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It might have been a long time ago, but I certainly hadn’t forgotten it. I couldn’t, not when I lived with reminders of the war and the actions of the shifters every single day. Sal might not have those reminders, but even so, why hadn’t he called me on the lie? Had he truly forgotten or was he was testing me? And if the latter, why?
I didn’t say anything, however, and we continued on in silence—a silence that was edged with both desire and watchfulness. It was the latter that stirred alarm. I needed to be very, very careful tonight.
“Would you like some wine, or perhaps a coffee?” he asked as the elevator stopped on his floor and the doors opened.
He strode ahead of me, heading for the kitchen. I kicked off my shoes, then stripped off my tunic, dumping both on the nearest sofa as I followed him across the vast space of his home.
“Perhaps later,” I replied. “Right now, I’m hungrier for something else.”
He paused in the middle of reaching for a bottle of wine and glanced over his shoulder. His gaze swept me and that hungry light reappeared. “So it would seem,” he murmured, and closed the fridge again.
He reached for my waist, but I caught his hand instead and led him toward the bedroom. “This time,” I said, my voice low, “we do it my way.”
“More than happy to,” he murmured, his free hand sliding sensuously down my spine before coming to rest on my butt. His touch was cool, especially when compared to the fire that raged inside of me. And while his salamander blood meant his touch would never contain the heat of mine, it nevertheless seemed . . . odd. I frowned but thrust away the curiosity and questions that inevitably stirred. I’d get answers soon enough if I did this right.
I stopped when I reached the bed and turned to face him. “Don’t move,” I said. “And most certainly don’t touch.”
He raised an eyebrow, amusement and expectation warring for precedence in his expression. “Where is the fun in not touching?”
“You’ve been around humans far too long if you cannot remember the simple pleasure of receiving rather than sharing.”
I began to strip him, taking my time, exploring each new bit of flesh as it was revealed, touching and kissing and tasting. By the time his shirt fell to the floor, he was breathing fast and the smell of desire was so thick in the air that it filled every breath. I kept going, kept teasing, my fingers playing around the waist of his pants but not undoing them. Not releasing him.
When I finally did, his groan was one of sheer pleasure. His cock jumped free, thick and hard and quivering with expectation. I ran my tongue over its tip and he groaned again, the sound almost desperate. I smiled and kept on tasting him, kept teasing him, until he was quivering with the need for release and his body was tense with the effort of control. Then I rose, my nipples brushing his chest as I kissed him. Softly, gently.
“I presume you have massage oil?” I murmured, my lips brushing his as I spoke.
“In the bathroom.” His reply was little more than a husky growl.
“Then I’ll go get it while you lie on the bed.” I brushed a final kiss across his lips, then stepped away. “Lie on your stomach, not your back.”
“I don’t think—”
I placed a finger against his lips and silenced him. “This isn’t about thinking. This is about pleasuring. Lie on the bed.”
He took a deep, somewhat shaky breath, then did as I bid. I retrieved the oil, warming the small, pliant bottle between my hands as I climbed on the bed and sat astride him. His skin quivered where our flesh touched.
When the heat of my hands had warmed the oil enough, I undid the top and slowly dribbled it onto his skin, starting at the base of the spine, then moving upward to his shoulders. Once the bottle was recapped, I moved back to the base of his spine and began to work the oil into his flesh, alternating long sweeping strokes with more circular ones, my hands not leaving his skin as I worked my way up his spine, then across his shoulders and down each arm. Then I made my way back down his body. After dribbling more oil onto my hands, I continued on, over his firm rump and down the muscular length of his legs, concentrating on his feet for a while before moving back up his legs. When my fingers slipped between his thighs and brushed his balls, he jumped slightly and groaned.
“God, don’t,” he murmured. “Or I may not last.”
I chuckled softly. “This from the man who once boasted he could make a woman come a dozen times before he himself felt the need to release.”
“That was a long time ago.” He jumped again as my fingers brushed him a second time. “The need for control is not especially prized in a world that values time over quality.”
“Then that is this world’s loss.” I moved to one side. “Turn over.”
He obeyed. Precum gleamed on the tip of his cock, and I leaned across, my hair brushing his belly as I swirled my tongue around the tip of him, drawing in his salty taste. His hips instinctively arched upward, silently urging me to take more of him. I didn’t.
Instead, I poured some more oil over his body, then sat astride his legs and began to massage him again, slowly exploring every inch of his well-defined stomach and muscular chest, gradually working my way upward until my breasts were pressed against his.
“By god,” he said, his words little more than a puff of agonized air. “All I want to do is take you in my arms and plunge myself inside you.”
“But you can’t,” I replied. “Not yet.”
I kissed him, gently at first, then deeper, harder, our tongues entwining, exploring. When I pulled away, he groaned again. I smiled but held his gaze as I kissed and licked my way back down his body. When I licked the base of his cock, he jerked in response, groaning, quivering. He was close to his breaking point—close, but not quite close enough. I needed him to be nothing but emotion and need and desire. So I teased him, played with him, alternating between taking him in my mouth and running my tongue around the base of his cock and balls, until every inch of him was quivering for release and the smell of his desire stung the air, thick and heavy and desperate.
Only then did I sit astride him. I didn’t let him enter me, but rubbed myself up and down the length of him.
