Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

the way to her ankles. She kicks gently until, like her bra, they’re floating free somewhere behind us.

“So,” I say, grabbing the ladder again, this time with my hands by her hips, “how long do you think I can hold my breath?”

Her brow furrows, then instantly hops up in amusement—and a ton of curiosity.

“Long enough.”

Her eyes study my mouth like she’s seeing it in an entirely new light. Like until this moment, she had no idea what it was capable of.

But from this moment onward, she will.

10

Theo vanishes under the water.

I rest my head on the ladder and try to gauge which is stronger: the razor-like fire between my legs, praying he’ll give me what I need...or the dread and déjà vu that fills me as soon as one of his hands leaves the ladder, fingers teasing their way inside me.

His touch is gloriously, hideously familiar.

It’s a deep, complete sensation, this fullness that shouldn’t feel so good. Like I was unwhole until he was inside me.

His mouth envelops my clitoris. The lapping of his tongue combined with the bubbles of his breath makes me laugh, and I hate that I gave in. It feels like a domino has fallen too soon.

Part of me hates that I waited even this long.

When he surfaces, water streaming down his face in beautiful, glowing rivulets, I get the urge to kiss him. I resist.

“Good so far?” His breath chills the beads of water on my chest. “Or would you prefer somewhere...dryer?”

My fingers wind into his hair while his pulse inside me again. The only solace in the uncontrollable moan I give is seeing how easily it undoes him just to hear it. His teeth sink into his lip.

I think of that night. His bathroom floor.

Cleaning his blood so he wouldn’t have to look at it, because I was so stupid and hopeful and found him adorable.

“This is good.” I grit the words out. He’s getting me close. I don’t want to orgasm for him.

No...I do. I just wish I didn’t.

“But fair warning: I can’t hold my breath that long, when it’s time to reciprocate.”

“No reciprocation required.” Theo brushes his free hand over my breasts, rubbing my nipples with the pad of his thumb until I moan again. “Feeling you come on my fingers will be all I need.”

Cue the coy smile. I practiced it in the mirror on my way here, along with a bunch of “thanks, but not yet” lines in case he tried to touch me. Mission failed.

“Yeah?” Fuck, I love his hair. It’s full and cold between my fingers, and falls back into place so beautifully when I push my hand through, grazing his scalp with my nails. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling, leaning his face against my other hand on the ladder. “Are you going to think of me later while you touch yourself?”

“Absolutely.” He kisses my hand, then my wrist, pausing to smell my perfume. It’s a move so goddamn smooth I don’t blame my hormones for doubling down.

Nobody could resist the look he’s giving me right now: an intense jeweled stare, the pure hunger of a lion combined with the practiced patience of a saint.

Saint Theo. Now there’s a laugh.

When he draws a deep breath, I brace myself.

He goes under. This time, I hold his head against me.

Yes, I failed at my mission: to turn Theo on, to drive him wild, to tempt him until he was at my mercy...and then walk away. The more he has to work for me, I figure, the harder he’ll fall.

Maybe this is even better, though. I get off, and Theo gets just a taste of what he thinks he’ll have later.

And he won’t. Not ever.

Oral sex in a ritzy heated pool, though? Yeah. That, I can handle.

His tongue and lips tease over my clitoris. I hold him closer; he increases his pace, fingers writhing inside me until I buck my hips for more.

It’s involuntary. Everything about this feels involuntary, actually, like scratching a bug bite in your sleep until it bleeds. You know it’s destructive, but it feels too good to stop.

I feel myself slide off the ladder. Instinct tells me to take a nice, deep breath.

I go under.

My hand slides down the rail. I reposition it so that I’m hanging onto the rung just behind my head.

I open my eyes.

Theo still hasn’t stopped. He stares at me with a floating, ethereal smirk as his fingers and mouth move even faster.

When I come, my cry of surprise bubbling to the sunset-laced surface, all I can hear is my heartbeat. My limbs go stiff, my usual response to orgasms: while some girls (if porn is to be believed) moan and arch their backs like sexy St. Louis monuments, my body is hardwired to become a shivering plank of nerves.

The weightlessness of the pool fades. I feel myself sinking, but Theo loops his other arm around my waist and swims us back to the surface.

“Damn.” His smile paints its way across mine until I get the clarity to kiss him back. “Never gotten a girl so good she nearly drowned and didn’t even care.”

You didn’t “get” me, I think, wondering how the hell he can’t taste the venom on my mouth.

And you never will.

It’s all chemical. Nothing but hormones and baser instincts. Scientifically speaking, Theo is attractive.

Actually, he’s fucking hot, and I am not made of stone. A girl’s got needs.

And now that I’ve had mine fulfilled, I can focus on the rest of the plan: no more giving in. I’m supposed to dish out the temptation, not fall for it.

“What do you say we go inside and put on an encore?” he asks.

Shit.

Even the way he wipes water off