I push past my body’s inclination to gag or to gasp, throat working to try and gulp like someone dying of thirst.
And then the carriage lurches, jostling me up, bringing me back down hard and fast and rough, his cock hitting the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he hisses. His free hand comes to my throat, thumb pressing gently, reverently. “I can feel me inside you, right fucking here.”
I swallow again, tears rimming my lids and slipping down my cheeks, my cut-off breath straining my chest.
When he guides me back up, and I gasp in my inhales, breathing leveling out, I don’t wait for him to guide me slowly this time. Instead, I go down on him with a fervor, sucking and bobbing so fast that it tears a vicious growl from his throat, and his fingers tighten against my scalp with a sting.
And that’s when I strike.
With the fist curled around his base, I let my gold drip.
It comes out in solvent heat, hedonic liquid metal that I have wrapped around his length, sliding around him, glazing him in slippery luster that makes Slade lurch on the bench. “Fuck…”
The gold seeps out and coats him like oil, until he practically rips me up from the floor. I lean over him, taking in the wild, fierce look on his face, his eyes merging from green to black. “That was a very wicked way to use your gold-touch,” he says as he tears down my pants until they hang around my ankles. He reaches up and grabs my hand still wet with gold, and he presses it firmly on my mound, making me gasp.
With my gathered wetness already there, the pooling liquid in my palm makes me so slippery, so slick that I nearly fall back into the bench.
“That’s it,” he croons. “Now sink down on my cock. I want you facing out. I want your eyes on the window. I want you to see all those people right outside while I fuck you. Claim you.”
A whimper comes from my lips as I turn around. He grips my shaky frame and leads me down. Achingly slow. The crown of his cock breaches me, stretches me, and he gives it to me inch by inch. Sinking me down, lower and lower, so slow that I can feel every bit of him.
He moves my knees apart, spreading me wide, and then right before I reach the hilt, he slams me down that last inch, making my lips fall open with a noise of surprise that bounces off the confined walls.
“Goddess…”
His mouth comes up against my neck, pressing, breathing, licking. One hand comes up to grip my breast, to delve beneath the fabric and twist my nipple, to knead my heated, heavy flesh.
“Fuck me, Auren. Bounce on my cock.”
I brace my hands on his knees as I lift myself up and down, shakily at first, movements slightly awkward. But then he uses his hands to hold my waist steady, to help guide me up and down, and I get a rhythm. Tilt my hips so that he hits that spot inside of me.
The first moan slips out.
My eyes dart to the window. To that sliver of light poking through, to the bodies moving. Heads, feet, shops, windows.
They could see something. Hear something. Could see me fucking their king, could hear him groaning my name as I claim him behind these paper-thin walls. All the rumors, all the accusations of me seducing him for his magic, right now, it seems almost laughable.
Because he has so thoroughly seduced me.
“Are you looking, baby?” he murmurs. “Are you looking at all those people just outside while you fuck me? While we do this very filthy thing right here where everyone could see?” He jams up into me from beneath, and I swear, it’s like a lightning bolt of pleasure striking.
I moan. Too loud. “Slade…”
“Shh, Goldfinch,” he says, a hand coming up to cover my mouth. I arch my back, biting his finger between my strained jaw.
I need. I need so intensely that my body is climbing up, my eyes watching. My legs moving faster up and down him, slamming harder, chasing the peak that keeps rising and rising.
“Don’t make a noise,” he purrs, though it sounds like a challenge. Like he wants me to scream.
And he must, because his other hand comes down to my achy clit and starts thrumming over it to match the pace of our fucking.
We’re loud.
Too loud.
His head knocks against the wall behind him. My moans start coming in earnest. The skin of my ass slapping against his thighs, and I don’t care.
I don’t care if they see—if they hear.
In fact, I like it. The thrill. The what-if. The vulgarity of this wild fucking. Like it’s a wicked secret bound to come out.
“I can feel your pussy quivering,” he whispers. “You want to come, baby?”
My answer is mumbled against his clamped palm. “Yes…”