Her mouth dipped to the crook of his neck, and Dorian's hands tightened around her legs. His breath shortened as she scooted further onto his lap until he felt the dig of her hips into him, and he realized he had not guarded himself.
Because the moment her mouth opened on the front of his throat and her tongue dragged across the lump, he felt himself hardening against her.
He wanted to plow that beautifully smirking face. But her hand wrapped the hair at the base of his neck, and he shuddered at the chill down his spine when she once more moved on his lap.
"There he is," she teased, coy brow lifting. Shoulders rising, her hand curling in his hair, she began to move her hips deliberately against him, each stroke firmer, and all Dorian could do was curse under his breath. He didn't know why he wasn't moving. Why he was sat frozen on that seat and letting her take him without doing all he wanted to do to her.
Perhaps because it had been too long since he allowed a dangerous woman to take control of him. He hadn't had that since the week before the banquet with Bala—and even she had merely strung him up in ropes to play. It wasn't what Reverie was doing.
Reverie was torturing him in a way that made him want to surrender.
His eyes opened, and he met the sweep of her darkened lavender gaze. Her hand moved between them as he let his head lean back against the wall again. One touch of her on his cock made him groan into the quiet air. He could feel his muscles starting to reach with every movement of her against him. Her fingers on his tip through the towel. Her thick thighs around his waist, pelvis grinding into his. Her breasts pushing against his chest.
It was the moment she moved the towel down that his heart dropped into his stomach. A sharp breath took her when she touched him. He cursed, head falling against her shoulder. Her touch was delicate on his tip, moving that bead of liquid over his length.
"Do you like this, Prince?" she uttered in his ear. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Yes," he breathed.
He needed her. He needed her around him. He needed her lips against his and her naked body flush. He dared to move his hand to her cheek, intent on kissing her—
But she grasped his throat and shoved him back against the wall. A brow elevated on her commanding face as she lifted her chin.
Fuck, he nearly came apart right then.
A slow smirk spread on her lips, and her hand tightened around his length. His chest caved with every shortened breath. The harshness of her fingers loosened around his throat, and she began to massage the soft indentions on either side of the lump in his neck just as her other hand moved on his cock.
"Handmaidens don't usually treat me with suchviolence," he mocked.
"Seems to me you've not had the right sort of handmaiden then."
She had moved so that his length was against her clothed folds, and he wondered if she was intent on enjoying herself as much as she was intent on draining him dry. Dorian's gaze fluttered with a groan, and then she released his neck to grab onto the wall behind him. His head sank onto her shoulder again, hands grasping at her hips now as he held her tighter against him.
He had lost control, and he was spiraling into her grasp faster than he could stop himself. A low groan emitted from him as she continued to toy with his hair, her hips grinding up and down against the shaft with her hand. Faster and harder. His forehead rolled against her shoulder as he fought the release.
"Fuck,Reverie," he uttered pleadingly.
She smelled of vanilla and snow, and he wanted to sink himself within her the rest of the day. Dinner with the Blackhands, be damned. He wanted this. Every torture of her. He began to flinch, and she knew it too.
"Let go, Dorian," she whispered against his ear.
The sound of his name sent him over the edge. He came apart beneath her grasp. The tremble raked over his body. He settled onto her as he came down, and she held him against her shoulder, one hand moving in his hair and pulsing down his neck, the other spreading his release over his length and milking him dry. He groaned at the pleasure sweeping through him.
His arms tightened around her and the soft trim of her nails scratched his scalp, making every hair rise on his body.
"Keep grasping my ass, Prince, and you won't have hands,” she uttered in his ear.
Dorian huffed against her and his hands moved to her waist. "Yes, my love.”
The smile he’d been intent on teasing her with faltered when he pulled back. She had brought the hand she’d been using to pleasure him with to her lips, and she was sucking on the skin between her thumb and forefinger.
Licking his cum off her hand.
Dorian forgot his own name.
She made a pleased groan as she licked her thumb, a wicked delight in her eyes upon obviously seeing him stammer before her. “That tastes like fire, too,” she teased him.
Dorian couldn’t help himself.
