The gripping conclusion to Kennedy Ryan’s powerful All The King’s Men Duet releases tomorrow, and I have the only ever sneak peek for you.
“Nix, I . . .” he rasps. “I need to fuck you.”
My breath catches and I start trembling, the anticipation I felt before he came building and running in rivulets down my arms and legs.
“Okay.” I nod. “Yes.”
“I can’t explain it,” he says hoarsely. “I just need to feel you, to know that—”
I press my finger to his lips and lay his hand between my breasts. “Maxim, you don’t have to explain. I’m yours.”
“Thank you.” He presses his forehead to mine, grips my neck and kisses me so thoroughly, his tongue so deep and seeking, that my head spins. I grip his shirt to stay on my feet.
“Too much?” he asks, his breath coming fast. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I lick my lips, gasping for air. “But could we go to the bed?”
He nods, and I lead him by the hand to the back of the suite where the bedroom lies.
“Sit.” I give his shoulder a gentle nudge and he sits on the edge of the bed. “Can I undress you?”
He glances up, eyes flaring, and nods his agreement. I stand between his spread thighs, only a little taller even when he’s seated. I tug his sweater by the hem over his head. With his last business trip, it’s been two weeks since we made love, and at the sight of his pecs with the bronzed nipples and the taut, tanned skin straining over a ladder of muscles in his stomach, my mouth waters. I get on my knees and trace the word endurance inked into his skin. He will endure. This is his greatest test yet, and though it’s unimaginably hard, he’ll get through this.
We will together.
Wordlessly, I ghost kisses over his shoulders and throat, drifting down to his chest and laving the tattoo for long seconds before taking his nipple into my mouth, whirling my tongue around the hardening tip.
“Lennix,” he breathes. “I need you so much.”
I take the other nipple, setting an aggressive, suctioning rhythm until he groans and curses. I roll my hand over his dick, hard in his pants. With shaking fingers, I undo his belt, free the button of his slacks, and pull down the zipper, reaching into his briefs and taking him in my hand.
He gasps, lifts to free himself of the briefs and slacks. “You know what I want,” he says.
I nod, lowering my head and taking his length into my mouth and down my throat.
“Shit.” He pushes my head more until I gag a little, and he goes even harder in my mouth. All the while I’m sucking him, I rub my hands over the granite muscles of his thighs. I release his dick from my mouth, and kiss his legs, his knees, bend to trace his calves, caress his feet.
“Lennix, hell. You don’t have to—”
“Let me make love to you,” I whisper.
He watches me intently, but nods. I explore the rough brush of the hair on his legs against my cheek, the small birthmark on his hip, the scar on his forearm—the dog bite from the first day we met—all the beautiful, neglected parts of him.
Standing, I lift my sweatshirt over my head. He cups my back and brings me forward to take my nipple in his mouth, so warm and wet through my bra. I drag the lace cups down, intolerant of anything between my aching flesh and his lips. He sucks and bites so hard, I know I’ll wear his marks tomorrow, intimate badges of honor. He shoves at the waistband of my yoga pants, sliding them and my panties down until we’re both naked.
I give him a gentle command. “Lay back.”