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He laps at the wine and my nipple in one slow, long lick with that thick tongue of his, pinning me with his gaze. Delicious desire spirals through me as if I’m the one enjoying the decadent drink, but my mouth goes dry, my lips chapped.
“So sweet,” he whispers against my breast. “Almost as sweet as your pretty, pink cunt. Speaking of which, I need to sample all my offering. Such sacrifice deserves to be worshipped.” He lifts the goblet and tips it, the liquid rushing to the rim and hanging there as if waiting for his permission to let gravity take over so it can splash onto my skin.
He wouldn’t. I stare in anticipation, unable or perhaps unwilling to move. The wine spills red against my pale skin, running in rivulets along my breasts, my belly, my rolls. Sticky sweetness permeates the air, chasing away the climax that had been circling with his touch, his mouth, his words. He pulls the goblet along my body, pouring in a steady trickle as he goes, until he tips the rest over my hips to let it trail toward my core.
“You made a mess.” My voice lacks the scolding that I’d meant. No, it comes out as a plea, a damn near whine.
“I intend to clean it up.” Leander lowers his head and begins to lick, to lap, to slurp as if I’m the offered sacrament instead of the wine. My heart pounds at the pressure of his tongue against my sensitive skin, and my body clenches at the hollowness where I need him to fill me.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Mmm.” His hum vibrates against my core as he nuzzles me there where I need him, his licks of my thighs tempting and yet lacking. “Please what? You have to tell me.”
“You. I want you.” The breathiness steals any strength from my answer. I blame Leander’s hot breath against my clit.
“How, precisely? You must be specific with your ask or I’ll keep at this until you shake, until you cry, until you beg.” He would, too. The threat’s as monstrous as he’s ever been with me.
“I want you inside me.” Unable to keep still, I writhe, twisting in the blankets. I would climb him if I could, if I could take that enormous erection that I know is beneath his clothes and sink onto it. But he presses me flat with one hand, the weight not hurting but reminding me of his strength.
He smells of earth and beast and sin above the sweet wine. “My tongue, my fingers, my cock?” The trail of his knuckles along my thighs makes me squirm. “Which do you want inside you?”
Each stroke of his touch reminds me of the ecstasy he has wrung from me over and over since that first kiss, as he calls it. The memory of him dropping to his knees and eating me out as though he could feast the entire night? It has lust pooling in my belly. What else could it be? This clawing, all-consuming burn that tears up my center?
“Everything,” I tell him, not able to hide the desperation. “I need all of you.”
“I’ll tear you apart.” His warning comes out on a growl.
“I might come apart if you don’t.” So many orgasms and still I feel empty. Power radiates off him, and the sizzle of something dangerous crackles over me. Magic? I wonder.
As if I flipped an imaginary switch, Leander’s restraint snaps. He licks, invades, sucks, and claims. My body’s on fire beneath his hot breath and blunt teeth and hard hands. I shake under his phantom weight, under the mere fantasy of wanting more. Of needing more.
His touch possesses, demanding that I submit to him as he brings me to climax under his mouth and hands. Gasping and panting, riding the waves of the orgasm that punches through me like a fist smashing glass, I shatter again and again.
He stalks toward the chalice, the ornamental box, the other end of the altar, and I almost tell him to get back over here and finish what he has started as cool air rushes over my sweaty skin. But I don’t have the breath or the strength. Hell, I can barely push onto my elbows and lift myself up off the pillows that are made for sinking into. My vision narrows to Leander, the glimmer on his nose ring from the reflection of light off the golden statue, the way his horns curl out from the messy hair that sticks up like a crown, the huge muscles in his arms that ripple when he opens the box.
“What are you doing?” I ask, grumpy coming through. So much for being the sunshine of this relationship. I’m sated and buzzing on a post-orgasm high, but still so needy, so demanding.
“Preparing you.” He uncorks a sparkling glass bottle like one of the many sold at the market, and the scent of vanilla tickles my nose. When he shucks his pants, I almost topple off the altar for a better view. Other than the shower and a little touching, he has made me keep my hands to myself. I would let it make me self-conscious, yet his fear over magic spreading because he can’t control it around me? Yeah, that leaves me feeling like a goddess instead.
“I’m good,” I tell him, spreading my thighs wide because holy hells he is huge. “Totally ready.” May never be in this lifetime, but I’m not telling him that. “Bring it.” My bravado has even me believing the lie. I reach for him, thumbing his foreskin back to reveal the piercing. I can barely wrap my hand around his shaft. “Such a naughty king,” I chide.
“I’ll have a satisfied queen once you squeeze me with that tight cunt. But first—” He pours oil from the bottle onto his hands and strokes me. The slick feel has me relaxing as his thick fingers push into me, coaxing my body open for him.
I sigh, and Leander moves faster, harder. He pumps two and then three fingers into me, filling me up. The obscene, wet sounds should make me burn from embarrassment, but I can’t do anything but chase another release. “Almost,” I whisper, wriggling closer.
Except Leander flips me over, pushing me on my stomach into the cushions that he drags beneath me. My knees ride near my breasts and my legs splay, offering my ass up to him. My face flames where it’s pushed against the soft pillows. I pull one beneath me, adjusting until I’m as comfortable as I can be while this vulnerable and exposed.
Leander’s mouth delves between my cheeks, and I wriggle away in shock, except he holds me in place. To have his tongue there while he circles my clit with oil-slicked fingers?
I’m overwhelmed and yet I’m empty. “Please,” I whine, arching my back and pushing my ass against him.
“You want me inside you?”
“Yes.” I hiss the word, grabbing for him and rising up, but he pushes me back to the blanket, capturing my wrists. I’m helpless, stretched out for him to taste and touch, and the surrender steals over me, stopping my struggles. This is what I want. Why fight?
He nuzzles the small of my back, his nose ring cool against the dip there. “Give me permission to fuck you until you scream, until you pass out, until you can’t walk right, until you can’t live without my cock. Say yes.”
I nod until the blankets burn against my cheek, my curls come loose and blind me. “Yes, yes, yes.”
