His hand slipped between us and drifted lower, curling between my thighs. My inhale came sharp.
“But I am your favourite. Or perhaps my fingers are. Or my tongue. Or my cock.” Those fingers traced a lazy circle against my underwear, and I moaned. “I’ll tell you what. I will let you decide.”
“How generous,” I said, my breath betraying me. “And that is the comfort you offered? Is that what you think I need?”
“You tell me,” Reagan said, his finger skimming the edge of the fabric, my focus narrowing on the movement until it was difficult to think. “What do you need?”
My toes curled, my words dissolving as his fingers hooked the band and lingered there.
“Tell me,” he coaxed, his voice dropping lower still. “What do you need?”
I held my breath in anticipation, my legs nearly shaking.
This. Him. I wanted him to touch me.
“If I answer that,” I whispered, “it doesn’t mean I am saying yes to Ladyship, right?”
I needed to know how he would understand this.
His forehead came to rest against mine. “No,” Reagan murmured. “No expectations. This is just for us. Everything stays the same.”
His power fluttered beneath my fingers, coiling around me like unseen arms, and I knew that even if my legs gave out, I wouldn’t fall.
The ache was fierce now, too sharp to ignore. I gave in.
“Then yes. I need you.”
I reached for his belt, unfastening the clasp and moving to the buttons. Reagan braced an arm against the wall, letting me undo his trousers. He urged my legs apart with his knee.
I cried out when he pressed those fingers against bare skin. His mouth parted, the corner of his lips pulling upwards. “You’re so exquisitely wet. Like always.”
My fingers closed around him, and I stroked, drawing a rough breath from his mouth. After what seemed like a long time, I felt it again, the need to rattle him before he did it to me.
“Yes,” I murmured. “You feel as hard as always too.”
Reagan groaned. “Let me take us to—”
I gasped as a blue sheen of light surged behind him, peering around his shoulder to find a nebulous shape perched on the balcony rail.
An owl. Barracus’s familiar.
Reagan glanced over his shoulder and cursed. It struck me then that we were on a balcony, in a public space. I let go of him.
“Can he see us?” I asked, horrified.
Reagan’s head swivelled back to me, the corner of his mouth tugging. “What would you do if I said yes?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Probably blame you. Say you compelled me.”
His shoulders shook with quiet amusement. “That would be impressively wicked,” he said, clearly pleased. “He cannot see us. But he is asking for me. I thought he’d already left with Elaith.”
He shut his eyes with a slow sigh. I used the moment to tug my skirt back down, not taking any chance. Reagan’s trousers hung open as he drew his hands away, but he made no move to button them. Instead, he lifted the fingers that had been on me and—
Oh.
I forgot how to breathe as Reagan brought them to his mouth, savouring each finger.
The gesture was so unapologetically wicked that my words evaded me. Reagan’s bright, intent gaze still held the same hunger.
