He bit the narrow, pink satin and tugged, and when the bow was untied, he slipped the ribbon’s end from between his lips and pocketed it.
“What will you do with that?”she asked.
He did the same to her other stocking: bit, untied, pocketed.
“What will you do with that?”she asked again.
His only answer was a grin as he lowered both stockings at once and set her bare foot on his shoulder.The other foot, the one that had been injured, he took his time with, caressing the arch and kissing the inside of the ankle.His full mouth thinned when he studied the sole of her foot, the scar she knew was still red there.He stroked his thumb down it, seemed to make up his mind about something, then inched closer.He dragged his lips along the inside of her thighs, leaving hot little kisses that spiraled higher, faster than his lips could move.
Everywhere he touched her became an explosion of sensation that cascaded everywhere he didn’t touch.She grasped for his shoulders, stroked up his neck, tangled her hands in his hair, made a little cavern of her body around him, not knowing what he planned.
She was smart enough to guess.Though it seemed indecent.Impossible.
She’d never been short on curiosity, though.And she’d always been bold when no one was watching.
Except for Apollo.
He was right about that.
With him, she could be herself without care, so she unfolded herself, rested her weight on her palms behind her, threw her head back.
As his lips settled against her core.
As he kissed her and killed her all at once.
She almost leaped into the air when he parted her sex with his tongue.Only his hands—firm and strong on her hips, chaining her to the table—kept her from taking flight, kept her pinned in place so he could… so he could…
Holy Hestia, so he could play.
A game or an instrument.She might as well be both.He knew what he was doing, how to win, and every lave of tongue against flesh, every indent of fingers into skin, every scrape of fingers through the curls at her center taught her how to play, too.
Later.Later.
Now let him do as he pleased, and he seemed pleased to drive her mad.Her mother had told her about the little bundle of nerves he was teasing and teasing, making her fingernails dig dents into the previously perfect surface of the worktable.But she’d not been told about how it made a woman feel.Perhaps there were not words.The closest she could find came moaning from her mouth.
“More.Please, Apollo, more.I need… I need…” She screamed, tendrils of pleasure roping round her, sinking into her skin, remaking her.Did she melt or did she fly?All she knew was that on a convulsion she opened her eyes, saw him standing before her, between her legs, staring at her with such focused intensity…
His shaft in his hand, stroking up and down.
As pleasure rippled through her, forcing her eyes closed, she reached for him, brushed with the barest tip of her fingers, the velvet head of his member.
He cursed, and something hot and wet spilled across her thighs.She wanted to open her eyes, to see whatever had happened, but she was too limp, too relaxed and happy to do much more than lay there.She patted the table beside her.When he did not join her, she patted it again.He was going to ruin this lovely haze if he did not join her right that instant.She had the oddest urge to cuddle with him.Withhim!
He seemed to realize she was not in the mood to be disobeyed because soon the table creaked, and he was lying on his back beside her.She opened her eyes and studied his profile as he studied the ceiling.He looked… disgruntled.
So she kissed his cheek and rolled on top of him, settling into the crook of his arm, her cheek against the heat of his naked shoulder.He was slick with sweat, and when she kissed his neck, she tasted salt.
“Why,” she said with a sigh, “are you so distraught.”
“Because I’m not a green boy, but one touch of your wicked fingertips sent me shooting off like a fountain.”He picked up her hand where it rested on his ribs and kissed her palm.Angrily.
Laughing, she brushed hair off his temple.“I’m a novice at all this.You’ll have to use plain, biologically correct terms.”
“Good God, you’re mortifyingly innocent.”He heaved a sigh.“I’ll buy you some books.Perhaps I’ll write you a book.That might prove a fascinating venture.”
“Thereyou are.”She patted his chest.“I’d begun to worry the rogue who ravishes innocents and threatens old ladies had reformed.”
He growled and held her tightly, whispered hotly in her ear.“What happened, princess, is that my cock was harder than it’s ever been.I wanted nothing more than to stroke inside your pretty little cunny and spend my seed there.Insanity.So I took my cock in hand and would have made it a bit longer before spilling my cum all over your luscious legs, butyour handgot involved, and—well—if we ever do this again, I’ll have to prove myself a sturdier man than I’ve proved so far.”
