He shifts one hand from my hip. His fingers trace through my wetness, gathering slick, before two of them press against my entrance.
“Yes.” I don't recognize my voice. “Please. I need...”
“I will never make you wait for pleasure, my Chosen,” he rumbles.
He slides them inside, and my walls clench around the intrusion. Thick. Hot. Curling against the spot that scatters my thoughts into fragments. His mouth never pauses, tongue stroking and flicking while his fingers thrust in a rhythm that matches the pounding of my pulse.
I fist his hair, grip the wet strands hard, and grind against his face. Chasing the pleasure he's building. Taking what he's offering.
“That's it.” He pulls back long enough to speak, lips glistening with my arousal, chin slick with evidence of what he does to me. “Take what you need. Use me. Ride my face until you come apart.”
His mouth returns to my clit. His fingers curl inside me, pressing against that spot with every thrust, and the dual sensation is too much, not enough, everything I need.
“I can't... it's...” Words fail me. Language fails me. There's nothing but his tongue and his fingers and the pressure building at the base of my spine.
“You can.” He growls the words against my flesh, and the vibration pushes me closer to the edge. “I want to taste you when you shatter.”
The orgasm hits hard. I cry out, spine arching, hands scrabbling against the wet stone for purchase I can't find. He doesn't stop. His tongue gentles but doesn't retreat, coaxing methrough the aftershocks while his fingers keep their relentless pace.
“One more.” He nips at my inner thigh, and the sharp sting of his fangs makes me jolt. “Give me one more, Maeve. I want you weak with pleasure.”
“I can't... it's too much...”
“You can.” His tongue flicks, and fresh wetness floods where his mouth meets my flesh. “You can because I'm asking. Because you're mine, and you and I both need this.”
His fingers curl against that spot inside me. His tongue presses flat against my clit and holds. The pressure builds and builds until I'm wound so tight I might break apart.
The second orgasm rips through me. My walls clamp down on his fingers, pulsing in rhythms I can't control. I shake against his shoulders, thighs clenching around his head. A sound tears from my throat that barely qualifies as human, his name broken into syllables that echo off the wet stone.
His fingers keep moving, slower now but relentless, dragging out every aftershock. His tongue gentles against my oversensitized clit, soft licks that send tremors rippling through my muscles. The pleasure keeps cresting, keeps rolling, wave after wave until I lose track of where one peak ends and the next begins.
“I can't... Drazex... please...”
I don't know if I'm begging him to stop or never stop. My body has stopped taking orders from my brain. There's only sensation. Only his mouth and his fingers and the hot water streaming over us and the stone wall holding me up because my legs have forgotten how to function.
“One more.” He murmurs the words against my inner thigh, and I sob at the promise. “Then I'll let you rest.”
His thumb replaces his tongue on my clit, circling until my vision whites out at the edges. His fingers thrust deeper, faster, and I'm climbing again before the last orgasm has faded.
The third peak crashes through me in a blinding rush. I arch away from the wall, spine bowing. I clench around him, and the sound I make is more sob than moan, more surrender than pleasure.
He works me through it. Gentles his touch as my body goes limp on his shoulders. He lowers my legs to the ground, and my knees fold. He catches me before I fall. His arms band around my waist, and he rises in one motion, pulling me against his chest. I slump into him, boneless and wrung out, my cheek pressed to the hard planes of his chest. His hearts pound beneath my ear. Fast. Almost as fast as mine.
“I've got you.” His lips brush my temple. “I've got you.”
I can't speak. Can't form words. My entire body is still shaking with aftershocks, muscles twitching in places I didn't know could twitch. The water runs hot over my shoulders, and his arms hold me upright, and I've never been so thoroughly undone in my entire life.
He makes a sound low in his chest. That rumble-purr that vibrates through his body and into mine. The sensation travels down my spine and settles between my thighs, and somehow, impossibly, heat stirs again beneath the exhaustion.
“More.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “I want more.”
His arms tighten around me. “You'll have everything. But first, let me take care of you.”
He shuts off the water and reaches for a towel, wrapping it around me. He dries my hair, my shoulders, the spaces between my fingers. Runs the soft fabric down my legs and between my thighs, and even that simple touch makes me shiver.
When he's finished, he lifts me again. Carries me to the bed I glimpsed when we entered. Lays me down on sheets that smell of nothing but clean fabric and possibility.
“My turn.” I reach for him, but he catches my wrists and pins them above my head.
