I had expected another soul-shattering kiss. Instead, the rough motion dislodged a gasp from me, threads of hair falling over my face, my breasts inflating and collapsing through the vent in my cloak.
Then I realized. Aire might be a saint, but he wasn’t a softie.
He’d done many things before, with many women. This man could be patiently attentive, erotically romantic, and graciously sensual. Sensory powers or not, he could be visceral to the point of shocking.
If he wanted, this warrior could fuck like a gentleman. And make love like a beast.
My walls pooled with fluid. Aire ducked his head, staring over my shoulder. Both of us observed as one gloved hand made the excruciating climb up my inner limb, grazing the side of my knee, skimming the ledge of my thighs. Chills shimmied in his wake, the supple glide of leather penetrating me to the core while the opposite hand secured my leg in place, keeping my thighs sheared apart.
My joints relaxed. My legs fell wider, splaying for his touch.
The backs of his knuckles teased me, skating toward the curves of my ass, then the gulf of my limbs. He progressed at a leisurely pace, prolonging the agony, a whimper sticking to the roof of my mouth. And at last, those fingers dragged to the soaked trench of my pussy.
I burst into flames. A cry shot from my lips with the might of a cannon, the noise slamming off the tree trunk.
Oh, gods. Aire was touching me. He was fucking touching me.
With a riveted groan, Aire sketched the swells of my cunt through the fabric. His powerful fingers traced with prolonged urgency, etching up and down along the rift. The movements smeared my arousal over the lips, the stimulation causing a dizzy spell, my eyelids lowering.
I did as he bade. I watched this knight fondle my cunt over the drawers, then row the point of his index finger over the split, driving me to madness. He took his measured time, urging more responses from my body, every sound amplifying, every taunt stripping me apart at the seams.
All this upheaval, and Aire hadn’t even pitched a finger inside me yet.
At length, he ascended to my clit. A stuttered noise cracked from my throat as he circled the peg of skin, enlarging it, coaxing it.
“Oh,” I keened. “Oh, fuck.”
“Watch yourself,” the knight hummed against my cheek. “Watch this lovely maidenhead.”
“I’m not a maiden.”
“I don’t bloody care.”
“Then call it what it is,” I choked out. “Let me hear the word.”
Tremors ratcheted across the knight’s big frame. “I cannot say that.”
“With me, you can.” I propped my thighs farther apart, opening wider. “It isn’t demeaning. It’s sexy. You can say anything to me, and it will always be sexy.”
Aire seethed, the edge of his finger stirring my arousal, smearing it over my flanks. “Intimate. Sacred.”
“Primal,” I implored. “Seductive.”
While holding my cunt, he teetered on a precipice. And because I wouldn’t urge this from him if I didn’t think he wanted it, this knight stepped off the edge.
“Your pussy,” he husked.
The word on his tongue. Seasons, I leaked through my drawers, and a mewl curled from my throat. “What about my pussy? What are you going to do to it?”
“I shall make you forget every other soul who’s made this pussy come.” And because he got the hang of things quickly, Aire hummed in satisfaction. “I’ll rub, pump, and climax this exquisite, brazen cunt as if it’s never been worshipped before.”
To demonstrate, he swirled the tip of his digit around my clit. I chanted something indistinguishable, a splintered kind of sound that encouraged him to repeat the delicate motion, then toggle that same finger over the peak until my vision blurred.
The delicious misery went on and on. At this rate, I’d either lose my voice or faint.
My octaves increased, whines hardening into moans. Our gazes stayed rooted to his hand toying with my cunt, saturating the gusset of my knickers.
The instant my arousal glossed his fingers through the textile, Aire rumbled. “I have thought of nothing but this since I tasted your moans on my tongue.”
