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Jack doesn’t give me what I want. He seems fully intent on making me work for it. But fuck if it isn’t worth it.
I hold him to me, grinding my pussy against him. The softness of his furry face tickles my thighs.
I’m so close, but I can’t….
I almost let go.
I almost give up.
Take it.
There are so many ways I could interpret that. So I choose the one that should get me what I want. The one that could backfire big time.
Holding his head so he can’t look anywhere but at me, I hold his gaze and push any hint of fear from my voice. “Make me come, Jack.”
Issuing a command to the old gods might as well be asking for death.
A little death….
Jack stills. He watches me for a moment. And for that moment, I think it may have been a mistake. But he shoves me back and this time, there’s no slow rise to the peak.
Jack fucks me with his tongue. He grazes my clit with his teeth and once again, the only word I seem to know is his name.
Jack. Jack. Jack. Jack!
My orgasm is earth shattering.
But maybe that’s because it was delivered by a god.
Whatever the reason, I float back down into myself as though I’m made of nothing more than feathers,
Jack curls me close, holding me against his warm skin and soft hair….
“You have been denying yourself, Lily.” He tips me onto my back, holding himself over me as he studies my face. “Why was that the first time you’ve come on something other than your fingers in years?”
“Because the man I was sleeping with is far too mortal.”
Eyes narrowed, he doesn’t look like he’s going to say anything else. He holds up a small chocolate egg. “You’ll need to gain your strength back.”
“With sugar?”
One brow raises and he presses the smooth chocolate to my lips. I take it, despite my skepticism.
I let it linger on my tongue, melting, mixing with the taste of him.
He could be as addicting as chocolate…. And twice as deadly.
And eat it too
It quickly becomes clear there is no such thing as morning here.
I’m not even sure time passes at all. But when I wake, it’s against Jack’s chest. His fingers draw circles over my back.
The mask should have dug into my face or shifted while I slept, or something, but it acts like it’s made to mould seamlessly with my skin.
“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
“No.” I hate the flicker of panic that shoots through me. Not because of what I might have said here, but what Jamus might have heard before.
