“Stay with me, Kailia,” he said, pulling her back to the moment.
Her attention snapped back to him, forcing away thoughts of what she couldn’t have. What she’d never be able to handle.
“There she is,” Cethin purred. “Keep your eyes right here with me. Yes?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. This was all wildly confusing, but also wildly intoxicating in a way she’d never experienced.
“Good. Now spread your legs so I can see and do that again,” he ordered, sliding his fists into his pockets.
By Temural, his mouth was…
His gaze entirely trained on her hand, she placed it flat on her belly, and she spread her legs wider, too wound up to care what she looked like or what he was thinking. Her fingers strummed that spot that made pleasure dart up her spine.
“Yeah, just like that,” he murmured. She wasn’t entirely sure if he was speaking to her or more to himself, but she also didn’t care.
She’d done this before. Many times she’d brought herself to climax, but never like this. Never after a battle. Never with someone watching her so desperately, like the thought of not being able to witness this would make him perish.
Her fingers moved, pressing and circling and rubbing. Soft gasps and small sounds came from her, and the entire time, she couldn’t stop watching him. Watching him shift from foot to foot. Watching him pull his hands from his pockets. Swipe a hand down his face. Push a hand through his hair. Press a palm to the front of his pants.
And he kept speaking. Soft words of praise and filthy words that had her keening inside.
“Like that, wife,” and, “so good,” and “you know what you like,” and “now sink a finger in. Let me see it. Fuck me. I bet you taste so good.”
He shifted again, hands at the flap of his pants. “I’m going to move, Kailia, but I’m not coming closer. I’m going to sit, okay?”
She nodded, the movement erratic as she continued to bring herself closer to the edge of pleasure.
Until he undid the flap of his pants and dipped his hand in, pulling out his cock, throbbing and hard. He dropped into the armchair facing the bed, spreading his legs as wide as he could with his pants still on.
There was a different anticipation in her belly now. Her breathing had changed, each inhale sharp and shallow as she watched him slide his hand down his length. She was watching him, but his eyes were fixed on her hand that had stilled over her cunt, one finger inside herself.
“Add another finger,” he growled, his hand making long strokes over himself.
Without conscious thought, she did, another finger sliding in with ease because seeing him touch himself did things to her she’d never experienced. Slippery and wet, she started moving her fingers again, adding to the sensation that watching him brought. The tensing of his jaw. The muscles flexing in his forearm as he moved his hand.
“Gods, someday you’re going to let me touch you, wife,” he groaned when her legs fell open wider of their own accord. “It’ll be my fingers in that warm cunt. My lips on your breasts. My cock being squeezed when you come.” Each word was harsh and agonized, a different kind of torture she was beginning to understand. She shouldn’t want any of that.
But she did.
He rolled his palm over the head of his cock, his strokes alternating now. Soft and hard, soft and hard. She found herself mimicking his movements, rolling that bundle of nerves with her thumb. Pressing and releasing. He didn’t even need words at this point, but she was devouring every syllable and sound that came from him.
“Touch your breasts,” he demanded, and again, she should have hated the command, but she was getting close.
Everything in her was tightening. At some point, she’d braced herself with her other hand, leaning back on it as she’d let him see everything. Her hand left her cunt, her palm running back up her torso, squeezing one breast and then the other, a jolt traveling straight between her legs. She rolled a nipple, then plucked at the other, spurred on by Cethin’s spat curses.
“Fuck me, that’s good, wife. You’re doing so well.”
By the gods. He’d been right. She was thoroughly distracted, a release glimmering and coiling inside her, tightening with every touch as she brought her hand back to her center, massaging her clit once more. Every flick and rub, every press and stroke mirrored his as his movements grew more erratic.Her breaths were nothing but sharp gasps, her toes curling around the bedframe where her feet rested.
And she took him in.
The veins on his forearms. Narrow hips. The bunching muscles of his abdomen. The dusting of fine hair that led to where his hand was shuttling up and down his cock, squeezing the tip every third pass. Tense thighs. Tight jaw. Disheveled hair. Blazing eyes.
All of it for her.
“Let it go, wife,” he gritted out. “I want to see. I want to see all of you. Let go. Give it to me.”
She wrestled with listening to a command again, but her body listened, as if it knew what she needed. As if it knew this was the way to get it. As ifhewas the only way to get it. Pleasure cascaded through her, waves and waves of warmth spreading from her fingers to her toes and dragging her into something blissful and calm, that restlessness from earlier completely gone and replaced with the exhaustion that had been buried beneath all the sensations.
