A shaky breath leaves her. "That is a sweeping diplomatic position, Your Highness."
"It is a fact." I stroke my thumb along her cheekbone, down to the corner of her mouth. "You are everything a man could want. Everything a mate could dream of. Your mind. Your temper. Your ambition. Your honesty.” I trace her face, loving the feel of her. “But that’s just the inside. I’ll allow them that excuse. But the outside, there’s no excuse. Your beautiful skin.” I entwine her brown fingers with my blue ones, admiring the contrast. “Your curves.” I glide my hands from shoulder bones to waist. “Your scent.” I nuzzle her neck and take an intoxicating whiff. “Your mouth.” My thumb presses lightly against her lower lip, and it parts. "Your softness. Your strength. The way you risk everything for stories that matter. The way you stand in front of power while your hands shake and still seek the truth."
Her eyes shine. Tears gather, but pride holds them hostage. Some part of her chooses to believe me. "Show me," she whispers. "Show me what they were too stupid to want."
Reverence slows me where fever would make me rough. I strip her carefully, not because I lack hunger, but because every revealed inch deserves to be adored. Her blouse. Her bra. Herskirt. Each layer falls away, and her body answers my gaze with a responsiveness that makes my ears rotate frantically, tracking every gasp, every small catch in her breathing, every pulse of slick-sweet need. She is lush and trembling, thighs parting when I kneel, hands twisting in the sheets.
My mouth greets her pussy, paying homage.
Her whole body jerks. One hand flies to my hair, the other to my ear. Her fingers close around the pointed tip by accident, and pleasure slices through me at the same time her slick floods my tongue. I groan against her. The purring vibration makes her hips buck, and the taste of her deepens, hot omega need meeting the Layn response in my saliva. The chemical reaction starts at once. My tongue surfs over her clit, and her thighs open wider, muscles softening beneath my hands.
"Oh." Her voice tears on the small word. "Oh, that's..."
She does not finish. Good. Words are not needed… yet.
I lick her slowly at first, learning the shape of her, the places where her breath catches, the pressure that makes her legs shake. My tongue carries what my body made for her, a mate aphrodisiac that loosens tissue, deepens slick, opens an omega for a claiming that would otherwise demand too much too soon. Clinical knowledge has never prepared me for this. No text, no anatomy archive, no breeding manual captures the living truth of my mate under my mouth, growing softer, wetter, more desperate with each stroke of my tongue.
Her grip on my ear tightens.
Pleasure makes my hips jerk against nothing. My cock throbs, heavy and neglected, but the need to taste her outranks the need to enter. Her fingers drag along the sensitive inner ridge of my ear, clumsy at first, then more deliberate when my groan gives me away. She learns fast, even half lost to mate heat. The wicked intelligence that challenged me now devotes itself to destroying my control one trembling stroke at a time.
"Like that?" she whispers.
I answer by sucking her clit into my mouth.Little witch. “What about you? Do you like this?” I cover her pussy from hood to opening and suck her into my mouth, using my tongue to rim her channel before puffing my cheeks to blow.
Her back bows. Her hand clamps on my ear, and the pain-pleasure sends another groan rolling through me. She cries out, and I slide one finger through her slick to her entrance. Her body tightens at the first pressure. I stop there, tongue circling, sucking, soothing until the tightness melts.
"Let me in," I murmur against her.
Her thighs shake. "Yes."
One finger enters her slowly. Her pussy grips me, hot and untried, but the aphrodisiac has already made her slick enough to take the stretch without pain. I keep my mouth on her while I work that finger deeper, then back, then deeper again. Her body learns the motion in small pulses. The fear in her scent thins. Need overtakes it.
"You're so tight," I say against her. "So wet for me."
Her breath shudders. "Don't say things like that."
"Why?"
"Because it makes me worse."
I press another kiss to her clit. "Good."
She makes a helpless sound when I add the second finger. Slow. Careful. My tongue does not stop. Her hands move fully to my ears now, both of them, her fingers stroking, pinching lightly, rubbing the sensitive edges as if she understands that my pleasure matters in this too. My body turns fever-bright under her touch. My cock leaks against my stomach. Each stroke of her fingers makes my mouth more desperate, and each pass of my tongue makes her wetter around my hand.
This is not foreplay. That human word is too small. This is preparation, devotion, mating logic written in flesh andchemistry. Her body yields to my mouth by degrees. Her inner muscles flutter around my fingers. Her clit swells under my tongue. The scent of her slick becomes so rich I lose the edges of thought.
She comes with my fingers inside her and my mouth sealed over her clit.
Her cry breaks open above me. Her thighs clamp around my shoulders, and her body clenches around my fingers in tight, wet pulses. I hold her through it, licking her softer, carrying her down one stroke at a time. Her hands stay on my ears. Even in the aftermath, her thumbs move in slow, dazed passes that keep pleasure rolling through my body until I am shaking as hard as she is.
When I lift my head, she looks wrecked.
Beautiful.
Mine.
I kiss my way up her stomach, over the trembling muscles there, between her breasts. Her bra still covers them. An unacceptable situation. I reach behind her, unclasp it, and strip the lace away. Her breasts fill my hands, heavy and perfect, nipples tight against my palms. She watches my face while I touch her, guarded even now, waiting for some shadow of disappointment.
