His tattoos were a map of every ruthless part of him, ink curling over his biceps, across his chest, down his ribs. Sharp lines. Heavy black. Greek script along his collarbone that translated roughly toFor the Dominion, unto death.
His skin was warm gold under the soft lights, cut with muscle and showed all the hours he spent keeping himself in shape. He was beautiful in a way that should have been illegal. His eyesheld mine, the beautiful blue darkened as he bracketed my hips with his hands.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice low enough to melt down my spine.
I swallowed, my palm drifting up his chest, over ink and heat and the steady beat beneath. “I’ve never seen you like this,” I whispered.
A slow, sinful smile pulled at his mouth.
“You’ve seen all of me.” He dipped, lips brushing mine without giving me the kiss.
His hands trailed over the lace of the garter, following every curve with reverence disguised as restraint. He didn't touch the obvious places. He never had to. He knew exactly where to tease.
His fingertips drifted over the delicate black hearts of the lingerie.
“You wore this to destroy me,” he accused.
“You deserve to be destroyed a little.”
A low sound left him—half laugh, half something darker. “Careful, I intend to return the favor.”
His hands slid to my hips, then up, tracing the narrowest part of my waist. I felt him everywhere, even where he wasn’t touching. His teeth grazed my skin—light, teasing, and my pulse fluttered.
He smiled against my throat.
"I like that too," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear, sending goosebumps cascading down my neck. "Just means you understand what's about to happen."
He kissed me again—slow, deep, full. His mouth moved against mine with a patience that was somehow worse than impatience. The taste of him—whiskey and mint and something uniquely Alaric—flooded my senses.
My fingers curled in the waistband of his drawers, nails scraping against the warm skin beneath, until his hand slid beneath the back strap of my bra, callused fingertips trailing fire along my spine as he unhooked it.
His lips brushed my jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "Relax for me," he implored quietly, his voice honeyed and dark.
"I am relaxed." The lie sat between us.
His eyes, beautiful and knowing, kept me captive.
He slipped a hand beneath my thigh, his grip firm and possessive, lifting it against his hip, dragging me closer so my chest pressed fully to his. The hard planes of his torso burned through the delicate fabric of my lingerie. I could feel every inch of him through the remaining thin lace and satin between us, every ridge of muscle, every quickened breath.
I could see his cock straining, thick and long, the outline unmistakable, always giving both my hands a workout and making my jaw ache with its girth, but I loved him in my mouth, and pressed against me like this, the heavy heat of him promising everything we'd denied ourselves until tonight.
His lips were molten, trailing down my body like he was mapping every inch of me as his personal playground. I was sprawled on the bed, trembling with anticipation. His hands slid along my waist, unhooking the garter belt. The lace whispered against my thighs as he peeled it away, his fingers grazing the tender skin beneath.
I was already soaked, my pussy aching for him, and he hadn’t even touched me there yet, his tongue flicking out to taste my skin. He kissed his way down my collarbone, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. The hollow at the base of my throat was next, his lips lingering there like he was worshipping me.
And then he kept going, lower, slower, until his breath was hovering over my nipples, sending tiny ripples of goosebumpsacross my flushed skin. He took one hardened peak into the wet heat of his mouth, sucking with deliberate pressure that sent lightning bolts straight to my core.
His tongue circled, flicking and teasing until I was arching into him, a desperate moan tearing from my throat.
When he moved to the other breast, the cool air against my wet nipple only heightened every sensation before he enveloped it in that same scorching heat, all while his fingers traced featherlight patterns up my inner thigh.
He kissed his way down the trembling plane of my stomach, leaving a glistening trail that cooled against my fevered skin. His tongue dipped into my navel, a brief, wicked promise of what was to come. Strong hands with long fingers spread my thighs wider, the slight pressure of his thumbs against the tender flesh making me quiver. I could feel his breath against my pussy, the anticipation alone nearly pushing me over the edge.
He paused his eyes locking with mine as his fingers traced the outline of my slit, gathering the evidence of my need. The teasing pressure was maddening, deliberate torture that had me almost writhing beneath him, my hips lifting in silent supplication.
And then he finally lowered his mouth.
His tongue was magic, the flat of it pressing firmly against my pussy before he used the tip to circle my throbbing clit. He took his time, savoring me, his lips closing around my clit as he sucked me into his mouth. I was thrashing, my hands gripping the sheets, my hips grinding against his face.
