She drags my jeans and underwear down, freeing me.
The air hits my skin; I hiss through my teeth.
Her gaze drops.
She inhales.
“Oh,” she says faintly.
Some foolish, boyish part of me wants to preen at the way her pupils dilate, at the little hitch in her breath.
She reaches out with one careful hand, fingers wrapping around me.
I choke.
Her touch is tentative at first, then firmer as she feels the way my body responds—how I jerk in her hand, how my breath stutters.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “About you. In my hands.”
“Goddess,” I rasp.
She strokes me—slow, deliberate pulls from base to head, thumb circling the sensitive ridge. Her other hand braces on my chest, steadying herself.
The dual sensation—the drag of her palm, the press of her fingers, the weight of her body over mine—almost undoes me.
“Look at me,” she says softly.
I do.
Her eyes are fixed on my face, not my cock, watching every flicker of expression as if it’s information she wants to memorize.
“I love watching you feel,” she murmurs. “You try so hard to stay in control.”
“I am losing,” I grind out.
“Good.” A small, wicked smile curves her mouth. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
My vision goes fuzzy at the edges.
I catch her wrist—not to stop her, just to anchor myself.
“If you keep doing that,” I say, voice raw, “this will be over before it truly begins.”
She laughs—low and pleased—and eases her grip.
“Okay,” she says. “Then… together?”
She shifts higher, knees bracketing my hips, one hand guiding me to the slick heat between her thighs.
The tip of my cock brushes her entrance.
We both stop breathing.
Her hands plant on my chest.
“Flavius,” she whispers. “I want you. Inside me. Clear. Present. Not as a distraction from the committee. As… as the life I’m choosing no matter what their decision is.”
Need punches through me so hard I almost see white.
