Ianthe gasped. He felt her wake, that moment of ‘where am I?’ palpable along the bond they shared, and then her body relaxed as she realized where she was and sleepy eyes turned his way.
"Good morning," he murmured, curving his palm around her thigh and opening them. Then his fingers delved back into her wetness.
"It certainly is," Ianthe gasped.
He lost himself in her body, in pushing her to pleasure. Within seconds, her soft moans and wicked writhing had distracted both of them. It didn't take long. Ianthe came with a soft gasp, her fingers curling in her pillow as she collapsed. He knew she hadn't reached release last night, and this assuaged the sense of debt he felt.
Panting, she slowly came back to herself. "You stayed the night."
"I must have fallen asleep."
Lying on her back, she circled her finger through his chest hair, but Lucien caught her wrist and subtly disengaged. The sheet covered him, but he'd not expected to wake here. All he could remember was coming to her bed last night when he realized how frightened she was.
A hand lifted to the sheet. "Show me," she said.
Lucien knew what she was asking. Every muscle in his body locked up hard. "No."
His body was a mess, and it was light enough in here for her to see the marks that the demon had left carved all across his chest and hip. Sitting up, he slid his legs over the side of the bed, but she came too. Her breasts pressed into his naked back, her arms locking around his throat and shoulders to hold him there.
"I could demand it," she said. "It's daytime now."
"You could." He tensed. With such a demand came the obliteration of their truce.
Ianthe kissed his neck. "Please, Lucien. It was the demon, wasn't it? Let me see what the creature did to you."
Nostrils flaring, he turned his face away, but those breasts brushed against his back again, dragging his attention elsewhere.
"You've seen mine," she whispered. "Let me see yours."
Hers? Lucien frowned, but her wicked mouth was gliding over the muscle of his trapezius, her teeth biting him neatly there. The sensation streaked through him, tearing a gasp from his lips.
"Hell, woman."
Slowly those arms were dragging him backward. And he went. He actually went. Hitting the mattress, Lucien stared up at her as she draped a thigh over his hips and straddled him.
Both of them were naked. The light in here was meager, just the gray tint of dawn peaking from beneath the curtains, but his eyes had adjusted and he could see every inch of her. Those lush, round breasts and that narrow waist that flared to wide hips... The strip of dark hair between her thighs.
As she could see him.
It was more difficult than he'd imagined. Lucien looked away as her hands traced one mark, then another.
"I'm sorry," Ianthe said, and sadness lurked between them.
"For what?"
"For the pain you went through. For this." A finger dragged over the worst one, the fire-slick burn that still seemed to ache sometimes.
Except now. Her touch felt like a brush of silk against an exposed nerve. Not quite painful, not quite pleasant, but intense. His hips shifted.
Ianthe leaned over him, her tongue darting out to lick one of his scars. Her eyes never left his, however. Slowly, she moved lower and lower, taking care to caress and kiss each one... Lucien swallowed hard. He couldn't help himself from sinking his hands into the mess of black hair and guiding her lower.
"So demanding," she whispered, but she went. Pressing a kiss against the hollow of his hip, she let her hair drag over the sensitive tip of his cock.
Fuck. His hips jerked.
"I believe I owe you a cock sucking."
Her pink tongue rasped over the head of his erection, and Lucien shuddered. Jesus. He couldn't stop himself from thrusting up into her mouth, his hands stroking her hair, curling in the thick, silky mass of it, and bringing her lower.
