Cededa stretched beneath her, sinuous as a cat. Her tongue teased him, sent shivers dancing across his skin as she licked and nibbled her way from his ribs to his belly. Her fingers followed, dragging across the tips of his nipples, repeating the caress as he moaned and held her waist.
Beguiled by his reactions, Imogen embraced her newfound skills, plying her mouth and tongue across his navel and over the line of blond hair that led to the apex of his thighs.
His cock brushed her cheek as she knelt between his legs. Imogen paused. Last night, she had only glimpses of his nude body, too caught up in a dizzying whirl of sensation, fear and the anticipation of having him inside her to see or fully appreciate him. Now, with the morning upon them and slow time in a soft bed, she could indulge.
He seemed huge in her eyes, though Niamh’s straightforward remarks about a man’s body had taught her he was likely endowed as other men. Still, the memory of him stretching her, filling her until the pressure in her belly made her squirm, argued he was more blessed than most.
Her hand closed around his shaft. Cededa moaned. Delighted by his response, Imogen tightened her grip and dipped to nuzzle the inside of his thighs, the soft give of his bollocks. His scent filled her lungs, a faint musk mixed with the herbs from the soap he’d used to bathe earlier.
Cededa buried one hand in her hair and reached down with the other to grasp her hand. “Like this,” he instructed and guided her into quick strokes. She followed his lead, setting a rapid stroke up and down on his cock that had his hips thrusting in time. His head was arched back into the pillow, lips parted to breathe shallow breaths. His eyes were half closed, the whites showing beneath his lashes.
She grasped him even harder, savoring the feel of the stiff cock slipping back and forth against her palm. A milky bead of semen crested the tip. Imogen slid her hand higher to smear the fluid with her fingers. Incoherent sounds fell from Cededa’s lips, guttural, encouraging. She carefully licked one finger, tasting a touch of salt.
A vision of the fresco in the king’s chamber, of a woman kneeling before a man, his cock half in her mouth, filled her mind’s eye. Flushed and aroused by the feel of Cededa in her hand and the taste of him on her tongue, she bent to suck gently on the slippery head of his cock.
“Ah gods,” he breathed.
Hesitant at first and unsure of herself, Imogen soon set to her task, sucking him slowly and then with greater speed, lips curved around his shaft. His bollocks tightened in her hand, and his fingers tangled in her hair.
“Imogen,” he gasped. “If you don’t stop, I’ll come in your mouth.”
She paused in her torture of him, remembering the feel of him inside her, the hot stream of seed he pumped into her, the slippery sensation as it dripped down her thighs in thin streams. The memories built a molten pool in her lower belly, and she sucked him harder, deeper. Cededa gasped out her name and succumbed to the sensations overtaking him.
Two hard pulses along the length of his shaft and he filled Imogen’s mouth with a thick, salty heat. She swallowed, savoring his taste.
When she rose and slithered up his body, slippery with sweat and flushed a pale rose, he greeted her with a soft, satiated kiss.
“I’m not so sure you need a teacher, Imogen.”
Imogen twirled a silky strand of his hair around her finger and frowned. “Oh no you don’t, Sire. You promised.” She kissed his chin, the underside of his jaw. “Besides, a man who once had sixty-three wives and a few hundred concubines must have learned a few tricks between the sheets.”
She squealed when he suddenly rolled, flipping her onto her back so that he was the one resting on her. His grin set her heart to fluttering in her chest. Gods, he was beautiful.
“A few.”
Her eyebrow rose. “A few what? Tricks or concubines?”
His grin widened. “Both.”
He ran his fingers down her sides, tickling as she squirmed and laughed and tried to throw him off her. They wrestled in the bed until she was breathless and sweating. Once more she found herself atop Cededa, thighs spread. His pale eyes had gone dark, and his hands gripped her hips.
“Fucking your sweet mouth isn’t enough, Imogen. I want more.”
The coarse remark sent a flare of heat through her body. She curled her hand around his cock, still hard despite his recent orgasm, and guided it to her entrance, slick and aroused by his nearness and his words. “How much more?” she teased and slid partway down.
The faint soreness lingering from the previous night gave way to a throbbing. She moaned, the sound echoed by Cededa.
He gripped her hips in hard hands and thrust upward, going deep until she’d sheathed his cock completely. “All of you. I want all of you.”
Outside the sun rose, its light brightening the chamber as morning warmed to noon and Cededa introduced Imogen to many more pleasures of the flesh.
When they finally left the bed, she was weak-kneed and starved.
“You might not have to eat, but I think I could eat an entire boar by myself.”
As if on cue, Cededa’s stomach growled. His eyes widened. Were she not as shocked as he by the sound, Imogen might have laughed at the amazed expression on his face.
“When was the last time your belly made that noise?”
