König || 69

König stormed into the barracks, his heavy boots thudding against the worn floorboards. The mission had been a fucking disaster. Poor intel, a firefight gone sideways, and a chewing out from the brass that still rang in his ears. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched beneath the sniper hood he hadn’t bothered to remove. The dim light of the room caught the glint of frustration in his sharp blue eyes as they landed on her... his bunkmate, his confidante, his everything. She was sprawled on her bed, flipping through some dog-eared paperback, oblivious to the storm of frustration brewing inside him.

He didn’t say a word. Words were useless right now. He needed release, needed to drown out the chaos in his head— and there she was.

Soft, warm, and so fucking perfect.

König dropped his gear with a loud clatter, the sound making her glance up, but before she could speak, he was on her. His massive frame loomed as he yanked her hips to the edge of the bed, rough hands tearing at the waistband of her fatigues.

“Bad day, schatz...” he growled, voice low and guttural, thick with that Austrian edge. It wasn’t a question, just a warning. He shoved her thighs apart, not gentle, not patient, König didn’t have patience left in him. The sight of her, bare and glistening under the faint, flickering light, searing anticipation licking up his spine. Fuck, he loved this. Loved the way her pussy looked, all soft and inviting, a perfect escape from the shitstorm of his day. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease, his face buried between her legs with a hunger that bordered on feral.

His tongue plunged deep, relentless, tasting her like she was the only thing keeping him sane. When she squirmed, a sharp moan escaping her lips, his massive hands slid up her thighs, pinning her hips down to prevent her from wriggling away. König groaned against the delicate flesh, the vibration rumbling through her core. He fucking lived for this—her taste, her heat, the way she bucked and writhed under his mouth and tongue. It was messy, sloppy, working her over with no finesse, just raw, desperate need. The flat of his tongue came over her clit, before flicking against the swollen, throbbing bud and relishing the way her thighs trembled around his head, the way her breath hitched like she couldn’t take it. But she would. She always did.

“Scheiße, so good,” he muttered into her, voice muffled and wet, dripping with lust. He lapped at her like a man starved, nose pressed against her mound, breathing her in and letting the barracks faded away. The gunfire, the shouting, the failure... all of it drowned out by the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth devouring her. When her hands flew to his hood, tugging at the fabric, he let out a dark chuckle against her slick folds. She was his, and he would eat her fucking alive if it meant forgetting today.

As her moans grew louder, more frantic, it only spurred him on. He pulled back just enough to spit on her, watching it glisten before diving back in, tongue fucking her deeper, harder. His cock was aching, throbbing with every whimper she let out, but this wasn’t about him yet. This was about losing himself in her, about the way her pussy pulsed against his lips, the way she tasted like fucking heaven.

He loved it.

Loved how she soaked his chin, loved how she bucked against his face, loved rasping his stubble over the overly sensitive flesh, smirking as her body shook and tried to squirmed away.

She was close—he could feel it, the way her muscles tightened, the way her breaths turned to gasps. But he wasn’t done. His fingers quickly did away with his belt, shoving his tactical pants down before he change positions, bring her along with him as he laid back. With a sudden, rough movement, he flipped her, dragging her up his body until her dripping cunt hovered over his face and her knees straddled his chest. His hands gripped her ass, sliding up her hips and yanking her down onto his mouth again before giving a sharp smack to the round flesh and rasping, “A throne für meine Königin...”