I lift my head, watching with eager wonder as he swirls his tongue around my nipple. “Colden.”
“Mmm?” He drags his teeth over the tip, making me whimper with want.
“I desperately need you to touch me.”
“Iamtouching you,” he says with a wicked grin. “Quite scandalously.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. And I can tell.” His strokes between my legs grow rougher. “Your sweet little cunny is soaked for me.”
My core clenches, and I tighten my thighs around his hand, gasping from the shock of pleasure that bolts through my clit.
His hand stills. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply on a rushed breath. “It’s just… No one has ever spoken to me like that before.”
He arches his brow. “Oh my. That one little word made you bear down? Then you’re in for quite the fun tonight.”
He withdraws his hand from my skirts and stands, sweeping me up with him. He carries me next to his bed, where he sets me on my feet. Unexpectedly, he pulls up a chair and sits down.
“Finish taking your clothes off for me,” he says. “Slowly.”
Oddly, I find it ridiculously erotic being told what to do. Obedience and submissiveness are not parts of my nature, and yet I have no resistance to Colden Moeshka. He could demand anything, and I believe I would do it.
I reach for the sash at my back, untie it, and begin peeling off my skirts and other layers. It takes the time it takes, which is, I realize, part of the pleasure, so I draw it out with certain movements. Curving my spine. Running my hands over my breasts, my hips. Colden watches every second, stroking the erection hidden in his black trousers, though I can see the firm outline, the way his hand slides up and down that impressive length.
When I go to remove my lace undergarments, Colden says, “Turn around when you take those off.”
My face heats. I’m slender and strong, but I carry weight in my backside, an asset that has spurned many lingering looks, crude comments, and sneaking slaps over the years. For the first time, though, I actuallyhopeit spurns all those things.
I turn and decide to make a grand show of it. Slowly, I slip the lace over my curves, dragging them down my legs, and kick them away when they reach my feet.
Colden’s hands are on me in a heartbeat, skimming up my thighs. “This ass does wicked things to me.”
He cups my bottom and squeezes, making me blush and throb all at the same time. The cool press of his lush lips kissing my lower back makes my nipples harden.
Tenderly, he trails his mouth down my curves and gently bites my ass, slipping his fingers between my legs, stroking my ache. “I want you to show me how you touch yourself,” he says. “Exactly. So I know what you like.”
In truth, though I feel so at ease with Colden, this gives me a moment of pause. It seems so salacious, and yet something about the indecency of it all gives me a thrill, a sense of power I haven’t experienced before.
I crawl onto the bed, providing a view that makes Colden groan deep in his chest. Gods. I’m naked and exposed before the Frost King’s hungry eyes, longing for him, my body pleading for his touch. After a lifetime of imagining anything other than this when it came to him, the last few years—and tonight especially—feel like a strange dream.
I sit facing him and spread my legs for my king anyway. He shakes his head as if in awe. “Fucking devils, Nephele.”
“Now it’s your turn,” I tell him, loving how enthralled he seems.
He unlaces his trousers, taking his time as I tease him, touching only my thighs and the small tuft of hair at my apex. When he finally frees his cock, I swallow hard, desiring it instantly.
Need coils tight in my core as I begin working my body, rubbing my fingertip in quick circles over my clit.
“I usually have my crystal,” I admit.
All of us women in the castle, and many others, purchase rose quartz crystals from a lady who lives near the Mondulak Range. She journeys here once a year with her smooth-as-glass stones, honed into pleasurable shapes and sizes.
Colden rubs his thumb over his tip. “Mmm. I would love to watch you fuck yourself that way. Do you ever ride it?”
I dip my fingers into myself and begin shifting my hips, fucking my own hand, feeling suddenly empty and needing relief. “Yes,” I breathe. “Often.”
