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Cherry dragged her mouth from mine, pressing hot kisses against my cheekbone, my jaw, the side of my neck. There was no reason such a thing should have felt so exquisite. My cock leaped between the crush of our bodies, and Cherry rocked her hips, digging her fingers into my hair.
“You have no idea,” she murmured huskily, “how much I’ve wanted to kiss you again.”
“It is probably good,” I panted hoarsely, “that you have no idea the things I’ve wanted to do to you.”
She grew still.
Oh, well done, Silar. Now you’ve done it.
“What things?” she breathed.
I did not answer, arousal and shame beating through me in equal, toxic measure.
Cherry drew back, her fingers still fluttering through my hair, making my scalp and ears twitch with sensation. She met my gaze steadily. The darkest parts of her eyes were very large, very black. Her skin was flushed, her lips red and swollen, her hair a mussed cascade.
Her beauty was like a blow. It struck me, pained me, made me feel like I was grieving though for what I could not say.
“What things?” she prodded. Brave little Cherry. She did not seem afraid.
She also did not know what she was asking.
“Please, Silar.”
Her eyes were so big. So lovely. I felt like I could fall right into them.
“Please.”
“From the moment I helped you down out of the saddle that first day, I have wanted to rub my hard cock all over your backside.”
Her mouth fell open, her eyes widening, and I knew that I should stop. Stop, and preserve whatever respect my wife still had for me.
But now that I’d started, I could not stop. The words flowed out of me like blood from a wound.
“And not just your backside,” I groaned. “I have dreamed about rubbing myself on your belly, your breasts. Tortured myself with thoughts of what you might look like, smell like, taste like between your legs. I want to suck on your nipples. Put every part of myself inside you that I can. Fingers, tail, cock, tongue. Spill myself into your cunt and even, perversely, outside of your cunt. See what you’d look like dripping with it, absolutely coated in it.”
Cherry drew a shuddering inhale.
“Sorry,” I gritted out. I’d said too much. Gone too far. My fingers tightened on her hips involuntarily, my body already preparing for her flight. “I swear to you that I can control every one of my unnatural urges.”
She cocked her head, her brows puckering.
“Did you just say, ‘unnatural urges?’”
“Yes.” What the blazes else would you call them?
Cherry watched me for a moment, her expression smoothing, then stretching into a grin.
“Oh, my sweet summer Silar,” she sighed.
I frowned. “I was born in winter.”
She chuckled, which confused me, considering I’d just revealed to her how foul the man she married was.
“It’s a human phrase. ‘My sweet summer child.’ It just means somebody is innocent.”
“You think… You think that I am innocent?” I asked, unable to keep the bitter scoff out of my voice. Because there were myriad words to describe me, but innocent was not one of them. Not since my trial, anyway.
But Cherry just jerked her head up and down, undeterred.
