After several minutes of his tongue, I’m nowhere close to orgasm.
My gaze drops down to King Henry.
He’s a handsome enough man—too young for my tastes since I prefer them a bit older, but I don’t feel the fire of excitement.
My breath quickens with the realization that the Boogie Man has trained me to get turned on by the prospect of danger. Being with him is like riding a tiger and never knowing when it would strike.
I can’t believe I’m pining for the Boogie Man.
The muscles of my pussy clench with need, urging me to continue. I’m so hot and needy and desperate for a climax that my mind conjures up an idea based on a spicy video I once watched online.
“Can we try something?” I ask.
He raises his head to meet my gaze. “What do you desire, my wife?”
“I’d like to sit on your face.”
His eyes widen. “You wish to use me as your throne?”
I nod.
His gaze roves up and down my naked body, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. My pulse quickens. This is probably a lot to ask of a monarch, but I would get off a lot quicker if I controlled the pace.
“Could we try it?” I ask.
“Of course.”
King Henry rises from between my legs, making sure to place a kiss on my knee before he moves to my side. My heart softens at the loving gesture.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
“Just where you are,” I reply with a smile.
He lies flat on his back. “Like this?”
“That’s perfect.”
He shivers, his cheeks turning pink. “You are the most exciting woman I’ve ever met. Every hour I spend with you is a brand new revelation.”
I gaze down at him and sigh. Should I really be riding an innocent man’s face under false pretenses? I’m not even his wife, and even if I were, the emotions he feels for me are a product of dark magic.
The furnace in my core flares, filling my veins with a surge of unbearable heat. This is the reason why love spells are so dangerous. If administered incorrectly, the people involved could burn to death with desire.
King Henry pulls up his robes, gathering swathes of fabric toward his abs. “Use me.”
Guilt twangs at my heartstrings with claws as sharp as the Boogie Man’s.
This is wrong.
But this is just a dream.
It’s not really happening, even though this world feels utterly real.
It’s alright to ride a guy’s face if he’s just a figment of my imagination.
Isn’t it?
“Hurry, my darling.”