“Like what you see?” He runs one hand across his chest.
I grin and nod, half my face still hidden under the covers as I shamelessly eye-fuck him.
My focus drifts lower and lower still, only stopping at his hard length hidden behind his black boxer briefs. There’s a prominent wet spot on the crotch of his underwear—a mark I feel awfully proud of, all things considered.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to reciprocate.”
“I’m not sorry. You should always come first. You’re my priority, angel,” he says, his tone stern and his expression even more so.
My pussy clenches in response to those words.
“Which reminds me…” He bends, gripping the edge of the comforter I currently have pulled up to my chin, and tugs, pulling it off completely and letting it drop to the floor. Crooking one finger, he encourages me to scoot down the bed.
I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I’m more than happy to oblige.
Dutifully, I shift down, and when he grabs my ankles, I startle, though as he drags me even closer to the edge, a thrill runs through me.
Big hands smooth up my calves and outer thighs. Then he’s looming over me, a glint of mischief dancing behind his dark espresso irises.
“May I?” he asks, fingering the hemline of my animal-print sleep shorts.
Lips pressed together, I nod.
Though I may not understand what he’s really asking, I trust him implicitly.
On top of that, I want to please him. In any way possible.
In a fluid motion, he peels off my sleep shorts and discards them.
Then, with renewed hunger in his expression, he focuses on my underwear.
The impulse to close my legs is strong. A little voice in my head tells me I should be embarrassed by the mess I’ve made. That I should hide the evidence of my pleasure.
But the insecurity is fleeting.
Why should I be embarrassed or ashamed? With the way Alaric is staring at me, how could I feel anything other than wonderfully wanted and deeply desired?
“Those are ruined,” he says, tipping his chin toward my panties.
“Completely.” I don’t even have to look to know they’re stretched out and soaked through.
“May I have them?” he asks, the question polite and amusingly casual.
I fight back a snort. “You want my used underwear?”
“Desperately.” The single word is deadly serious.
A flush creeps up my chest and neck. Still, I find myself nodding.
Alaric tilts at the waist and grasps the edge of my panties as I lift my hips, then he pulls them down slowly, slowly, slowly.
He grasps one ankle and kisses it, then slips the scrap of fabric over my foot. He does the same on the other side. With a satisfied grin, he balls them into his fist, brings them to his nose, and takes a deep breath.
“Fuck, angel,” he groans. “The way I cannot wait to get my mouth on you and taste this luscious, creamy cunt.”
Heat scorches me from the inside.
Pocketing my panties, he clutches my ankles again, his grip firm this time. He lowers my legs to the mattress, making sure to extend each one, arranging me in a wide straddle that bares my core to his hungry gaze.
