I slid lower, bumping my way over his abs while scouting ahead with my hands. Another sharp inhale told me I was on the right path. Seconds later, I licked my lips and sealed them over my goal.
He croaked, and every muscle in that fine-tuned body tensed.
I stopped, tilting my head in a tease. “Oh. Did you say something?”
He shook his head at the ceiling and rasped out an exasperated, “No.” Then he muttered, “Little minx.”
“Little?” I feigned offense.
He wrapped his hands gently around my head and guided me back down. “I won’t utter another word. Just don’t stop. Please.”
I grinned, imprinting the moment into my memory. A dragon, begging. For me.
There was only one thing to do — make him beg more.
Which he did, profusely, though silently, if you didn’t count hisses, moans, and clutching the sheets. But just when I was sure he was on the verge of coming — hard — he nudged me away, panting.
“Wait. Turn. Here…” he growled, back in caveman mode, and claimed the top.
I wrapped my legs around him, swept up on the same crashing wave of desire. When he drove deep into me, it was my turn to beg, moan, and hiss. And if I cried out a few times… Well, how could I not, given the amazing things he did to me?
The man wasn’t just a master ofhardordeep. He got full marks for angle, pace, and attention to detail too. Not to mention multitasking, because he put his mouth and hands to equally good use, turning me into a sweaty, incoherent mess.
“Mina,” he croaked, then exploded inside.
I dug my fingers into his back, coming half a second after him. And coming and coming in the longest, hardest, highest orgasm of my life. Maybe the longest, hardest, and highest of his too, because when we finally collapsed into the sheets, his expression was all wonder. Wonder with a hint of worry that I could totally relate to. It was one thing to satisfy your body’s cravings with a good, hard screw. But losing that much control —wantingto lose it — was a whole different thing.
His eyes swirled, two inky, shining universes, and he cupped my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
I opened my mouth half a dozen times, forming words, only to hold them back. What was there to say? What was I ready to admit?
Finally, I gulped and tugged on the sheet. “Just to clean up,” I whispered, terrified to spoil the mood.
Marius helped, and soon after, we kicked the sheet away, opting for just the blanket. All I really felt, though, were his arms looped firmly around me.
I regarded him silently from a few inches away.
“Careful,” he whispered, gently touching my lips. “Don’t…”
I waited, then squeezed his arm. “Don’t what?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t make it mean something.”
“Might be too late,” I whispered, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.
His eyes flared, telling me he had — and that part of him agreed. But his left eye twitched, and I sensed another part of him wrestling with the notion.
I braced myself, sure he would give me the cold shoulder and shatter my foolish heart. But he drew a deep breath, then leaned in with a long, lingering kiss. His chest lifted and fell in a sigh, and he nudged me into the curve of his chest and held me there.
My lips moved again, but he was right. There was nothing to say. That didn’t mean my mind ceased to think. Of him. Of us. Of what the next day — and beyond — might bring.
“Good night, Mina,” he murmured.
I wrapped my hands around his and closed my eyes. “Good night.”
Chapter Twenty-One
MARIUS
