Page 76 of Reign
He softens, his surrender coaxed rather than stolen, and when I finally pull my fingers out, the sound he makes isn’t a challenge at all. It’s relief. The raw, wordless kind that slips out before pride can mask it.
I press close, chest to his back, letting him feel how far my restraint has frayed.
“Still sore?” I ask.
He tries to be nonchalant. “I’ll live.”
“I didn’t ask if you’d live.” I scrape teeth along the shell of his ear. “I asked if I hurt you.”
His breath hitches. “Maybe.”
“Good.” I shift my stance, thigh wedged between his legs, grinding slow enough to drag another sound from him. “Because I’m not finished with your hole.”
Vincenzo’s reply is a half-snarl that melts into a groan when I line up and push the thick head against him, just enough pressure to make him fight for breath. He spreads his stance wider, feet sliding on the tile, knuckles white on the counter edge.
He tries to keep it dignified—back straight, chin up—but dignity dies fast when I smear coconut oil down the crease of his ass, then shove in a single hard thrust that buries me halfway before his body clamps down. A sharp hiss sings through his teeth. I don’t give him time to adjust, I just hold there, grinding, letting him feel the stretch pulse by pulse.
I grab a fistful of his hair, yank his head back so he’s looking at the ceiling, throat stretched. I watch his eyelids flutter, watch the flush crawl up his chest. The sight punches straight to my cock; I shove another inch inside, hiss a curse when the grip of him burns.
“Fuck, you’re tight even after last night. You miss this? Eight years eating European croissants and smiling for cameras while your hole went hungry?”
He tries to snort, but it breaks like glass when I ram the rest of the way home. The slap of my hips against his ass echoes off stainless steel and stone.
He chokes out my name, one part accusation, three parts devotion, all of it mine. I let go of his hair, palm flattening between his shoulder blades, and I pin him hard, pull out almost to the tip, then slam in again, pace brutal from the jump because slow has never kept our demons fed.
Somewhere a cup skitters, but he’s not thinking about fine china now; he’s thinking about staying on his feet while I wreck every civilized inch of him. I lean forward, bite the joint of neck and shoulder until his knees buckle, and he yelps.
“Up,” I growl, dragging him back by the hair. “I’m not fucking you on the floor.”
“You’re—ah—fucking impossible,” he pants, voice splintering as I piston faster, each thrust scouring the soreness I put there last night. I scrape my nails down his spine hard enough to leave red tracks, then soothe with a palm, and laugh roughly.
“Watch the compliments, king. Might start thinking you enjoy this.”
He answers with a curse that slips into a moan when my cock nails his prostate dead-on. His hips jerk, and I feel him leak, wet and hot against the edge of the counter.
I don’t let him drift. I wrap one hand around his throat from behind, squeezing just shy of cutting off air. His pulse slams against my thumb, frantic, a staccato drum begging for mercy he’ll never voice.
“Say it,” I snap, hammering in so deep his breath whooshes out. “Say whose cock fills you before you have to go back to your wife. Whose cum are you gonna feel sliding out while you sign trade agreements?”
“Yours, Nikolaj,” he gasps, the words shredded, honest, ruined. “Alwaysfuck—yours.” He tries to push back harder, greed flaring. I let him ride for a few strokes, then catch his wrists again, shove them higher on the counter so his chest compresses, lungs working overtime.
My grip’s iron; he couldn’t break free if he tried. I find the coconut oil bottle where I left it, pop the top with my teeth, drizzle a slick trail over his twitching hole, and my cock where it pistons in and out. The extra glide turns the slap louder and more obscene.
“You’re dripping all over the marble,” I taunt, voice thick with my own need. “Gonna have to get housekeeping to scrape our mess out of the grout.”
He shivers, throat working as he tries for composure. I suck a bruise under his ear, right where a collar would hide it, then fuck into him so hard the counter physically scoots a couple of centimeters. He cries out, knees shaking.
“Do it,” I snarl, jackhammer pace turning savage. “Let everyone know the king bent for his monster.”
I snake my hand on his throat downward, grip his cock slick with pre-cum, and stroke in a rough counter-rhythm. He’s so fucking hard it’s obscene. Each pull drags a strangled sound out of him. His back bows, tattoos flex, sweat drips off his jaw. The entire room stinks of oil and sex; no hint left of fancy coffee. Just raw need.
I feel the tremor start deep, the way his ass clamps, the muscles in his legs lock. He’s close. I tighten my hand at his base, cock buried balls-deep, and hold him on the edge.
He whines—a broken, desperate noise that makes my balls tighten. “Nikolaj, please,shit, fuck,let me—”
“Beg better,” I grunt, breath punching out hot. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want to come,” he rasps, trying to roll his hips, but I pin him mercilessly. “Need to spill for you, need to feel you breed me, goddamn it—”
