“If I want you to stop, I’ll say so.” I crane my neck, meeting his eyes, so he knows I’m serious.
“That will do for now,” Drystan agrees. “We’ll figure out if you’re ready for more when you’re past your fever. Now. Lift. Up. The. Shirt.”
Those words, so clipped and edged in danger, shouldn’t tie my stomach in knots, but they do. Leaning back against Drystan’s chest, I meet Jaro’s eyes in front and bite my lip as I read the worry and reassurance there.
My fingers grip the material so hard that I have the irrational fear my nails will tear it before I raise it just enough to expose my pussy to the cool air.
“Higher.”
I hesitate, but do as he asks, lifting the fabric until it’s bunched at my navel.
“This goes no farther than us five,” Drystan mumbles, releasing the reins to take the shirt from my grip. Tugging the front up even farther, he threads it back down through the neck hole, so my lower body is on full display and my hands are free. “No one else can know. Redcap, vow it.”
“I swear on Danu’s holy tits that I won’t tell anyone about how you lose your head.” Lore grins. “I just want to see if there’s blood or not.”
“There isn’t.”
Lore actually pouts.
The widening of Jaro’s eyes alerts me to what’s happened. Before I can react, Drystan’s hands place his head on the saddle in front of me, wedging his skull between the pommel and my exposed sex.
“Hold on to me,” he murmurs. “I need my hands for riding.Don’tdrop me.”
My hands fist in his long, dark, braided locks, heart in my throat. “Put my mouth to your pussy,” Drystan instructs. “And don’t move.”
Freezing, I shift my eyes between his and Jaro’s. He can’t mean to…
“Was I unclear?” he asks. “Or would you prefer one of the others?”
Swallowing my nerves, I shift his head forward until his nose butts up against my clit.
“Don’t be shy,” Lore croons from beside us. “He wants you to use him to get yourself off. I bet the scent of you is driving him mad.”
I wait for Drystan to refute the statement, or snap another order, but he doesn’t. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he was holding his breath—except how would that be, given that currently, he has no lungs?
A warm, wet, bold stroke snaps me out of my musing before I can fall any further off track, and I squeak in surprise. A second lick turns the sound into a moan, and my hands tug him closer before I know what I’m doing.
“Goddess, I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs against my flesh, the rumble travelling straight through my core to stoke the twisting knot of desire in my lower abdomen.
I’m already resting against him, but my head falls back as he settles in to lick me. I can’t bear the intensity of the stare I can feel drilling into me, and my eyes flutter shut as he traces the contours of my sex, exploring the folds for the first time.
Drystan is Lore’s polar opposite when it comes to this. Where the latter dives in with unrestrained abandon, Drystan treats tasting me with all the clinical attention to detail I’ve come to expect from him. Every touch of his tongue is precise, my reactions measured. If I jerk or moan, he repeats it again, confirming what I like as if he’s committing it to memory.
My fingers flex in his hair as his tongue swirls around my clit, and then his teeth graze it, and I almost drop him entirely. Arousal twists, painfully sweet, and I flush as I feel myself soak his face and the saddle.
So he does it again, harder this time.
“Drystan!” His name falls from my lips in shock, but it turns into a wordless moan as he releases the sensitive bud and sucks away the tiny hurt.
Why does that feel so good? I can’t even think. I press him closer, selfishly seeking the rapture that’s so close I can almost touch it.
My entrance weeps, begging to be filled. I snap my mouth closed, determined not to beg him to fill me. It can’t happen. We’re on a damned horse, the rocking of the saddle against my inner thighs a cruel mimicry of what I can’t have.
But Iache.
A hand cups my breast, and I press up into the touch. I can feel something warm against my neck—but his head is between my thighs, so I can’t count it as a kiss. It’s merely the caress of the shadows where his skull should be as he leans in.
His tongue dives lower, granting my clit a reprieve as he laps up the mess weeping from my entrance. The tip stiffens, penetrating me the slightest fraction in his quest for more, before returning to torment my clit again.
