“Can I get you off? Please?” His eyes are wild, and I shudder at the longing in his voice.
“I like it when you beg, Ciprian Casanell.”
“And I like it when you say my name,” he says, gasping. “If begging is what it takes to make that happen, I’ll get on my hands and knees.”
As appealing as that idea is, there are way too many spiky things around here to make him go through with it. The image of Ciprian crawling to me is enough. For now.
My gaze drifts to his lips. His shoulders. His heaving chest. “Is something wrong... Ciprian?” I pull his shirt over his head, then press my palm to his chest to better experience his heart pounding for me. “You seem worked up.”
“I’m thirsty.” He licks his lips and drags his eyes down my body until they land on my tiny leather shorts. “So thirsty,” he repeats.
His words go straight to my pussy. I roll my hips toward him in invitation, stretching the shorts to their limit. I’m not sure I’llsurvive the night without knowing what the youngest enclave heir can do with his silver tongue.
A demon possessed, Ciprian reaches for me, pausing with his fingers an inch away to look up and whisper, “Please.”
There’s no coming back from this, but I can’t think of a single reason to stop.
“Touch me,” I say, not caring that I sound as far gone for him as he does for me.
Ciprian cups my pussy, groaning as his palm connects with the buttery leather of the shorts. “You’re so warm.”
“I’m curious how you plan to get them off.” I rock against his hand, trapping his fingers between my body and the seat of my bike. “They’re super tight.”
His onyx eyes roll over me with obvious delight. “You leave that to me.”
Yanking his hand away, he grabs my hips and lifts me. I find myself suspended as Ciprian latches onto my zipper with his teeth, pulls it down, and begs me to put my legs on his shoulders.
Calves propped against his neck, I brace my upper back beneath the handlebars and hold my body taut as he works the shorts over my hips and ass. Our position is precarious. Laughable even. But I’m hyper-aware of every sensation—and soaked. I can’t wait for him to find out how much.
Then my shorts are all the way down, pressed against Ciprian’s chin like a leather scarf. He sucks in a deep breath before lifting my ankles, one after the other, and removing the shorts.
I expect him to toss them on the ground. When he uses my belly as a tabletop and folds them neatly before tucking them under his leg, my jaw drops. Neat. Meticulous. And so fucking sexy. A trickle of arousal runs down my thigh.
Ciprian notices, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is that for me?”
If he sounded cocky, I might put him in his place, but—fuck me—he asked like a prayer—every syllable dripping with filthy, erotic hope. I want to keep the game up and tease us both more, but if he doesn’t touch me soon, I’ll be the one begging.
“Find out,” I growl, rocking my hips toward his face.
I expect him to devour me immediately and brace for a rough touch—but Ciprian surprises me yet again. Pulling me away from the handlebars, he kisses his way up my legs as he reels me in. By the time his nose bumps the crease of my right thigh, I’m squirming.
The moonlight shines on Ciprian’s hair, making it gleam like silver between my pale legs. When he finally licks me, I come hard from the first wet glide of his tongue. My pussy clenches around nothing, aching and empty.
Ciprian groans as if he’s the one getting off, and his fingers dig into my ass cheeks as he plunges his tongue inside me. The ache goes away for a second, then comes back twice as strong.
“Another,” I demand.
Ciprian whispers a response against my pussy, but since he doesn’t bother coming up for air, I can’t hear anything but an indecent wet noise.
His tongue returns to my clit, and I gasp into the night.
Lick by lick, Ciprian takes me apart, until I hear myself pleading for relief—a chaotic mix ofplease,yes, andright fucking theretorn from my lips like they’re the only words I can remember besides his name.
He whispers against my clit again, and the drag of his chapped lips over the most sensitive place on my body throws me over the edge. Toes curling in my leather boots, my thighs clamp around his head, and I worry that I don’t have a lock on my strength and might crush him.
I wail, my head thrashing into the bike’s horn.
Ciprian grunts—proof of life I can barely hear over theroaring in my ears—and for a few weightless moments, I float, hovering outside of my body and gravity itself. Even with my wings trapped inside me, he’s managed to make me fly.
