“I had help.”
“You earned it.” His voice drops lower. “And tonight, you’ll walk into that masquerade and do it all over again. Play the game, make the connections, survive the politics.” His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the elaborate braids. “But before you do...”
He kisses me.
It’s different from our desperate need in the shower – slower, deeper, full of intention rather than impulse. His mouth moves against mine with deliberate care, like he’s memorizing the taste of me. I can feel the restraint in him, the way he’s holding himself back even as his fingers tighten in my hair.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“The masquerade...” I say weakly.
“Can wait,” he finishes, his hands moving to my waist.
I should protest. Should remind him that people are expecting us, that being late will draw attention, that we can’t afford to look distracted or unfocused tonight.
Instead, I let him guide me backward toward the bed.
“May I?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He lifts me easily, setting me on the edge of the bed. His hands shake slightly as he begins gathering layers of silk and embroidery until my hips, thighs, and undergarments are exposed.
“Keep it on,” he says when I reach to remove the mask. “I want to see you like this – mysterious and powerful.”
His words send heat through me, pooling low in my belly. When he kneels between my legs, his eyes holding mine, the air leaves my lungs.
His voice drops lower, rougher. “Let me worship you,” he whispers against my thigh. “Let me show you what you mean to me.”
His thumbs brush against the inside of my knees, slow and deliberate, testing. I don’t move, don’t speak – only tilt my head slightly, the mask hiding whatever expression might give me away. The Lord of Mars, kneeling before me.
His fingers find the hidden fastenings at my waist, working with surprising dexterity. The fabric loosens, and I exhale as the restrictive layers part. Cool air touches my breasts, and his gaze darkens as he takes me in.
His hands hook into the waistband of my undergarments, and I lift my hips instinctively. He strips the delicate fabric away in one motion, leaving me exposed beneath the pooled silk of my gown. The way he’s looking at me sends heat straight to my core.
His palms slide up the inside of my thighs, pushing them apart. I let my legs fall open, and his breath is hot against my skin as he leans in. “You’re mine,” he says, the words vibrating against my inner thigh.
Then his mouth is on me.
I arch off the bed with a cry as his tongue finds me, tasting, exploring. He isn’t tentative. The flat of his tongue drags through my folds before circling the bundle of nerves that makes me gasp. I can hear his guttural sounds, the way his breath speeds up every time I jerk against his mouth. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me open, keeping me still.
“You taste perfect,” he mutters against me, and the vibration makes me whimper. His tongue flicks faster before he sucks gently, applying just enough pressure to make stars burst behind my eyelids. Then two thick fingers press against my entrance, and I’m so ready that they slide in easily, stretching me as he curls them inside, searching.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you.”
I’m drowning in sensation – his fingers pumping into me, his thumb pressing down on my clit in deliberate circles. The pleasure is building, a storm gathering low in my belly, and I can feel my magic humming beneath my skin in response. He must sense it too, the way my inner walls flutter around his fingers, the way my breath comes in sharp gasps.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. “I want to know what you taste like when you come apart.” he commands, his voice rough.
I look at him, my eyes begging for release. “Zevran, I…”
“Come for me.” he commands again.
I close my eyes as the pleasure coils tighter inside. Zevran’s mouthreturns to me, his tongue working relentlessly as his fingers fill me, stretch me. The dual sensations – his touch and his tongue – push me over the edge.
My orgasm hits like a shockwave, my body lifting off the bed as I cry out. Zevran groans against me, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through my core as he continues, drinking down every bit of my release. I throb around his fingers, wave after wave of euphoria.
He worships me through every aftershock, his tongue slow and thorough, his fingers still inside me as I come down. When I finally collapse back against the bed, boneless and spent, he presses one last kiss to my inner thigh before pulling away. He takes his time moving up my body, pressing soft kisses along the way – my hip, my ribs, the curve of my breast peeking through the silk bodice. When he reaches my face, he cups the back of my neck gently with both hands.
