Chapter 34 It's Mr King To You, Claire.
Claire
I swallowed hard, my eyes widening as I asked, “And what do you think I want?”
He studied me for a brief second, then stood up abruptly while I remained seated. He stepped closer, gently taking the fork from my hand and setting it aside.
Then he took my hand in his.
His voice dropped, low and husky, as he leaned closer. “You want to forget what happened today with your husband, don’t you?”
I tilted my face up to look at him. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I nodded.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Come with me.”
He didn’t let go of my hand as he pulled me to my feet and led me away—not toward the bedroom, but to another part of the house entirely.
When he stopped in front of a door, he opened it and guided me inside.
My breath caught.
The room mirrored the red room from the other place he once took me to—dim, deliberate, filled with the quiet promise of wild sex.
I swallowed, not out of fear, but anticipation. Still holding my hand, he walked over to a drawer and pulled it open. I glanced inside as he took out a piece of lingerie and turned back to me.
“Put this on,” he said, releasing my hand and placing it in mine.
The fabric felt delicate between my fingers.
I slipped out of the towel robe, bare beneath it, letting it fall at my feet. He on the other hand still has his robe on, but completely naked underneath.
I pulled the lingerie on. It covered almost nothing, clinging to my body like it was made for moments like this.
All the while, his eyes followed every movement.
He knew I was using him to forget. And instead of questioning it—or rejecting it—he was giving me exactly what I wanted.
That was so considerate of him.
Considerate. I never thought I’d use that word for him, but right now, that’s exactly what he was being.
The moment I finished slipping into the lingerie, he gave a small nod, then glanced toward the deep red sofa positioned against the far wall. “Follow me,” he said, voice calm but commanding, already moving toward it. I followed a step behind, pulse loud in my ears.
He settled onto the sofa, legs spread slightly, while I stood directly in front of him. The lingerie left almost nothing hidden—my breasts bare, my pussy completely exposed beneath the sheer fabric.
“Come closer.”
I stepped forward until I was between his knees. His gaze dropped and locked on the slick heat between my thighs. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted one hand. A single finger traced the sensitive line of my folds—up, then down—light as a whisper. My breath came in shallow, broken gasps; every nerve felt lit up.
Then he paused, fingertip hovering right over my clit. He lifted his eyes to mine, watching my face as he pressed deeper, finally making contact.
“Mmm…” The sound slipped out of me, half whimper, half plea. My hips jerked involuntarily. I was drenched, aching, already trembling on the edge of what only he can give me.
With two fingers, he parted me open, eyes locked on my most exposed, sensitive spot. “You’re lucky there was hardly any spice in that steak, Mrs. Claire,” he murmured, voice low and rough, gaze dropping back to my glistening pussy. He leaned in, breath warm against my skin, teasing before his tongue finally flicked out—a light, deliberate lick.
I whimpered, fingers instinctively reaching for his hair, tangling in a strand. But he pulled back instantly. “Hands off my hair,” he ordered, tone sharp.
I obeyed at once, dropping them.
“Behind your back.”
I clasped them there, helpless, as he held me open with those same fingers and dragged his tongue over my clit again—slow, practiced strokes, up and down. I pressed my lips together, chest rising and falling hard, trying to hold myself together. It was too much; his rhythm grew firmer, more insistent, tongue working me with devastating precision.
For one electric second, he drew my clit fully into his mouth.
“Ahh—” The sound tore out of me. My hips rocked forward, chasing more, desperate for the suction, the heat.
I ached to grab his hair again, to anchor myself, but he was clearly punishing and teasing me.
When he finally pulled away, leaving me throbbing and untouched, I exhaled—not in satisfaction, but in raw, unsatisfied need.
“On your knees, Mrs. Claire.”
I sank down immediately, knees meeting the floor in front of him. His eyes stayed fixed on my face as he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. His thumb grazed the faint mark on my left cheek, touching feather-light. “Was he trying to ruin this beautiful face?” he murmured, leaning close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. “Hmm, Mrs. Claire—I asked you a question.”
“Just Claire,” I said without thinking.
His eyes flared wide for a heartbeat, then a slow, pleased smile spread across his face.
“I don’t know,” I added, answering the real question.
He straightened without a word, letting his robe fall open and slide to the floor. His cock stood rigid, veined and thick, the flushed head angled straight toward my face.
“You know what to do.”
I swallowed hard. He guided my head closer; I inhaled the raw, masculine scent of him, then tilted my gaze up at him as the tip of my tongue darted out—mirroring the slow tease he’d given me earlier. I licked him lazily, up and down his length, savoring every ridge, drawing out the torment.
He watched with that same patient, crooked smile, never rushing me. Only when I finally wrapped my lips around him did I take him in—slow at first, sliding him deeper with each pass. My head moved faster, rhythm building as I hollowed my cheeks, took him to the back of my throat until I gagged, saliva falling from my lips. I did it again, and again, until the salty taste of his precum coated my tongue.
“That’s a good girl, Claire,” he praised, voice thick.
I looked up through my lashes, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head one last time.
“Get up.”
I let him slip free with a soft pop, rose to my feet, legs unsteady, body humming with anticipation.
He lowered his head and claimed my mouth in one fierce motion, tongue plunging in immediately, seeking mine. When he found it, he tangled them together in a messy, wet kiss—saliva, teeth clashing, tongues sliding and twisting with desperate hunger.
His hand fisted the back of my head, tilting me exactly how he wanted while his larger mouth devoured mine. The other arm wrapped around my waist, sliding down until it landed on my ass. He gripped hard, kneading the flesh possessively as his rigid cock pressed insistently against my stomach.
I moaned into his kiss, lost in it, and without thinking my hand slipped between us. I wrapped my fingers around his thick length and began stroking—slow, firm pulls—while he kissed me senseless.
When he finally tore his mouth away, I gasped for air, chest heaving. My whole body felt scorched, face flushed and burning like I’d walked straight into flames. I had no idea what expression I was wearing, but it must have been wrecked.
“Liam, I’m tired of the teasing,” I begged, voice thin and breathless.
His grip tightened in my hair, yanking my head back sharply so my throat and chest arched. “It’s Mr. King to you, Claire.”
My breasts thrust forward with every ragged breath. His gaze dropped, dark and ravenous.
“Your nipples are so hard… so big and pink,” he rasped, voice rough with want. “Makes my mouth water just looking at them.”
I whimpered. Where I saw every wrinkle, every imperfection on my skin, he saw none of it—only something that drove him wild.
“Do you know how gorgeous you are? How fucking sexy?” His free hand cupped one breast roughly, thumb brushing the aching peak. His breathing came heavy now, almost ragged.
Then he slapped it—sharp, sudden. I gasped, mouth falling open. He did it again, harder, and a moan ripped out of me, pain blooming into heat.
“You’re driving me insane,” he growled, before crashing his mouth back onto mine. This time he kissed like a man starved—raw, filthy, devouring and quick.
Abruptly he released my lips and gripped both cheeks of my ass, spreading me wide. One finger found my back entrance and began circling, rubbing slow, relentless patterns over the tight ring.
“Ah—” The sound tore from my throat. I felt ready to shatter.
“You’ve never had anything here before, have you?” he asked, voice low and dark, finger still teasing.
I shook my head frantically.
“Hm.” He hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t want to do that to you ever, your body is so sacred, Claire. I don’t want you waddling around in a diaper.”
But even as he said it, his finger stayed right there—rubbing, pressing, never quite breaching—keeping me trembling on the razor’s edge.