“You’re making it very hard to think clearly when you touch me like that.”
“Who says you need to think clearly?”
“Majesty.” His name came out half warning, half plea.
His hands slid back up my body, slow and deliberate, and I felt every inch of skin he touched wake up and pay attention. “Turn over.”
“What?”
“Turn over. I want to do your front.”
My breath caught. That felt different. More vulnerable. On my back, I’d have to look at him. I wouldn’t be able to hide.
“I won’t touch anywhere you don’t want me to,” he promised. “But I think you need to look at me for this part.”
Slowly, my heart pounding, I turned over. I adjusted the robe to loosely drape across my chest and stomach, suddenly very aware of how little it was covering. Our eyes met, and the intensity in his gaze made my mouth go dry.
He warmed more oil and started with my arms. I watched his hands work, strong and sure, and tried to regulate my breathing. But it was impossible when he was touching me like this, looking at me like he wanted to devour me.
“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve told you that enough.”
“Thank you.” There was more to say, but I chose not to. The way he looked at me was like he’d meant it. There was no second guessing him or wondering what his agenda was. He’d only meant to tell me his thoughts. Nothing more or less.
His fingers traced along my collarbone, and I shivered despite the warmth of the room. “You are beautiful. Strong and brave and so fucking responsive. Do you have any idea what it does to me, watching you submit to this? To us?”
My breath hitched. The way he said “us,” like it was inevitable. Like him, Lex and I were already a done deal. “Tell me.”
He leaned in closer, his hands still moving across my skin, and the look in his eyes was darker now. Hungry. “It makes me want to claim every inch of you. Mark you in ways that don’t show but that you’ll feel for days. Make you so thoroughly ours that you never doubt who you belong to.”
Heat pooled low in my belly. “Majesty…”
“But I won’t,” he continued, his hands moving lower, skimming the sides of my breasts under the robe before moving to my ribs. The brief contact made me gasp. “Not until you beg me for it. Not until you’re so desperate for us that you can’t think about anything else.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s patience.” His hands moved to my stomach, working the muscles there, and I felt the robe slip more. Cool air hit my skin, and I knew he could see more of me now. But I didn’t move to cover myself. “I want you aching for us, Cami. I want you to feel this in your bones, this need to be ours.”
“I already do.” The admission came out breathless.
“Not enough.” His hands drifted to my hips, his thumbs pressing into sensitive hollows that made me arch involuntarily. “Not nearly enough.”
The robe slipped further, exposing the curve of my breast, and I watched his eyes track the movement. He didn’t look away. Didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking. He just stared, possessive and unapologetic.
“You’re staring,” I whispered.
“You’re letting me.” His hands moved to my thighs, and I wanted to spread them, wanted to guide his touch higher, but he deliberately avoided the place that was aching for him. “That’s a gift, Cami. Your trust, your vulnerability. I don’t take that lightly.”
“I know you don’t.”
He worked his way down to my feet again, then back up, taking his time. Each pass of his hands built the anticipation higher. By the time he reached my hips again, I was breathing hard, my skin flushed, need coiling tight in my core.
“All done,” he said, pulling back.
“What?” The word came out almost angry. “But I thought...”
“Thought what?” He knew exactly what I’d thought. I could see it in the slight curve of his mouth.
“Nothing.” I moved to pull the robe closed, suddenly embarrassed by how much I’d wanted him to keep going. To touch me where I was wet and aching.
