Page 163 of Scars Beneath a Serpent’s Scales

Roremar met her gaze. “Show me what you do when you’re alone. Show me what you like others to do to you.” His voice tightened over that last sentence, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his chest. “Show me what you’d want me to do to you.”

As soon as Emmeline lowered her fingers between her legs and swiped through her center, as soon as she started rubbing tight circles at the apex of her thighs and her breath slipped into a soft moan, he dropped that hand, all distractions forgotten.

Power pulsed through her as she quickened her pace, their eyes locked. With her other hand, Emmeline kneaded her breast, toying with herself to drive her pleasure higher. Roremar’s eyes bounced between her hands as if he didn’t know which to watch.

Emmeline tipped her head back, eyes slipping closed as she pushed two fingers inside herself and worked her clit with her thumb. She arched into her own hand, and Roremar groaned across the room. Her back curved as the pressure mounted, her body already feeling lax and tight in every way.

“Tell me how it feels,” that sinfully rough voice commanded again.

It felt like it wasn’t enough. Like she wanted more. His hands on her body instead of her own. His fingers drawing out this ragged pleasure. That image of him on his knees, looking up from between her thighs, drove her wild, and she pumped her fingers quicker.

“Like I wish it was you,” she panted.

Roremar groaned again, and Emmeline lifted her head, forcing heavy lids open. His hand was stroking his cock over his pants. Her mouth watered at the sight, release dancing ever closer at the knowledge of what she was doing to him.

Emboldened, Emmeline said, “I want to watch you, too.”

He didn’t have a smart comment to that—didn’t seem able to form one. Instead, he hastily undid the laces of his leathers. When he shoved them and his undershorts off, and his cock sprang free, Emmeline had to grip the edge of the counter.

The hand between her thighs dropped as she took in his size. Larger than she’d seen before and thick enough that she was desperately imagining what he’d feel like inside of her, how delicious the stretch would be as he worked himself in slowly, inch by inch, an agonizing tease, because of course he was. How well they’d fit together, and how he’d probably know exactly how to ruin her.

The tip gleamed, and seeing that it was because of her sent another rush of heat through her body.

“Keep going, Huntress,” he said, his playful tone back with the name. “Tell me what you want me to do as you put those fingers back inside your pussy and make yourself come with your eyes on me.”

The words nearly sent her careening over the edge. Heat gathered around her hips and at the base of her spine.

“I want you to stroke yourself,” she said. “I want to see what makes you feel good.”

To learn it, memorize it, though she’d never get to see him like this again.

Roremar nodded, his large hand working himself as she resumed what she’d been doing. She was so sensitive now, the slightest pressure threatened to make her combust. A small moan escaped her lips. Roremar tugged himself more roughly, hand gliding over the tip and making his hips jerk, and she thought they were both on the brink.

“Fates, you’re fucking beautiful,” he said. “Your legs spread and dripping on the counter. Finding your own pleasure and getting off on mine.”

“I like you watching,” she admitted. It sent a bolt of power through her, his attention and addiction to her right now making something within her soul light up, a tug humming through her chest, fulfilling some need to be wanted.

At that moment, she thought she’d burn brighter than any starfire. Magic purred hungrily through her veins.

“You have no idea how attractive that is,” he groaned out. “Fates, I want to taste you. Get on my knees for you. Keep any other man from looking at you ever again.”

Another desperate moan left her at the thought. She couldn’t do that, though. No kissing was her boundary, and this had been his in response.

“Keep going,” she instructed.

“I’m close, Em,” Roremar panted. His back was against the wall, his free hand gripping the door like it was the only thing restraining him from flying across the room to her.

“Me, too,” she gasped, not breaking his gaze.

“Good girl,” he said with a smirk. “Now, finish. Do what you need to.”

She pressed tighter, harder circles and crooked her fingers, and in seconds she was falling apart. Roremar followed with a delicious groan that danced down her spine, spilling over his hand. Emmeline grasped the cool marble tighter, leaning forward and panting. She was sweaty and flushed, her hair sticking to her skin.

After a moment, a hand slipped beneath her chin, tilting her gaze up. Roremar had already cleaned himself up enough to tend to her.

“Can I?” he asked.

She nodded, completely dazed as he wet a fresh cloth with warm water and dabbed it across her skin. When he was done, he lifted her off the counter, holding her up with one arm around her waist. His lips pressed to her forehead in a soft, testing kiss, and she didn’t tell him not to, but she didn’t lift her mouth to his either. Instead, Emmeline let her eyes slip closed and breathed in.