His hands slide beneath my dress, warm against my skin as they trace up my legs with exquisite slowness. His touchis reverent, careful, as if I’m something precious rather than something owned. He maintains eye contact as his fingers reach the edge of my undergarments, a silent question in his golden gaze.
I nod, unable to find words past the desire tightening my throat. Logan hooks his fingers in the delicate fabric, drawing it down my legs with a deliberate patience that makes my breath catch. I step out of the garment, suddenly aware of my vulnerability—standing in the palace atrium, the king of Melilla on his knees before me, my most intimate places about to be exposed to his gaze.
But there’s no fear in this vulnerability. Only power. Only choice.
Logan’s hands return to my legs, gently urging them apart. I comply, widening my stance as his hands slide upward, pushing my dress higher until it bunches around my waist. The cool air against my heated skin makes me shiver, or perhaps it’s the hunger in Logan’s eyes as he looks up at me from his position of supplication.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my inner thigh. “Perfect.”
Before I can respond, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin where thigh meets hip. I gasp, my hand moving instinctively to his hair, fingers tangling in the golden strands. He takes this as encouragement, trailing kisses along the crease of my thigh, moving inward with maddening slowness.
“Logan,” I breathe, the name both plea and command.
He smiles against my skin, then finally, finally puts his mouth where I need it most. The first touch of his tongue sends electricity racing up my spine, drawing a moan from deep in my throat. My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him in place as he explores with careful attention, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me tremble.
“Like this?” he murmurs against me, the vibration of his voice adding another layer of sensation.
“Harder,” I direct, finding my voice despite the pleasure threatening to overwhelm me. “More pressure.”
He complies immediately, his tongue firmer against my most sensitive spot. The change draws another moan from me, louder this time, echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged atrium. Some distant part of my mind worries about being overheard, but the thought dissolves as Logan slides a finger inside me, curving upward with perfect precision.
“Yes,” I gasp, my hips moving of their own accord, seeking more. “Just like that.”
Logan hums his approval, the sound reverberating through me like a physical touch. He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously as his tongue continues its relentless attention to my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building at the base of my spine with startling speed.
I look down, needing to see him, and the sight nearly undoes me—Logan Corellian, king of Melilla, on his knees before me, his golden eyes closed in concentration as he pleasures me with single-minded focus. His free hand grips my thigh, steadying me as my legs begin to tremble with approaching release.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice breathless but firm.
His eyes open immediately, golden gaze meeting mine with an intensity that steals what little breath I have left. The connection—intimate, unguarded—pushes me closer to the edge.
“Don’t stop,” I manage, my fingers tightening in his hair. “I’m close.”
Logan redoubles his efforts, his fingers curving to hit that perfect spot inside me as his tongue flicks rapidly over my clit. The pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost unbearable. I’m trembling now, my thighs shaking withthe effort of remaining standing, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
And then I’m falling, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me crying out, my body clenching around his fingers as my vision blurs at the edges. Logan doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, drawing out my orgasm until I’m gasping his name, tugging at his hair in wordless plea for mercy.
Only then does he ease back, pressing a gentle kiss to my inner thigh as his fingers withdraw carefully. I sag against the table, my legs no longer trustworthy, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Logan rises smoothly, steadying me with gentle hands on my waist. His chin glistens with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes dark with desire yet to be satisfied. But there’s something else in his expression too—a tenderness that makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with physical release.
“Was that satisfactory, my lady?” he asks, his voice rough but his tone playful, slipping back into our earlier game.
I laugh breathlessly, still floating in the aftermath of pleasure. “Quite satisfactory, yes. You have a talent for following direction.”
“I live to serve,” he replies with a smile that’s both teasing and genuine. “Especially when the directions come from such a commanding source.”
I reach up, wiping my essence from his chin with my thumb. “A king who serves,” I muse. “How revolutionary.”
“Only for you,” Logan says, the playfulness fading into something more serious, more real. “Only ever for you, Maya.”
CHAPTER 35
Poe
Poe is on the training ground, giving orders to guards, when Maya approaches. He is immediately concerned because he recognizes the signs of her impending heat and wants to know what she is doing out of the royal suite. Maya admits that she came looking for him because she needs to know if he will be returning to the suite that night. Poe has been traveling more frequently as Logan’s envoy. Poe replies that he isn’t sure. Maya replies that she had planned to bond with him and Ares that night unless he has something more important to do, then turns on her heel and walks away.
“Hold that line! Shoulders back, eyes forward! You call that a defensive stance? My grandmother could break through that, and she’s been dead twenty years!”
