The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,23

her with my love, with my tenderness and care. I follow the circle of her areola with love bites, ringing her breasts with tiny hickeys, all the while fucking her with my fingers and circling, pinching her clit until she comes again.

She’s gasping, panting, her eyes languid and lustful and wet from tears.

I haven’t been rough. I want her fiercely, but I would never hurt her. I’m not capable of it. It would be like hurting my own body. I thought I couldn’t trust myself with her, but I had nothing to fear.

That’s not to say I won’t fuck her hard.

The sheets feel the same way she will feel under me, like satin decadence. I position myself between her thighs and slide in. We gasp together at this perfection. She’s tight and slick and hot, and my cock has a mind of its own, ignoring my attempts at control. As soon as I’m inside, all pretense of civilization disappears. I want to get past every barrier, anything that would keep me from the innermost part of her, the part she used to guard and protect.

I want that part.

With grunts and curses, I piston into her. Any feelings we’ve held back spill out with the lock and slide of our bodies together. The room is silent except for the pounding rhythm of each thrust. I zone out, not hearing any sound, not seeing anything except the darkness behind my closed lids, but then I hear it.

She’s crying.

Wrenching sobs that quake through my chest where she’s pressed into me.

I stop, tilting her head up so I can look into her eyes.

“Nix?” I ask, fearing I’ve hurt her—that by not waiting I’ve ruined something that should always be pure between us.

“Don’t stop,” she says through her sobs. “Please. This is what I needed. Oh, God. Please don’t stop, Doc.”

She grabs my ass, pushes me back in deep again.

“Shit,” I hiss.

“I’m not hurt,” she says, but tears still clot her words. “I just love you so much. Nothing’s ever felt like this.”

God, hearing it this way strips any final defense I may have had. Yesterday she said “same” when I told her I loved her. To hear her say it outright with such an offering of emotion is more than I can take. My pace picks up and I plunge in relentlessly.

“I love you.” She reaches until she finds my hand to link our fingers. “Don’t stop.”

Her love is a potion that makes me crazed—that makes me come harder than I ever have in my life. The world literally goes black for a moment as I empty myself into her body in the most elemental way a man can.

When I’ve spent everything, we fall onto the bed, and I pull her back into me, stroking her damp hair and kissing the curve of her shoulders, caressing the swell of her hip, tangling our legs together.

“I love you,” I whisper into her hair. I feel so reverent when I say it. We exchanged those words like sacred prayers. With our bodies, through our confession, we made our own religion. She is the temple and I am the priest, worshipping.

“I love you, too,” she says, her voice still shaken with emotion, with tears.

“Are you okay?” I’m afraid of her answer, but prepared to do whatever she needs if she says no.

“I will be okay,” she says, turning over to look at me after a few moments. “It may take some time, but you love me and I will be okay.”

11

Lennix

“So how are you really?”

Mena’s question pokes the pat answers I’ve given everyone except Maxim since we returned from Costa Rica two days ago. I can’t hide anything from him. I don’t want to. Kimba, Vivienne, my dad—they’ve all asked how I am, but I don’t know if they’re ready to hear how this has affected me. Or maybe I’m just not ready to admit it to anyone. But ever since the Sunrise Dance, Mena and I have shared a unique bond no one else understands. She probes when others take me at my word.

“I’m getting there,” I settle on saying. “I talked to my therapist on the phone yesterday and told her some of what happened. She’s prepared to tailor some sessions to make sure I’m processing things the right way. We’re meeting next week.”

“I’m glad,” Mena says.

She takes a bite of the blue corn pancakes she’s prepared for us. “These turned out pretty good.”

“They’re delicious. I need the recipe. I love that you’ve been cooking