Before I have a chance to so much as glare at him, he’s working a delicious botanical lather against my scalp, and I moan, “Stars.”
I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of his fingers against the nape of my neck, thumbs at my temples, his large hands cradling my head. He seems content to work the tonic deep into my roots until every last bubble is popped and spent. I don’t try to stop him. I don’t say a word. I’m not sure I could if I tried.
The only sounds coming from my mouth, inaudible sighs and throaty purrs of pleasure. Coating my hair in a rich cream with the same exuberance he’d washed it, a breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he says, “The noises you make.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I’m not sure if I’m telling him or myself, as I rinse and wring my hair, fastening the locks in a loose pile on top of my head.
He hums under his breath, drawing me back to sit between his legs when he takes a seat on the stone ledge hidden beneath the ripples.
“And what if I’d like to hear those noises every night?” he says into my ear as he palms my back with a thick cake of floral soap, digging his thumbs in and working the knots at the base of my neck.
“Fates,” I groan.
If I ever had doubts about the capabilities of the male’s hands, they are all laid to rest the moment he begins patiently kneading the tight muscles between my shoulders, turning them into well churned butter. Another moan slips past my lips.
This is it. The moment I can die happy.
His lips brush the shell of my ear when he whispers, “Keep making those noises, and I’ll need to excuse myself.”
My stomach flutters, my core tightening with a flex when I feel the firm press of his desire against my back. His hands make their way to the dimples above my backside, and I find myself wishing for the devotions of those talented fingers elsewhere. He had, after all, made it clear that he is more than willing to offer whatever ministrations I choose to allow.
Leaning my head back to rest against his shoulder, I twine his fingers with my own and lead his hand to the tender pink flesh at the center of my breast. Pulling my body against his, he moans at the press of my ass against his length. When his free hand stills, hesitating on my thigh, I open my legs—the invitation taken the moment I part for him. His thumb rounds that sensitive bundle of nerves and I suck in a breath that gets trapped in my lungs.
My hands latch onto his thighs, and my stomach contracts. The promise of my release already swelling inside me, but it’s too soon, and I want more. When he pinches the supple flesh of my nipples and I recall the way his tongue felt on my breast, the way his fangs grazed my flesh, I break from his hold and spin to face him. I’m not eager to chase after my pleasure so quickly.
The look he gives me is pensive and unsure, until I seat myself on his lap, straddling his thighs. His jaw bounces at the end and he palms the globes of my ass, pulling me against him. I release a sigh when that little nubof aching flesh is pressed against the firm proof of his longing. I rock my hips, gliding myself up and down his length, the torturous build of my release beckoning me, begging for more. I press against him harder and shudder as I writhe along his shaft.
“Foc,” he groans. And there is a deadly promise behind the male’s eyes when he says, “I intended tonight solely for your pleasure, but if you keep that up, I’m not sure how the evening will end.”
The longing in his voice is enough to send me over the edge. I quaver a moan, peaking near his base. When I’m too caught up in my own release to continue, his hand moves between my legs, and he works me through every blissful tremor until my body stills. Too soon, it’s over. I should have drawn it out. I could have. I think.
His hand cups me between my legs and he slides a finger into my folds as his breath tickles my ear. “I want to taste you.”
“What?” I ask, my eyes dragging along the pointed tips of his fangs.
Another finger flicks at my overstimulated nub and I gasp.
“Let me taste you.”
It isn’t a demand, and I have no idea what he’s asking for, but when he strums that sensitive mound of flesh again, I moan and nod. I regret the loss of his hand between my thighs immediately. Why am I agreeing to anything that stops the male from continuing in his pursuit of my pleasure? Before I know what’s happening, he hooks my legs around his waist and walks us out of the pool, into the swirling mist of the washroom, his rigid length pressed between his belly and my core.
Setting me on the stone vanity he pins me with a heated stare. His lips fall against my own, his tongue flicking against them, needy and demanding. I open for him, caressing his tongue with mine. His fingers twine among the spirals of my hair, loosening the bind until the strands fall to sweep against my lower back.
His mouth drops to my neck, then my breast. My nipple teased, first by his tongue and then, by the edge of a sharp fang. I gasp in want and longing when I feel the tip of his length teasing my entrance. He brings his hips forward, brushing his shaft over that bundle of nerves, watching me quiver before sliding his hand up my belly and between my breasts, pushingme down onto my back.
Every drop of blood in my body rushes to my cheeks when he hooks my knees over his shoulders and his eyes rake across every inch of my bare flesh. His gaze falls between my legs and he goes completely still. His face a mixture of reverence and need that I can hardly stomach, much less understand. When I think it’s too much, and that maybe this has all been a horrible idea, he leans down and kisses my belly. My stomach flutters.
His fangs graze the flesh of my thigh, followed by the swipe of his tongue. Every press of his lips chasing after the searing ache his fangs leave in their wake. And then, the heat of his breath is on my core, his tongue licking greedily.
I gasp, my body tensing involuntarily as I shudder. His tongue swipes at the wet heat of my passion, lapping me up like the male is dying of thirst, and I, the only oasis in his desert. His tongue moves north, and I moan when he sucks and flicks at that little bud of nerves. My back arches off the marble, fingers weaving into his hair, and my breath gets caught in my lungs when his tongue thrusts into my core. My body clenches around him and he moans into my depths, pleased by my response to his devotions.
When his tongue flattens, dragging itself north again with the agonizing promise of ecstasy, I begin to come undone. My fingers tighten in his hair as the tension builds. My breath quickens and when his tongue flicks against me again I tremble out my release in a deep contented sigh, my back arching off the marble. His tongue works me through every jolting wave that flows through my body and when I fall slack against the stone beneath me, he lands a gentle kiss on that tender, sensitive mound of flesh that tightens my core as I tremble.
I don’t blame him for the self-satisfied look he wears when he leans down, giving me a chaste kiss. But I don’t want chaste, and my tongue laps up the glistening proof of my fulfilled desire on his lips. He devours me and I moan into his mouth, tasting my passion on his tongue. I’m pleased when he deepens the kiss, willing to give me everything I ask for in this moment.
My stomach dips when his tip bumps against my entrance. His lips break from my own and he searches my eyes.
Sitting on the edge of the vanity with the male between my legs I tellmyself not to look down. What’s between his legs is none of my business. Is it? It could be. Still. I shouldn’t.
