“Honey. That isexactlyhow you taste, Fallon.”
The air grows as stiflingly hot as the pulse of blood beneath my skin.
Lore moves the finger he’s licked clean back beneath my skirt, shifts the black fabric aside, then sinks not just one finger but two inside of me. After pumping them twice—fuckingonly twice—he deserts me again.
I narrow my eyes.
“Now, now.” He chuckles softly because he knows his teasing is driving me close to tears. “Stop pouting, Behach Éan, and open that pretty mouth of yours. I want you to understand why I plan to spend a great portion of my life between your legs.” He holds his fingers in front of my mouth and waits.
And waits.
Is he really expecting me to . . . to . . . to—
“I will not touch you again until you taste yourself.”
“Here I thought a man like you would be above blackmail.”
“My love, a man like me lives to coerce and confound. Now open wide.”
So I do, and he presses his fingers into my mouth with a languor that slicks my juices over every millimeter of my tongue. And, nope, I don’t understand the appeal. I mean, the musky sweetness is not the absolute worst thing in the world, but I’ve tasted far better things, likebeinnfrhaland the liquor they squeeze from the fruit’s thin skin; Lore’s mouth—I adore the taste of his kisses; and Montelucin cheese—Gods, the addition of salt to curd is otherworldly.
He shakes his head, then leans over and replaces his finger with his tongue and licks every dark corner of my mouth as though to rid me of the flavor he put there.More for me.
As he plunders my mouth, I think of the one and only time I put my mouth on a man. I don’t want the memory, and from the growl that lashes my mind, neither does Lore, but it surfaces in spite of my best efforts to drag it back into the boxes of souvenirs my mind holds.
I wish I could toss away the key to that particular box.
I hated my first time, and I’m suddenly worried I may hate my second time also. What if I hate the act? What if it hurts? I don’t want it to hurt.
Lore pulls away, and those molten eyes acquire a cold shine. “Let this be the one and only time we discuss your first time, Fallon.”
“I don’t—I’d prefer not to—”
He thumbs my cheekbone. “I’d prefer not to either, but you need to know that if it hurt, it’s because he was a selfish prick who didn’t bother readying your body.” A nerve twitches beside his eye as though this conversation is killing him. “It’s not the conversation that makes me angry, but the man who put this fear in your eyes. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.Nothing. And if at any point you experienceanypain, you tell me to stop, and I will fucking stop. You hear me?”
I gape at him, a mix of humiliation and affection swelling beneath my breastbone.
He cups my burning cheeks, tilting my head higher. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” His hands fall to the straps of my dress and he thrusts them off my heaving shoulders.
As the deep black V of fabric collapses down my arms, freeing my breasts, I ask, “Do you trust me, Lore?”
His eyes flick off the tightened peaks of pink flesh pointing at him. “You are my mate, Fallon.”
“I’ve been your mate for some time now, but you didn’t trust me before.”
“You’re right. And it was small of me, but being an ancient ruler apparently didn’t prepare me for the bitterness of your rejection.” He coasts his palms down my arms, hooking the fabric, and dragging it lower.
The bodysuit is so tight that it sticks to my waist.
“What was the name of the woman who spoke ill of this body?”
“What?”
“You mentioned someone had the audacity to make you doubt how spectacular you look.”
