Ianthe hummed in her throat as she swallowed him deep, and the sensation streaked all the way through him. Hell. He was totally undone. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe. Just needed... Needed everything.
Teeth rasped over his sensitive cock as she paid homage to him with her wet mouth. Lucien groaned. "Devil take it, woman. Stop teasing me."
As if to torture him, her tongue curled around the very head of his cock, and then she followed it with her hot mouth. Swallowing him down and then sliding back up his length, her fist curled around the base of him and squeezing.
Hot pleasure spilled through his abdomen. "Ianthe," he breathed. "I'm going to come."
The sucking intensified. Clearly this was just what she intended. Lucien's eyes rolled back in his head, his spine bowing as he lifted half off the bed. The sheets were gone, but he didn't care anymore what she thought of his scars. How could you care—how could you think—when a woman was doing this to you? And suddenly it didn't matter, because she didn't care about the scars. He felt unveiled for the first time in years, completely given over to her. And then pleasure roared in a hot rush through his veins as he came.
Everything became blinding heat and pressure. The world narrowed down to the feel of her devilish mouth working him as though she wanted to drink him down. Every. Last. Drop.
Lucien collapsed back on the bed, panting and sated. "Bloody hell," he breathed. "You can see my scars anytime you like."
Soft laughter chased him. A warm, lush weight came into his arms, and then she rested her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his face, but not annoying him. No, it was a sweet feeling indeed. Fully sated, sleepy again, with his arms full of warm woman, he felt like he could spend days here. Just like this. Not a worry in the world.
"You have nothing to be ashamed about..."
His good mood evaporated. "I hate them," he admitted roughly. "I feel nothing but pain when I think about them."
A pair of bright blue eyes came into view as Ianthe propped her chin on his chest and examined him. "And when you use sorcery? Do you feel nothing but pain then too?"
An explosive breath left his chest. There was nowhere to hide, however. "Ianthe."
"You don't use your sorcery. I'm only trying to get to the bottom of why."
"It's nothing," he growled, sitting up. Ianthe tumbled onto the pillows beside him as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed, intent on getting out. This discussion was over.
He was halfway to the edge of the bed when a hand locked around his wrist.
"Can I tell you something?" Ianthe whispered.
Lucien paused and looked down at her fingers. "Of course."
She opened her mouth, then suddenly pressed her hands to her eyes and groaned. "This is almost embarrassing."
"I'm fairly certain we've shared enough of our pasts to be beyond such things."
"No, but... I am embarrassed. I remember everything, and yet I'm fairly certain you have no idea."
"Now you're intriguing me," he admitted, turning and lying down beside her. "You have to tell me now. I've spilled my secrets."
"Some of them."
He gave her a steady look. "Are you the pot or the kettle?"
Ianthe let out a huff of air. "That's fair." Her gaze sharpened. "I think we both have enough secrets, do we not?"
And it was only now that they had begun to trust each other that such secrets were being revealed. Lucien stroked his fingers lightly down over her shoulder and the curve of her hip. "True, but it seems to me that you owe me one if I'm doing my math correctly."
She covered her face with her hands. "Do you remember when I told you that I'd had two lovers before you?"
"Ye-es." He maneuvered like a man traversing a field strewn with mines. "I'm the third."
"Technically, that's not entirely correct." Ianthe took a peek at him from between her fingers.
"I—" His mouth shut. "No. I actually have no idea how to answer that."
"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"
