Kneeling before him, my eyes catch on the rivulets streaming between the lines of his abdomen. I follow that trail down, fixated on the movement of the water until I’m gazing wantonly at his hard length. Conversations with Riah play in my mind, of how she captured the rapture of her own male on her tongue.
I look up at him, a muscle bouncing at the edge of his jaw as he stares down at me. His chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as I lean in, swiping my tongue across the salty bead at his tip.
“Foc,” he sighs, my stomach dipping when he threads his fingers through my hair.
I run my tongue from his tip to his base then back again, delighted by the male’s groans. I test my mouth around his girth, stretching my jaw in a way I’ve only done when overcome with a deep yawn. I begin to wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. Seeing the trepidation in my eyes, he cups my jaw tenderly, adjusting the angle, showing me how to take him in.
Breathing becomes easier, and I feel a heady rush as he slides his length deep into the back of my throat. I observe him closely as I draw him from between my lips and back again. I note every twinging muscle, listen to every deep sigh, commit to memory each twist and purse of my mouth that makes the male’s pulse quicken. His hands tighten in my hair as I milk a deep rumbling moan from his throat.
My name is a whispered prayer on his lips when his hips buck, thrusting him deep. I feel his passion rise as he tugs back, attempting to draw himself out of my mouth. But Riah had been thorough in her description of how I could ensure his most exquisite release. So, I tighten my grip on his hips and pull him into the back of my throat as he tremors, spilling himself deep inside.
The taste of his ecstasy slicks my tongue as he withdraws from me. The flavor of his passion, not at all unpleasant, is well worth the fire that burns in his eyes when he draws me to my feet. He wipes the last remnant of his desire from my bottom lip with a slow swipe of his calloused thumb. Fascination, reverence, awe, all of these swirl in the storm of his eyes as he gazes at me from under the steaming water.
One step forward and he’s captured my mouth, his tongue delving greedily after the proof of my efforts. His nose brushes mine affectionately when our lips part. With one hand he pulls the lever, halting the steady stream from the ceiling, and grasps a thick towel with the other.
I know what comes next, and I don’t want to lie to him when he asks me again. I can’t stay. I would. Gladly, I would, if I were a different woman, but I’m not. And I was born to earn this male’s hatred. Maybe it makes me a coward, but I don’t think I can stomach seeing it in his eyes. I’m not sure I’d survive witnessing the moment he discovers what I truly am.
A low rumble in his chest pulls me back into the present, and I glance at him briefly, before my eyes dart away from the intensity of his gaze. I’ve let something slip, standing across from him, lost in my thoughts. I’m not sure what he’s just witnessed but it’s clear he doesn’t care for it.
He wraps the towel around my shoulders and pulls me a step closer. I close my eyes when his lips land on my temple, willing myself to memorize the feel of them. They capture the lobe of my ear, and I sigh contentedly, leaning into his body. He lingers on the spot, biting gently and soothing the sting before moving down my neck with slow, agonizing strokes of his tongue. Each time he ushers a sigh from my lips or a small gasp, he stays, exploring the area until he’s sure he has my pleasure perfected.
An echo of his promised intentions resounds in my mind.I want to know that … where you like to be kissed. How you like to be touched.
The male is diligently working every inch of my body to be sure he discovers exactly that.
I’m not entirely dry when he drops the towel to the floor and palms my backside, hoisting me to straddle his waist. His eyes don’t break from mine as he walks us to the bed. Emotions I don’t recognize, things I’ve never known are silently exchanged between us.
The moment my back hits the bed he continues his thorough exploration of my body. A frustrating and glorious tension building deep inside me when he skips over every tender, sensitive piece of flesh he’s already mastered with his tongue. He’s lavishing his attentions on my ankle when I catch the glint of his fangs in the first rays of sunlight that filter in through the windows. I don’t have to glance down to see that he shares the deep growing need wetting my core.
His eyes burn through me when he says, “I’ve already told you that I am yours.” He leans over me, my breasts pebbling against his chest as it brushes against me. “Now let me show you what it means to bemine.”
My stomach dips at the gravel in his tone when he says it. Before I understand what he intends, the male lays down on his back, lifts me over his head, and settles my legs on either side so that I straddle his face. My cheeks burn, but before I can squirm out of his grasp his hands palm my ass and his tongue swipes at my entrance. He moans at the taste and my kneesquake, threatening to collapse.
His hands move from my backside to my hips, encouraging me to partake in his greedy tongue. It only takes a small pitch of my torso and that tender nub he’s been careful to avoid in his trail of kisses is being diligently teased between lips and teeth.
He smiles when I moan and, gripping my hips, he pulls me down onto his face. It’s all the encouragement I need to take full advantage of the position, and I press myself against his ravenous mouth.
His. That’s what he said. And I can’t deny that in this moment I want to be exactly that.
His tongue delves deep inside me, as his thumb strums between my legs causing my breath to catch in my lungs. He moans into my core when I throw my head back and tremor out my pleasure, his tongue offering a caress and flick at my nub with every rapturous quake.
With a self-satisfied smile and kiss to that tender mound, he lifts me up and lays me back down, my belly against the silk sheets. He hooks my waist, lifting me onto my knees, he pulls me against him and his thick shaft slides between my legs, gliding across that sensitive rise.
His chest presses against my back when he leans over me, cupping my jaw as he whispers in my ear. “Tell me you will stay with me in A’kori.”
He must feel my apprehension because before I can answer he lines himself up behind me, rises to his knees, and presses against my entrance. The slow stretch as he pushes himself into me draws a loud cry of pleasure from my lips. I clutch the sheets in my fists and bury my face in the duvet.
The male must be proficient at torture, and why hadn’t I suspected that before? He withdraws each tantalizing stroke before I can find the bliss of our completion.
“Xeyvian,” I beg as he teases me, “I want you.”
“I know the feeling,mi’ajna.” His breath caresses my ear. “Say it.”
The demand, the withholding, the torturous promise of rapture if I give in. The male is a demon, and I can’t even convince myself to hate him for it. I attempt to pull away. I won’t let myself lie to him, not about this.
His grip firms on my waist and he sinks himself deep, until his hips bump against my backside and I sigh at the reprieve as he releases a throatygroan of his own. He graces my body with long, slow sweeps that send a shiver up my spine. His lips land between my shoulder blades when he reaches a hand between my legs and rounds that sensitive mound of flesh with his thumb once again.
“Fates.” It passes my lips in a whispered breath as he thrusts himself into me fully. Never have I felt so complete.
