"Always." She turned, her eyes reflecting the city glow. "But not about strategy. Not tonight."
I stepped closer, my heart pounding. This was new territory. Uncharted. Vulnerable.
"What then?" I asked, my voice low.
She reached up, her fingers tracing my jaw. "Us. This. What it means to be your queen."
I captured her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. "It means reverence."
Her breath hitched. I felt her pulse quicken under my lips.
"Show me," she whispered.
I released her hand, stepped back. Undressed her with my eyes, slowly, deliberately. She held my gaze, unflinching. When her clothes lay in a pile at her feet, I led her to the bed. Laid her down like an offering.
Her body was a landscape I'd explored before, but tonight was different. Tonight, I worshipped. I started at her feet, pressing kisses to her ankles, her calves. The inside of her knees, where skin was soft and sensitive. She shivered, her breath coming faster.
I moved up her thighs, my stubble rasping against her smoothness. Her hips lifted, seeking, but I bypassed her center, trailing kisses across her stomach, her ribs. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, nipples hardening under my gaze.
When I took one peak into my mouth, she gasped, arching into me. I sucked gently, reverently, before moving to the other breast. Her hands found my hair, gripping tight.
"Dante..." My name on her lips was a plea, a prayer.
I answered, moving up her body until our mouths met. The kiss was slow, deep, a promise. Her legs wrapped around me, urging me closer. But I resisted, breaking away to trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone.
Her frustration was palpable. She wanted more. Needed it. But tonight wasn't about need. It was about worship.
I flipped her onto her stomach, eliciting a surprised gasp. Then I started again, at her feet, kissing my way up her body. Her back arched when I reached her thighs, her breath hitching when I kissed the curve of her ass.
She turned her head, looking at me over her shoulder. "Please..."
I smiled, tracing the dimples above her ass with my thumbs. "Please what?"
Her eyes flashed. "You know what."
I chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to each dimple. "Tell me."
She growled, low in her throat. Then, "Touch me. Taste me. Make me yours."
I flipped her back over, spread her legs wide. Kneeling between them, I could see her arousal, smell it. My mouth watered.
But still, I waited. I wanted her begging. Pleading.
She didn't disappoint. "Dante, please. I need you."
I lowered my head, inhaling deeply. Her scent was intoxicating. I pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her tremble. Then, finally, I gave her what she wanted.
My tongue traced her folds, slow and deliberate. She cried out, her hips lifting to meet me. I held her down, taking my time, exploring every inch of her. When I circled her clit, she moaned, her body tensing.
I backed off, kissing her thighs, her stomach. She whimpered, her hands fisting the sheets.
"Patience," I murmured against her skin.
"I'm done being patient," she snapped.
I laughed, low and rough. Then I gave her what she wanted. What we both wanted.
My mouth closed over her clit, sucking gently. Her cry was sharp, desperate. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars.
