Marlak’s expression softens and he brushes my cheek with his knuckles, his rings grazing my cheek. “That would be impossible.”
I wrap my fingers around his member, feeling the heat and hardness beneath the soft skin. He inhales sharply, and the sound gives me the courage I need. I stroke him slowly, learning the feel of him, watching his reactions, then rub the tip with my bottom lip, teasing him—or at least trying to.
“Is this...?” I begin.
“Perfect,” he breathes.
I look up to find his eyes on me, pure fiery intensity.
“Azalee,” he whispers, his voice strained. “My love. You’re perfect. Beautiful. Every touch you give me is a marvelous gift. Every…”
I twirl my tongue on its tip, and his body trembles under my touch, his breath hitching.
“Perfect,” he mutters, clearly struggling to speak. “Always perfect.”
The corner of his lips lifts in a hint of a smile as he eyes me with renewed tenderness. It’s this smile, this tenderness that convinces me that I can indeed be perfect, that there’s no way to get this wrong.
I trail my tongue from the tip to the base, then back to the tip, teasing him. His eyes close, a grunt of pleasure escaping his lips, and I feel ready to take him into my mouth, to drink in his essence, to swallow his magic.
11
MARLAK
There’s no tomorrow, no Witch King, no need to use any fire. There’s only this moment, as I’m lost in this thrilling sensation, in the feel of Astra’s magical tongue. A wondrous dream—except that I’m awake.
My eyes open to Astra naked, kneeling before me, all natural and beautiful with her real hair color. That sweet face I adore so much sends a current through my body—part desire, part disbelief that this is actually happening. Her eyes find mine, questioning and eager, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
She nods, the corners of her mouth lifting even as she moves her tongue around my cock.
The air between us changes, charged with an odd kind of electricity.
“There’s no rush,” I tell her, my voice rougher than I intended. My fingers find her cheek, tracing the delicate line of her jaw, her skin warm beneath my touch.
She nods again, and the determination in her eyes makes butterflies riot in my gut—and also makes my cock twitch.
When she takes me in her mouth, I gasp, a delightful sensation shooting through me.
Then she stops, making my body desperate to feel her lips and tongue again.
“Is this right?” she whispers, looking up with her lovely eyes.
My hand cups the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. “Perfect.”
She takes me again, this time with a firmer grip, and most of my thoughts dissolve. I want to tell her how beautiful she looks, how the sight of her kneeling before me, lips stretched around my cock, is somehow both arousing and humbling. I want to explain that my racing heart isn’t just from physical desire but from the trust she’s placing in me.
And yet, instead of words, the sounds leaving my mouth are incomprehensible grunts. There’s just her, the world narrowing to the sensation of her mouth, the sight of her eyes occasionally meeting mine, the sound of our breathing mingling in the quiet room.
“Like that,” I manage to whisper when she finds a rhythm that sends jolts of light throughout my spine.
Time stretches, loses its meaning, compressing eternity in this moment. I’m lost in the feel of her lips, watching transfixed as she swallows part of me. My fingers tighten in her hair, not to control but to anchor myself against the tide of sensation threatening to sweep me away.
Through half-lidded eyes, I watch her—the curve of her shoulder, the hollow at the base of her throat, the peak of her breasts, the way half of my cock is buried in her mouth, her delicate hands caressing its base. There’s an intimacy to this that goes beyond the physical act, a vulnerability that cracks the last icy walls around my heart.
As pleasure builds, I’m only aware of this sensation, of this connection. Too much, too…
My thoughts return like lighting. I need to warn her.
