My hands shake as he follows me down the hall. I unlock the door with him close behind and when I open it, he doesn’t hesitate to follow.
“Tobias will be in soon.”
His eyes hold mine as he pushes the door closed.
“That’s a lie,” he says, “such a little liar.”
“Kingston,” I try.
“Eleanor.”
He moves quickly, too quickly for me to counter, and then I’m pressed to the wall, chest first, his own against my spine.
“Rude of you to leave without a word this morning.”
“I left a note, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Is lying just so easy for you? And you thought it me who was to corrupt you, perhaps you were already there.” He grumbles and presses his lips to my neck.
“Stop,” I whisper even though my body responds, even though I press my arse back and arousal floods through me. “Someone could come in.”
“They won’t.”
“They can hear.”
“Then you best be quiet,” he rasps in my ear. “You left without a word, Eleanor, nothing, and here I thought we both knew what you wanted. You need a reminder.”
“King,” I warn with no conviction, not realizing what it is I’ve just said. Not until he growls with a possessive rasp.
“Say it again.”
I don’t hesitate, “King.”
I’m thankful I chose a dress to wear, thankful that it’s loose enough that he can shove it up over my hips, bunching it in his fist on the base of my spine. His hands grasp my arse, fingers leaving marks.
“Fuck, Eleanor,” he breathes, “I’ll never tire of this fucking arse.”
He swipes his fingers over my pussy above the material of my panties.
“You still deny yourself me when your body demands it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
My breath whooshes out of me as he pushes my thong out of the way and impales me on his fingers. No foreplay, no warming up, not that I need it with how wet he makes me.
“Always so ready,” he comments, pumping his hand.
I move with him. Always needy when it comes to what he has to offer.
“Yes,” I pant.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Eleanor,” he tells me, “Be a good girl and stay quiet.” I hear his zipper and the rustle of clothing and then the head of his cock is pressing into my pussy, pushing in, my body stretching and convulsing at the sensation of him filling me so slowly, I’m sure it’ll kill me.
He stifles his own groan once he’s buried all the way to the hilt. “You feel so fucking good, love.”
He starts to fuck me then, not at all like usual where everything he does is calculated, slow and torturous. He fucks me with a purpose. A reminder. A promise.
He pumps his hips and I meet his thrusts, climbing that peak. When he adjusts his position, bending his knees slightly to hit that spot inside, I cry out with a loud shrill, unable to stifle it.
He yanks me back so suddenly, I slam against his chest and his hand flies up to cover my mouth, his deep chuckle rasping in my ear, “I told you to be quiet, love. That wasn’t very quiet.”
He keeps moving, keeps fucking me. I whimper against his hand, his free one dipping down to pinch my clit.
The scream that wants to be ripped from me is blocked by that hand, and only a small cry, muffled and suppressed escapes me.
He hears it though, that small sound, a cry mostly.
“I know, Eleanor,” his voice is suddenly gentle, his breathing fast, “I know.”
His thrusts become harder, faster, his fingers moving quicker, and I come, earth-shatteringly hard. He follows me over that edge, spilling himself in me.
“Fuck,” he growls, taking a minute to let us both get our breathing under control before he pulls out.
I wince at the loss and then at the feel of him seeping onto my thighs.
I need to clean myself up, straighten myself back out, but my body still tremors with the aftershocks of the orgasm and my breathing is still out of control.
“Don’t run from me, Eleanor,” King says from behind me.
“I have to go clean up,” I say, “I need to just – go.”
He sighs loudly, “I’ll chase, always.”