“If you wish.”
He was quite fond of saying that. But if it got Maeve what she wanted, she wasn’t opposed to letting him think it was for her.
Believing his pupils needed to be a bit wider before he took initiative, Maeve caught his attention by reaching for the bow of her stays. He watched her, not breathing nor blinking, as she undid the silk ribbon, loosening and then pulling off her stays. Next went her skirts, pooling at their feet on the floor. Soren helped her step out of the circle of them, and she gasped happily when he used his hold on her hand to pull her into the bulk of his body.
In one smooth movement, he caught her against him and rolled her under him. There were so many things to try with him, but given the way his pupils blew wide seeing her pinned beneath him, Maeve knew this was where to start.
Soren needed little coaxing to lean down for a kiss. It probably should’ve worried her how fast a study he was, his tongue teasing and chasing as much as hers, but when a paw strayed to the hem of her shift, there wasn’t time to think or worry about anything other than the gentle scrape of his claws as he drew the thin linen up her thigh.
Maeve dug her fingers into his mane as his traced the top of her stocking. She hadn’t had a chance to take them off yet, either, but the idea of him doing it for her had her kissing him harder.
While not as heated as last night, nor as ruthlessly seductive as a practiced lover, Soren’s touch nevertheless had her skin breaking out in gooseflesh wherever he went. She shivered and shuddered, grinding her back teeth as he took his sweet time working his hand between her thighs.
“Soren,” she whined.
He purred soothingly, keeping his touch light, almost exploratory. His fingertips found her underthings, and she felt his nostrils flare with the discovery. Gently, reverently, he pushed the delicate fabric aside to run the pad of a finger down her slit, opening her for more touches.
Soren hissed to feel how ready she was for him.
“So wet,” he rumbled.
“Want you,” she breathed into his mouth.
He gave her more kisses instead, pressing their lips together until hers felt swollen and bruised, even if he was gentle. His fingers strummed her in maddeningly light strokes, playing in her wetness. It was almost as if he was avoiding her clitoris, only barely brushing the underside with his thumb every so often.
She didn’t want to rush him, really she didn’t, but the day’s need curled painfully tight inside her, a band pulled taut and ready to snap.
Just when she was about to moan his name again, his lips left hers. She nearly ordered them back, bereft without his warmth, but then his lips and tongue were teasing down her cheek, her neck, her chest. He took a moment to bury his nose between her breasts, still covered by her shift, before tracing the tip down the center of her.
It was Soren’s turn to slip off the bed, and Maeve gasped in delight when he took her by the hips and tugged her to the edge. Her inner thighs each received a kiss before either leg was tossed over a shoulder.
Like this, he had a full, unobstructed view of her as he pushed her shift up to her waist. As for Maeve, she could just see above his eyes and the rounded swells of his shoulders. Those eyes were focused, almost alarmingly so; not dazed like before, no, but a hunter focused on its prey. Her pulse fluttered in excitement.
Hands spanning her hips, Soren parted her with his thumbs. A groan escaped his lips as he revealed her to his voracious gaze. She wanted to squirm, to not be so exposed, but then the pad of a thumb pressed against her opening.
“So pink,” he purred. Maeve could feel the grin twitching at his lips. “You are very soft here, too.”
All she could do was moan, head tossed back onto the coverlet when his mouth finally fixed onto her clitoris and sucked. She nearly saw stars, back arching, and it didn’t take many licks of that textured tongue to have her flying over her first peak.
That was to be expected; she’d been in a state all day.
But Soren was relentless, even greedy. Feeling her come against his mouth, he renewed his efforts, cupping her clitoriswith his tongue before teasing it with the tip. Maeve hadn’t come down from the first peak before he was pushing her up the slope again, tongue lapping at her mercilessly.
Burying her fingers in his mane, Maeve held on, hips rocking, as he kissed and licked and sucked. Nothing but incoherent mewls and moans escaped her lips, but it was a yelp of surprise and pleasure when his questing tongue speared inside her. Her muscles clenched down on him, and Maeve came and came.
He was still licking, fingers kneading her thighs, when sight and sound returned to her.
“Soren…” Surely it was his turn by now. She didn’t think she could take any more.
But he merely growled at her unspoken suggestion. His fingers replaced his mouth as he lifted his head to say, “Not yet,” and Maeve had no choice but to fall back into the bed and melt.
It was later, much later, when she awoke beside Soren. Maeve blinked awake slowly, not recognizing the strange bed at first.
The lights and fire had burned low, and the darkness outside was that of the deepest hours of night. She blinked blearily at the cabin, memory coming back to her.
After trading orgasms back and forth, she and Soren had finally collapsed into bed. He’d just managed to pull the coverlet up over them before they fell asleep together.
Now she found herself cuddled up in his arms, her cheek pressed into the meat of a furred pectoral. At some point, he’d thrown off his tunic and her stockings, although his kilt and her shift had remained.
