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“Easy to say, harder to understand.” I stroke my thumb over her cheekbone. “Tonight we’ll keep things simple enough. Penetrative sex?”
Her eyes get bigger. “Yes,” she whispers.
“Mmm.” I drag my fingertips along her jaw. I should stop for this conversation, shouldn’t be touching her at all, but I can’t seem to help myself when she leans so sweetly against my touch. “Oral sex?”
“Yes.” Belladonna quivers. “Please.”
“Kissing?”
“Yes.”
“Penetration of your mouth, your pussy, your pretty little ass?”
Her quivering becomes shaking, but she nods sharply. “All of it. Everything, Rusalka. I want everything.”
“That will cover tonight’s activities.” Even with verbal consent, I shouldn’t do this. Fool that I am, I can’t deny her. I lean in and press a soft kiss to her full lips. It’s a relatively chaste touch, one completely devoid of tongue, but I use the contact to press my power into her. It bumps up against her shame and then slides beneath and flowers inside her.
The tension bleeds out of her body instantly. She tangles her fingers in my hair and presses harder against me. “Oh.” Belladonna laughs, the sound free and light and stabbing me directly in the chest. She tilts back just enough to press her fingers to her lips. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
I’m not a particularly violent person—there are a thousand better ways to get what you want—but seeing the wonder bloom on her face makes me want to hunt down everyone who warped her concept of pleasure and love to remove them from existence. Shame kills as certainly as a knife. It’s harder to identify—a person can keep walking around while they’re dead inside—but no less real.
She leans forward to kiss me again, but I urge her to stand. “Go play, little one. Enjoy yourself.”
She pouts, all playful disappointment. “But I want to play with you.”
Fire sprouts around me, an external response to my need to give her exactly that. I want her. Desperately. She’s beautiful and kind and far too selfless. I could teach my sweet little human to be selfish, just a little, just enough to take care of herself. To demand the pleasure she’s due.
I simply . . . don’t want it like this.
My fire flickers in her dark-brown eyes and is evident in the way she presses her thighs together, in how she licks her lips. My magic can’t create desire where there is none—my girl wants me—but, though I don’t fault her this, I don’t want her when she has to be blitzed to act on wanting me back.
Romantic fool.
I ignore my own self-condemnation and turn Belladonna around to face my Insomnior Court. “Go, little one.”
She flounces. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and each bouncing step makes her ass jiggle. My mouth waters. I want to explore every inch of her with my tongue. I want to banish my court from the room and keep her all to myself. I want to turn her loose at one of the large parties just to see what mischief she would get up to. I want.
But I don’t do any of that.
Instead of going to the couch with the others to sink into them, I cross one leg over the other and lean back. I’m used to wanting. It makes desire sweeter to be denied.
11
BELLADONNA
Every single time I’ve even thought about sex has come with a lash of knowing I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t lust, shouldn’t fantasize, certainly shouldn’t touch myself. Even when I push back and try to fight it, that feeling of shouldn’t is still there, whispering in the back of my mind. Right now, it’s completely drowned out by the liquid heat in my body.
The need.
“Come here, pretty human.” Zhenya is breathless, probably because ze is on Danik’s cock, rocking in a way that makes my thighs shake.
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Rusalka, but they haven’t moved from their spot on the wide couch. They lounge like I imagine a monarch would, one long leg draped over the arm of the chair, their chin in their hand, amusement and interest in every line of their perfect body.
Is there a word stronger than “need”? There must be, to encapsulate the overwhelming urge I have to turn fully back to them, to kneel before them, to beg them to touch me, fuck me, go down the same list they used earlier, checking off boxes along the way.
But Rusalka waves those long black-tipped fingers at the trio behind me. A clear order. An order that makes my stomach hot and squirmy.
I turn and accept Inna’s waiting hand, allowing them to pull me into Zhenya’s arms. It’s sensory overload. All three of them are so beautiful, so soft, smell so good, it threatens to overwhelm me, even with Rusalka’s magic propelling me.
