His lips lower to mine and the laughter is gone instantly.
“That’s not happening,” he murmurs. He presses down with a demanding kiss and pries my mouth open with his lips, breathing in my breath as a sultry smile tips the corners of hislips. “You belong in my bed,” he grumbles, and the muscles in my core flutter, my hips shifting against his.
“Do you know how hard it has been to keep my hands off of you?” His free hand moves again, his palm flat against my skin, and I gulp in anticipation of his touch. “Do you know it’s been driving me insane laying next to you every night knowing I couldn’t come near you?” He shifts his body, his hips falling to the side as his hand travels lower, the calluses from years of handling a sword rough on my skin as he continues to tease me.
“I seem to remember you inflicting that torture on yourself,” I rasp.
“And I’d do it again and again if it means you’re the last thing I see before I fall asleep, and the first thing I see when I wake. I’d gladly endure that pain just so I get to breathe in your scent on my sheets and lie in jealousy that my shirt gets to touch every inch of you when it should be me caressing your skin. I’d do it all again knowing you are safe, and nothing can harm you even though the guilt I live with every day, feeling like I hurt you by trapping you here, feels like a thousand blades stabbing through my chest.”
A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it down. This whole time I thought Weston was annoyed by me, that he was using me as a pawn in his fight against Dane, but really I was torturing him, making him feel things he hasn’t for years, if ever. Even when we were becoming friends, when I started developing true feelings for him that would one day turn into more, he kept enduring the pain just so he could be around me.
I thought this was all because of his duty and oath, that he was just like everyone else back in the castle, their relationships with me based on requirement first, and friendship next, but it wasn’t. It was for me, all of it.
How wrong I have been.
I tug my wrists down, fighting against his firm grip. I need to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin and ground myself to this man who has held himself back from me for so long. He releases them, and my hands find his face, pulling him back down to me and pouring everything I feel into this kiss. My blood heats even more as his body presses into mine, his skin soft and flush against me, and I want more.
“Weston,” I moan, reaching down toward his pants.
He plants another firm kiss before leaning back, a small crease between his brows.
“There’s been no one else?” he asks, his chest grumbling against mine.
“No,” I say, and pull my lower lip between my teeth. “Only you.”
“Do you know—” he starts, but I cut him off, nodding rapidly.
“Yes. I know. I’ve read enough of Tila’s books.”
A slow smile brightens his face. “We’re going to talk about how Tila hid those books from two young boys another time,” he says, and I can’t contain my laughter. His eyes sparkle as he watches me laugh, but it stops quickly, replaced with heaving breaths as I watch him move to kneel between my legs.
“I’ll go slow,” he says softly, running his fingers up the inside of my thighs, then circling around and down, just to repeat it all again. My eyes fall down, his obvious excitement bulging in his pants, and my hips wiggle with anticipation. “Tell me if you want to stop, and I will. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I nod quickly, and watch as he reaches for the top of his pants, undoing the button and laces, his focus not straying from me the entire time.
My face tingles under his gaze as I watch him slowly lower his pants, freeing himself from the confines. The only male form I’ve ever seen is a figment of my imagination, but even Weston outshines anything I’d conjured in my mind. My mouth dries atthe sight of him; his impressive length hard and smooth, with a bead of liquid at the tip.
I can’t look away. Excitement and nerves course through me as he slowly removes the rest of his pants, tossing them off the side of the bed and kneeling back between my thighs. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he slowly strokes himself, and my core throbs, anticipating the feel of him inside me.
“It will be better if you’re ready for it,” he says quietly. “Do you want my tongue again?” he asks, and I nod vigorously, my legs falling wider as I open myself up to him. He smirks and leans forward, adjusting himself so he can run the tip of his tongue up my core, keeping his eyes on me the entire time. I buck my hips and cry out, my hands fisting the sheets, this time having something to grab on to. He licks again, flattening his tongue before swirling it repeatedly, and I see stars.
“Fuck, Weston!” I scream and look down to find him grinning at me.
“You can scream my name as much as you want, my queen.” He swirls his tongue again, and I clamp my eyes shut, reveling in the feel of him. The wet heat turns to pressure as he slides a finger inside of me, a low moan sounding in the room as my hips writhe against his hand.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his hand moving to slowly pump it in and out. My body adjusts, taking his finger slowly, until there’s a slight twinge of pain, the pressure growing as he adds another.
My mouth falls open when he twirls them, his tongue flicking out at the same time and hitting the spot that makes me shake.
“Gods!” I scream, tilting my hips to try to feel more of him. He pumps his fingers again, pulling them in and out slowly before they’re gone completely. The bed shifts under me as he moves, his thighs urging my knees farther up.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Weston says, and they flutter open to find him hovering over me, his body completely overwhelming mine as he waits for me to be ready.
I pull his face to mine, urging him on. He strokes the tip of himself over my core, the bead of liquid mixing with the slick between my thighs, and I gasp into his mouth. His teal eyes lock on mine as he lines himself up and slowly pushes inside, just the tip, before he stops and waits for me to adjust. My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I pull him closer, silently telling him to keep moving.
He pushes in farther and the pressure overwhelms me, pulling and stretching me to take him. My back arches, a cry catching in my throat, as he continues the slow torture, never rushing, and his eyes never leaving me.
I feel like I’m being split in half, the size of him impossible to fully allow, but I know when he is fully seated. His forehead drops to my shoulder, and he holds himself over me, groaning into my skin.
