What the fuck?
I halt. Really agitated now—Kong and Turin Two, both dishevelled from the hunt, are standing opposite the gathering of tiny girls, speaking words I cannot hear.
The world around me fades, channels, as Aster offers them both a flower from her bunch. Leaving me with only the pulse of my possessiveness, the energy of the kills, of my claim, of my need, of my desire for her, I scowl.
I let her play with her Collective, not pick fucking pointless flowers for them. For other men.
Where are my flowers?
Rational thought drowns in territorial rage as I stride toward the small gathering and stop behind my little creature, a shadow at her back. A warning and an accusation.
The Silk Girls quickly duck away.
From over Aster’s head, my eyes target Turin Two and then Kong. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Turin chuckles. “Accepting a token.”
Fuck him.
I glare at him through my lashes, mirthless.
Aster turns around, a sweet smile on her lips. I don’t need to look at her to see her mouth flatten and thin when she sees my scowl.
“Are you unhappy? They are aster, my king,” she offers, soothing me with her melodic cadence. The same sweet vocals that moan a lullaby when she climaxes on my face. “The petals are so soft, so open, and smell so sweet.” She blushes.
Why are you blushing?
Heat hits my temples.
My Aster. My flower. My sweet, soft, open little… She gave them aster flowers to wear on their armour or put in their chambers? To smell, to look at. Like hell they will!
“Drop the flowers,” I order, staring at them.
They both chuckle, but the sound dies on my snarl.
“I said drop them.”
Shaking his head, stifling amusement that only he and my brother can get away with, Kong hands back the flowers.
Turin Two laughs, returning the blooms to her. “Good luck with him, Aster.”
My little creature takes the flowers, confused, blinking over and over as she sorts her thoughts. “I don’t understand. I wasn’t trying to soften them, or make them less focused on the hunt, or… I don’t understand.”
“Give them to me.”
I watch as her eyes roam my leather vest, taking in the brutal dashes of red, before stopping on the thick blood drying, akin to cracked paint, on my fingers and knuckles.
She swallows, clearly nervous. “I didn’t think you would want… flowers, my king.”
I’m insane; I fucking realise this.
I don’t want fucking flowers.
I want her flowers.
Dropping to my knees, I meet her eye to eye. “If you pick the flowers, they are mine. Give me the damn flowers.”
The simmering of uncertainty in her gaze blinks away softly. Slowly, a sweet smile slides across her lips, as if she understands me. “You’re jealous, my king.”
I laugh coldly. “Unbearably, so.”
“Don't underestimate my obsession with you.” She repeats my words back to me, her playful smile stirring my monstrous soul with her purity, diluting the black, taming the claws and teeth.
Well, fuck.
I drop my forehead on her shoulder, sighing hard. What the fuck is wrong with me? I place my palms on either side of her hips. The white silk sliding over her lithe body. I glide my palms forward, low on her pelvis and cradle her beautiful, swollen lower stomach.
She sighs. “There you are.” Her fingers feed up my back, my muscles rippling, responding to the gentle, arousing stimulation, as though I am—fucking purring. She’s right. And I let it happen. As she drags her nails up my neck and into my hair, I growl approvingly from inside my chest. “You can have all my flowers from now on, my king.”
“I want the one between your pretty thighs.”
“When?”
“Right the fuck now.”
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Seven
Aster
After we bathe, he is true to his demand.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I ride the strong, wet muscle in his mouth. My body hums from overstimulation. I cannot take much more—my skin prickles, stretching around my swollen belly; his mouth and tongue explore my wet, pulsing core; And the pregnancy leaves me feverish beyond reason.
“Rome,” I whimper, squeezing the bedframe as I rock on his long, thick tongue. His hands hold me up, supporting my body as I shudder and lose balance. I roll backward, using his rough chin at my opening, retreating from my climax. Still scared of it… I do that. It’s so much.
“You like sitting on your king’s face.” His voice is rough like gravel and greedy like a flame licking for oxygen. “Come back here. Don’t wriggle this little arse away. Don’t shy away.” Hot, demanding palms trail to my hips, grab and angle them, steering my hesitant movements.
“Rome…” His name is a moan of anguish on my lips. My temperature spikes, sweat films my skin, as his devious kiss becomes greedy.
As he flicks my clit with his tongue, he quickly stokes the pleasure inside me. Builds heat.
The room gets small. No thoughts. No shame. He rocks me on the firm, wet plane, throwing me into the pit of stimulation. No way out. No escape. The only way forward is through the heart of it to the other side where bliss awaits me.
My core tightens, my pussy undulates around the thrusting of his demanding tongue, and I burst apart, thrashing my head from side to side as my muscles gyrate and convulse.
Bliss…
“Rome. Oh. My king.”
He laps me gently, helping me ride the pleasure down. “I’ve got you, sweet creature.”
Sighing peacefully, I loosen my hold on the bedhead and just sit on his tongue for a while.
This seems so indecent. So…unnatural. And perfect. He is right. The pregnancy makes me want this, all the time. I am constantly wet for him.
My body is humming, a mindless vessel of pleasure, when he says, “Now that my Silk Girl is relaxed and wet.” His hand presses the centre of my back, arching me so his tongue can dip to a private place between my cheeks.
“Rome!” I fist the wooden frame.
He stops. “You drip everywhere. My soaking, little creature.” Lifting me an inch higher, he manages to slide out with me on my knees.
“Keep hold of the bed. Stay like that.”
Peering quietly over my shoulder, I watch his magnificent, steel-like physique step from the mattress, a naked, all-muscles Xin De man striding across the room. His backside is so firm, perfectly moulded.
He stops by the small cabinet and pours a drink; the sound of a spoon singing on a glass makes me shuffle with uncertainty.
He turns, and I look back at the wall as he catches me ogling him.
“Like what you see?” he purrs.
A blush creeps up my neck. “Yes, Rome.”
“I like my name on your lips.”
I hear him groan, but don’t peer back to watch what he is doing. I merely listen as his heavy breaths gain in volume and then stop...
Shit.
“Rome?”
At the sound of his menacing steps, I risk another glance to view him, powerful in his gait, long, toned legs, and a heavy, veined cock beating at his abdomen, entirely too big to be human. Glossy, too. With something oily? It looks polished.
Stopping beside me, he cups the back of my head and holds the cool crystal to my lower lip.
“Open,” he orders, pouring the liquid into my mouth.
Obediently, I swallow.
“Good girl. That’s La Mu Leaf serum. It’ll help, sweet creature. Relax you.”
I peer up at him, feeling shy and vulnerable, finding his gaze for strength. He leans down and kisses me slowly. My eyes close to the reassurance of his affection.
He pulls from my lips to inhale my hair, humming to the scent. “Vulnerability.” He straightens. “Look back at the wall.”
