If I can restrain my own needs long enough, I plan to tease him, to fondle him until he wants me enough to explode. I must keep my hands away from his stiff member and sensitive stones, for as long as I can.
He repositions himself, standing far enough from the wall that he needs to lean forward to rest his outstretched arms against it. He looks so sexy and strong, even with his undernourished body, and I linger a while before touching him, drinking in the beautiful sight that quenches a deep thirst I didn’t even know was there.
In spite of his time in captivity, the mounds of his ass are hard and round, and I slide my hand lightly over one side.
He sucks in a sharp breath in response. “Thrix, that feels good.”
“Shh,” I say softly. “I need to concentrate.”
Worried about the raw skin on his ankle, I crouch to take a closer look. “Does this hurt?” I trace my finger above the red skin. It doesn’t look quite as bad now I’m up close.
“Am I allowed to speak?” he asks, with amusement in his voice.
“When spoken to.” I grin, loving this reversal. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told only to speak when spoken to. Sometimes by my father or brothers, often by Nurse and by other men at court—most notably Tynan’s grandfather who struck me for speaking.
“I heal faster than most,” Saxon says, his deep voice causing another tight contraction between my legs. “I always have. I now assume it’s because I’m a shifter.”
“That’s interesting.” And does explain why he’s so strong, after being in chains for so long. He must have moved as much as he could within his constraints, because I’m not looking at the body of a man who’s been sitting still for several moon cycles.
I let my fingers trail over his strong feet, and he twitches when my touch slips under the edge of one arch. Saxon is ticklish. Noted. Then I circle the ankle bone of the uninjured leg and slide one hand over each of his calves, loving their strong, ropey shapes, and the soft hairs covering his shins.
He twitches again when I touch the backs of his knees, and I decide to leave my inspection of the front of his legs, until after I ask him to turn around. Instead, I drag my hands slowly up the backs of his thighs, squeezing at times and loving how I can feel his muscles flex and relax under my touch.
My fingers slide to the insides of his upper thighs, and he groans. Clearly, he’s as sensitive there as I am. Or something close to it. There’s little evidence of his recent ordeal on the backs of his legsor his buttocks, but I see the scars from his childhood beatings at the hands of the klericks. I trace my fingers over some of the more prominently raised lines.
“For the love of Othrix, ma chérie. I’m going to shoot my seed before you even get close to my rod.”
“Quiet,” I say. “And let’s not invoke the name of that god. Not ever again.”
Grunting, he nods, and I slide my hands over his lower back, then over his ribs. The bruises I saw there have already faded, which makes me incredibly happy, and I let my hands fan out over the expanse of his back, tracing the shape of his muscles—watching and feeling his reactions to my touch.
His shoulders are my favorite part yet, molded into extra hard mounds with his palms braced against the cliff. I’m not tall enough to slide my hands over his arms, so perhaps it’s time to ask him to turn.
Totellhim to turn.
I’m surprised by how much I like this game of giving my former instructor instructions. “Turn around,” I say as firmly as I can.
He reaches for me.
I step back, wagging my finger and shaking my head. “You can’t touch me until I say so.”
A dark grin invades his expression, and the browns in his eyes darken too. Clearly, he also likes this game. His stiff cock is standing straight up, shifting from side to side and clearly seeking the touch of something, anything beyond the air that’s grazing it now.
I start with his arms, then his face, exploring the textures of his golden beard, then his neck and his chest, working my way down his body as slowly as I’m able. But I’m as eager as his cock to have this game reach its logical conclusion. I need to feel him deeply inside me.
My fingers trace through his belly’s ridges. He moans, and his cock shifts. It’s even more difficult to avoid it now, not only because I want to touch it, but also because it seems to be trying to touch me.
I slide my hands down his solid thighs, exploring the mounds of muscle and the ridges above his knees. Then my palms slide down the fronts of his shins and all the way back up again.
My face lingers near the base of his cock, and I consider extending my explorations to his stones and his rod, perhaps even tasting him. I lick my lips, remembering how I saw women in the Darkness taking men deeply into their mouths. I salivate at the mere notion.
“Have I passed inspection?” he asks in a near growl. “Because this torture is far worse than anything I endured in that dungeon. You could ask me anything right now, and I’d tell you.”
Grinning, I rise to full height. “Inspection complete.”
The moment the words are out of my mouth, he moves, taking me with him. In a flash, my feet are off the ground, my back’s against the cliff, and his stiff rod is inside me.
We both cry out in pleasure, and my cunt pulses around him, tightening in waves, like I’ve already reached a climax.
