lex and Storm—turns out to be something arranged by an old buddy of ours from the wilds of our past.
This guy was the one target we never got a bead on, no matter what we did or how much intel we collected. Once, and only once, did we almost capture him, only to have everything go to shit when Gunny was killed while we were trying to rescue Rachel, Storm’s ex.
That mission was a clusterfuck from the minute we were called in, and we all knew it, but we were so jazzed to finally have some intel that indicated that Zulu would be present at that location that we didn’t think twice about getting our asses there.
Turned out we were fed bad intel and walked right into an ambush that got Gunny blown all to hell, and the rest of us holding our dicks as shit just got worse.
I think Nick and Blaze were obsessed with that mission for years afterward, and I can’t blame them because, while I don’t know it for a certainty, I would risk my dick on the block that Zulu was responsible for that mission and the hell we went through for months looking for him.
It was as if he was taunting us all, just daring us to come for him again. And we would have, I think, if not for the fact that Storm just couldn’t deal with it anymore.
I don’t blame the man, I almost went a little nuts looking into any and every lead I could get my hands on, but they never panned out and only left me more frustrated in the end.
I felt like shit letting that one go because of Gunny. It was almost as if we’d let him down by not finding that piece of shit and making him pay for the IED ambush and the mayhem that ensued.
But like Storm said when we all decided to hang it up and become civvies, sometimes it just isn’t worth it. Gunny was already gone, and if the five of us had continued on that quest, we’d have likely ended up dead and buried, our families, friends, and the futures we could have had lost forever.
So yeah, I was happy to just let it go in the end, and lately I’ve been thinking that it was the best move we ever made because if we hadn’t, Storm would never have been there for Lenny and they’d both have lost their lives. And Jericho and that stubborn sonofabitch Blaze would never have found love.
Me, I’m happy too, because I finally have the chance to be with Kinsley, and fuck me, that—in and of itself—is worth giving it all up, just to have her with me.
“No, Jericho, they think it’s Zulu but nothing has been confirmed yet, so stop jumping to conclusions and chill, man. As far as we know this could just be a coincidence and the shooting at the ball was just that, a shooting that—”
“Bullshit. You and I both know that tweaker wasn’t spinning some bullshit story at Storm. They were contracted and sent there to send a message to us all. It just so happens that Storm was the target because he’s the leader in our group, King.”
That is true. It always has been. Storm was our leader, on and off the battlefield. We all just seemed to fall into place as the years wore on, our natural talents for certain things forming a team that was indestructible, or at least so we thought.
Zulu, dubbed so by our handlers and the higher ups, because the man was a fierce and formidable opponent just like the warriors of old, was a very sought after mark once intelligence learned that he’d personally set up at least three cells stateside and was feeding more of his men into the U.S. via France and some of the other European countries that were easier to slip through without detection.
An attack on one of our safe houses right before a suicide bombing in Seattle had the CIA scrambling for answers, and when they came back, it was bad news.
We had a Chimera on our hands—a monster with many faces—an un-killable, undetectable enemy that would keep planning and targeting American soil the longer our forces stayed on this.
We couldn’t pull out of the place before we’d at least brought in some sort of order and stopped the killing that took place on a daily basis, but we were called in to track the bastard and bring him in before one of his cells deployed and set off another bomb.
We never found him though. We got close and even exchanged fire with his men before they disappeared into the foothills of that Godforsaken country, but that was it.
Two years we spent following reports, sightings, and intel that was shoddy, but that was
all we had to go on. Then we were sent in to retrieve a reporter who’d been taken hostage crossing the border.
Rachel was a ballsy, no-nonsense chick with something to prove. A woman who refused to listen to reason because she truly believed that covering the story and highlighting the plight of innocent victims would force the world to send more aid and help refugees flee their homes, places that had become hell on earth for some.
I don’t think we even cared much about getting to her at that point, as much as it pains me to admit. From the moment we heard Zulu’s name, it was on.
I sometimes wish we’d never agreed to that mission, that we’d let someone else go in to retrieve Rachel, because at least then we wouldn’t have lost a friend and what was left of some of us.
“King?”
Jericho’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I turn to him as he pulls onto the main road and puts his foot down, my eyes crossing with fatigue.
“Sorry, just spaced for a minute.”
“So, Zulu.”
“Or another one of the scum we hunted but didn’t catch in that hellhole. It could be any of them, Jericho. I know Storm still has a hard-on for the guy, and trust me, if I thought it was him for sure, I would be all over this man, but I don’t. I think he’s back there in his shithole, still evading our troops, living in some little rat-infested cave because it’s his only option.”
Jericho grunts and shifts gears before glancing at me.
“You ever consider that maybe that shit with Kinsley was another warning?”
“Yep, which is why I have Josh and Oak watching my place while I’m out, man. I thought of it the minute she told me how many of them came at her, and I haven’t thought of much else since. If this is one of our enemies, I feel sorry for the bastard because I will rip his fucking spine out for what they almost did to her,” I snarl, clenching my fists.
“Agreed. Cleo is at home with my shotgun and Smiley as we speak, and I know Blaze just about locked Evie in that basement room of his to come to the meet.”
Great, just the way I want to start a relationship with Kinsley, keeping her under house arrest while we figure out exactly what the hell is going on.
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 53