When those hands demanded he look up, his lips found hers in a devouring kiss. Tongues tangled, teeth collided.
“Just let me love you,” he begged against her mouth.
“Yes.”
In one swift motion, he swept her skirts upward. The fabric ballooned around her waist, baring her completely to his gaze.
Desire struck him hard, brutal in its force. Those smooth, endless thighs… the dark, silken nest between them—mon Dieu. She was perfection.
Her hand twitched toward her lap, the reflex of modesty, but stalled. For a heartbeat she hovered, torn—then let it fall away. Her lashes lifted, meeting his gaze. And slowly, deliberately, she parted her knees, just a few inches, granting him a view so intimate it nearly undid him.
He dropped to his knees, his breath coming rough as he steadied her hips.
“I need—” he rasped, pressing open-mouthed kisses above her knees, then higher, and higher still. “To give.” His tongue darted along the inside of her thigh. “Everything.”
She trembled, clutching at his shoulders.
“Please,” she gasped, voice breaking.
He could not deny her.
He nudged her knees farther apart and pulled her to the edge of the table, her hips rocking helplessly toward his mouth. Then, his face cradled by her thighs, he dragged his tongue slowly, deliberately, through tender folds. Her wetness surrounded him, both the salt of perspiration on her legs and the sweet taste of her desire.
He groaned, and the vibration made her jerk.
Her back arched, her head thrown back, the long column of her throat bared. One hand flew to grip the table, knuckles white, while the other clutched at his hair, guiding him.
“Please, yes—Dash!” Breathless.
He lapped in long strokes, then circled her swollen pearl with the flat of his tongue. She cried out again, hips bucking, but he held her firm, spreading her wider, feasting like a man starved.
When her thighs quivered, he slid two fingers inside her—slow, filling, curling upward until she gasped his name again and again. He stroked her there, deep and steady, while his tongue flicked and sucked her clit.
“Dash—please—don’t stop, don’t stop?—”
Her body bowed off the table, shuddering, nails biting into his shoulders as her climax ripped through her. Ambrosia sobbed his name, trembling as he coaxed her through it, licking and stroking until she collapsed back, shaking and undone.
When at last he rose, he kissed her mouth fiercely, letting her taste herself on his tongue.
“Tu es à moi,” he whispered. “Mine, pour toujours.”
But his princesse, she was not finished.
Her hands fumbled at his trousers, tugging with a desperation that stripped away pretense. Of course he helped her—mon Dieu—shoving them down far enough to free himself. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, pressing hot against her belly.
She stared down at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.
The sight nearly undid him—her gaze locked shamelessly on his member, her breath coming fast and shallow. He shifted, the blunt head sliding to tease her entrance, slick and ready from his mouth.
She gasped, hips tilting in welcome.
“Say it,” he demanded, his tip poised. “Say you want me.”
“Dash—”
“Say it, ma chère. Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” she whispered, eyes wide, lips trembling. “I want you.”
