“As I said,” I murmur against the underside of his jaw. “I’ve seen my share of things.”
“What else did you see?” His voice ripples beneath his skin, against my lips...honey on the air. “Show me.”
The encouragement is a heady thing, empowering, and I lack the will to refuse him. I reach around to seize one of his hands, dragging it between us. Clasping his thick wrist, I guide him toward my parted thighs. Once I place his fingers against my sex, he doesn’t need further guidance.
He starts moving, running his fingers in my slickness, sliding against my folds, the rough pads of his fingers perfection on my sensitive flesh. “Oh, you’re lovely, already so wet.”
My face burns hotter. I’m aching and swollen and drenched, panting as he moves with dexterity against my slippery flesh. When he reaches that spot at the top of my sex my entire body jerks.
I’d found that place myself before, exploring my body on more than one occasion in the wretched solitude of my life. I’d also seen other women fall apart when their lovers used either their hands or mouths on them. I don’t know if he’s especially skilled or I’m just so needy, so starved for touch...forthis, for him.
My thighs quiver around his hand and he seizes my right leg, flinging it around his hip, opening me wider for him.
The sudden move shoots pain up my side, and a small cry escapes me.
He stills, clearly recognizing this sound is not one of pleasure.
“Arden?” He draws my name out in a way that demands explanation. His hand leaves from between my legs, and he begins to explore the rest of my body—but not in a sensual manner. Unfortunately.
When he reaches my bruised ribs and prods my skin, I gasp and recoil, trying to escape the pressure of his appraising fingers. He pulls back to peer at the area. I don’t know what he can see, if anything, but I cannot properly evaluate myself from this angle.
His expression turns into something dark and menacing, and I know he can see perfectly, and I suppose it makes sense that his dragon eyes are better than mine.
His hand gentles on my skin, fingers stroking as lightly as a moth’s wings, a direct contrast to his muttered “Fuck. Your skin is black and blue. If I could kill him again I would.”
“It’s nothing,” I reassure. “I will heal.”
“It’s notnothing.” His eyes glitter like burning coal in torchlight. “Don’t you see? When you say that...you’re saying that you are nothing.”
I blink and take a shuddering breath, shaking my head, refuting that despite his logic. “Really. It’s already better than before. Please, just keep touching me.” I just want to feel good things. The good things I never thought I would get to feel.
He hesitates.
“You’re what makes it feel better,” I coax, my fingers gliding down the taut flesh of his arm.
“Arden.” My name sounds thick in his mouth, almost like his inner dragon is emerging. “You’re injured. I won’t fall on you like a—”
I take his hand then, shoving it between my thighs. “This is what hurts. It aches...”
He groans and protests even as his fingers play in my wetness. “Arden, you should—”
I silence him. Cover his mouth with mine, seize his face in both my hands, reveling in the texture of his skin, the scratch of bristle on his cheeks, like he’s the most treasured thing in the world to me and he might deny me this—might take himself away from me.
It’s my first kiss to give. Apparently, observing kissing, sadly, does not mean I’m good at it. I’m pragmatic enough to recognize that.
My lips are everywhere, wild and so excited at the taste of him that I cannot control my clumsiness. His mouth is still under mine for several moments, and a horrible dread fills me. He’s not going to respond. I’m bad at this.
I’ve repelled him. He still thinks I’m too injured.
Crushed, I begin to ease away, ending the sloppy kiss, and then he hauls me back, one of his big hands diving into my hair while his other arm wraps around my waist, forgetting all about his qualms.
I make a sound of gratification: part sob, part moan.
He sits up and positions me atop his lap. Then his hands come down on me—all over me, freely roaming my back and hips, my ass and thighs, stroking, petting me until I’m writhing in his lap, panting hard into his mouth through the growing chaos of our kiss.
Blood pounds in my veins as he takes command, growling against my mouth, “Easy. Slow your lips. Do as I do.”
I breathe through my nose and temper my lips, no longer trying to devour his face with quite so much enthusiasm. I mimic him, grateful for his knowledge, his skill as I take his top lip, going slow as he does. Thorough, building in intensity.
