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My fingers dig into his thighs as the pressure continues building. I’m so close.
He pumps my cock maddeningly slowly, keeping me hovering on the edge of a total, full-body orgasm without ever giving me quite enough to fall over it. Every measured movement drawing out the pleasure until I can barely stand it anymore.
“Please,” I gasp.
He doesn’t change a thing, and it takes longer because he’s teasing me, deliberately keeping me right there. But it feels so incredible that I’m not sure I care how long he makes me wait.
Then it happens.
The most intense, violent orgasm I’ve ever had tears through me, my entire body freezing for a moment before I cry out. Wave after wave washes over me, building and building until I feel my own cum hit my chin and the pleasure finally—finally—begins to recede. He drops onto his forearms, grabs my face, and turns my head so he can lick the cum from me before covering my mouth with his.
He kisses me as his movements grow increasingly uncoordinated, and then there’s a scalding-hot burst inside me as he groans and his body twitches against mine. The sound he makes leaves me convinced that whatever he just felt was every bit as intense for him as it was for me.
He pulls out slowly and flops onto his back beside me. His body trembles as I carefully sit up and turn toward him, leaning over him with one arm resting across his stomach and my other hand against his chest, careful to avoid the scars.
“Now who’s shaking?” I say quietly.
He lifts one hand and cups my cheek. I lower my head as he raises his until our mouths meet again in another kiss.
As I kiss him, I start to wonder if maybe he isn’t the beast I thought he was.
21
Boone
The library is so large that when I stand in the center of it and slowly turn in a circle, I don’t think I manage to see even half the books. Shelves climb from the floor nearly to the ceiling and cover every wall that isn’t occupied by one of the enormous windows. Rolling ladders rest against brass rails, and more books fill freestanding cases arranged throughout the room with enough space between them for old leather chairs and small tables.
“I’ve never seen so many books in all my life,” I say.
Rhys takes a seat in one of the leather chairs beside the fireplace and stretches his legs toward the warmth. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” I turn around again because I genuinely don’t know where to look first. “I love it.”
My fingers trail over the spines as I pass one shelf. Some of the books are newer than others, but most are old enough that the leather has softened and the lettering has faded. There are histories and atlases, collections of poetry, books about plants and animals, and entire shelves devoted to places I’ve only ever heard about.
I glance over my shoulder and find Rhys watching me.
“Tell me. Which is your favorite?”
The question catches him off guard. His expression barely changes, but he goes strangely still, looking toward the shelves and then at me again.
“You don’t have one?” I ask.
“I didn’t say that.”
He stares at me for another second, releases a quiet breath, and gets to his feet. I smile and follow him with my eyes as he crosses the room with purpose. I’d wager Rhys knows where every single book in this enormous room belongs, carefully organized and tended to with the same obsessive attention he gives his gardens. Nothing in his world is neglected. Not the roses. Not the fruit trees. Not these books.
Not me.
He reaches one of the rolling ladders and climbs several rungs, then pushes away from the shelf. The ladder glides smoothly along the brass rail and carries him several feet to the right. He stops without searching and reaches directly for a thick book bound in dark green leather.
I laugh softly.
“What?”
“You knew exactly where it was.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
