The two times blend together, and for a moment, I can imagine I haven’t lost decades of this magic.
I dip my tongue in her belly button as I pull down her leggings and underwear. Golden curls, pressed flat by fabric, greet me. I nuzzle them, breathing in her scent, rubbing my bearded cheek against this intimate part of her.
“Sulien!” Her voice is half scolding, half giggle, and I feel the demanding tug of her fingers in my hair, as if she’s trying to pull me away from perfection.
I snarl as I palm her thighs wider and nip at the soft flesh of her lower belly.
“Fine, you evil dragon.” Her voice is breathless, and I glance up to find her face flushed, chest heaving, as she tries to glare down at me. “I want anI’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was the moment I stepped into your shoporgasm. Got it?”
A wicked grin spreads over my face. I don’t care who the bastard is she’s devoted her life to, but they’re forgotten with my face inches from her pussy. She’ll never think of them again once I’m done with her.
Because I’ll never be finished.
“One for every day,” I rasp.
Her sass disappears with a hard swallow. “One orgasm for each day you’ve been here? No, that’s, like … more than thirty orgasms. I’ll die.” Despite her morbid words, there’s heat in her eyes, and her lips press tight, trying to suppress a smile.
“Die happy,” I say with a smirk before swiping my tongue up her vulva, collecting the wetness that’s all for me.
“You’reevil. Oh gods.” Esme’s head drops back to a pillow, and her legs hook over my shoulders, heels digging into my shoulder blades to urge me forward. “You’d better fucking kill me,” she mutters as her hips rock against my greedy mouth. “Because I’m going to murder you.”
I suck her tight clit and growl a wordless response. The sound must create the right vibration because, the next thing I know, she’s tensing and convulsing and shouting my name.
“One,” I grunt before sucking on her inner thigh, just hard enough to leave a hickey.
That’s how I plan to keep track.
I slip two fingers inside her and get to work.
When there are five hickeys, Esme uses her feet to press hard on my chest and shove me away. I could probably win against her shaky legs, but I decide to give my harpy a respite. A short one. Crawling up her body, I kiss a trail as I go and try to ignore my demanding hard-on. My cock wants to slide into her soaking wet channel so fucking bad.
When I’m sprawled beside her, head propped on my hand so I can gaze down at the woman I love, I watch as she raises her hand, fingers still twitching with post-orgasmic shocks, slides it under my beard, and wraps the digits around my neck. As if she wants to strangle me.
I lean hard into her hand, liking the idea of her fingers leaving impressions on my skin. But she’s not trying to choke. Instead, her touch traces the thick scar. The proof that I had to change or die.
Please, forgive me.
“Does it still hurt?” she asks.
I shake my head. When compared to the pain of losing her, it was nothing.
“You can’t leave again,” she says, her tone allowing no argument.
“Your partner. They’ll want me gone.”
And they could get me to leave. Whoever they are, they wouldn’t need force or might. If it came to a fight, I’m confident I would win.
No. All they would need to do is take Esme into their arms.
I would go, if only to survive the pain.
Her brow dips. “Who?”
Hmm, were my orgasms that good?
“You’re devoted, you said”—Was that just a few hours ago?—“to another.”
Esme’s mouth drops open, and now, I feel the strength in her fingers, tightening enough to make me pay attention.
