“What are we doing here?”
He locked the door behind them, then turned to check the window—shut. Only dim afternoon light filtered through the slats of the wooden stall, draping everything in golden shadow.
“We're here,” he said, stepping toward her, voice low and lethal, “to take the edge off before I have to fly back to London and start going mad thinking about you again.”
His hand slipped around her neck, holding her gently, firmly.
“I can’t,” she whispered, pupils already wide with lust. “My shoulder…”
“You won’t have to do anything, cariad.” His lips hovered over hers. “Let me take care of you. Do you trust me?”
When he slid his thumb over her lower lip, then gently into her mouth, she took him in eagerly—popping it between her lips, sucking slowly, eyes locked on his like she was starving.
“I do,” she breathed.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “But I need you to remember how fucking good we are together. No games. I’m done pretending we don’t want this.”
And before she could argue—because shewould—he pressed his lips to hers. A devouring, soul-stealing kiss. Desperate, dizzying. Tongues tangled. Teeth grazed. She moaned into him as he deepened it, hand trailing down to her breast, stroking over her sweater until her nipple peaked beneath the fabric.
She gasped when he guided her backward, carefully helping her onto the table. Her legs opened for him instinctively, inviting him in.
“You’re going to be quiet, cariad,” he murmured, brushing his nose along her throat. “Just soft moans. Whispers. No one can know I’m about to ruin you in the middle of a damn market.”
He kissed the sling over her shoulder, reverent, then returned to her lips.
Her right hand found his hair, fingers carding through it as she sighed, “They’re so soft. I’ve wanted to touch them since the day I saw you.”
“I’vealwaysbeen yours to touch, Alejandra.” He smirked. “But now… letmetouch you.”
He unbuttoned her jeans, dragging them down gently, watching for any wince. Her panties were already soaked. Pale green. Lace.
“Anything hurt?” he asked, kneeling between her thighs.
“No,” she whispered. “Please. Do it.”
Begging. Fuck. Music to his ears.
“As you wish, brenhines.”
He licked the full length of her slit, groaning at the taste of her. She tasted like sin and sunlight. Her hips bucked, her fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper, closer.
He inserted one finger. She clenched.
Two. She whimpered.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice a rasp against her thigh. “Look how fucking good you look on my face. Your cum. Your mess.Mine.”
She opened her eyes, dilated, wild.
He added a third finger and curled, pumping hard, mouth latching to her clit with precision that made her jerk. Her good hand gripped his head, trying to anchor herself as her legs started to shake.
“I can feel it,” he growled. “You’re about to shatter for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—don’t—”
He didn’t. He doubled down, tongue relentless, fingers merciless, until she shattered, hips bucking, moaning his name like a prayer. Her thighs clamped around his face, and he let her ride it out, tasting every last drop of her release. He would have died there.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, breathless. “Let me touch you.”
