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“Only if you beg.” I scoot closer until our thighs are touching, and I don’t miss how his knuckles turn white around the glass.
“I don’t beg. You know that.” He clears his throat, sets the glass down, and leans back. “The ritual went well tonight. I think your magic added to it, even if you didn’t feel it.”
“Really? What do you think my magic added?” I rest my head on his shoulder and gaze up at him.
When he turns his face to look at me, we’re so close. It’s all too easy to see the lump in his throat bob as he swallows. “I—the—fertility.”
I giggle. “Is that your way of asking if I’m ovulating?”
“No. Gods—”
“Don’t worry. I always ovulate with the full moon.”
Which would explain why I’m so horny. Definitely. The moon is to blame.
He sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s too much information.”
“Is it?” I lean in, biting his earlobe—proof he was right, I do like biting. “Don’t act like I haven’t been filled with your cum before.” I bite harder. “Twice.”
A harsh breath escapes through his nose. “Aurora, what are you—”
“I’m seducing you.”
“Why?” The word comes out strained, and when I move a hand down to his bulge, I can tell his pants are straining as well. “It can’t be just the moon or your—gods—your ovulation.”
“It’s not.” I pull back enough to look him in the eye. There’s no pain there, no resistance, just a fire that’s finally beginning to reawaken. “I want you.”
“We’re friends.”
“Yes.” I cock my head. “With benefits?”
His nostrils flare. For a moment, neither of us moves, and when he grabs my hand, I think he’ll push me away. He does the opposite, forcing me to touch him through the thick fabric of his pants.
“You spend weeks torturing me, and now you’re seducing me,” he grits out. “You’re a brat, you know that?”
“You like brats.”
“I like you.”
My heart skips a beat.
I want to run again. But I won’t. Not right now.
Instead, I swing one leg over him, straddling his lap. I press my warm heat against his straining cock, teasing both of us—at least my flimsy underwear doesn’t get in the way too badly. Our lips brush, never kissing, as I grind on him. It feels like a good rule now that we’re friends with benefits. No kissing.
This isn’t my first friends-with-benefits situation. This will be fine.
His hands roam under my top until he finds the lacy cups of my bra. “Aurora…” When he lifts my shirt and reveals the lingerie, I think he’s going to combust. Dark red, lacy floral, a plunging neckline. The bottom is even better, with garters connecting to my thigh-high stockings.
He pulls my top off and groans. He lifts my skirt next, watching as I grind against him, whining and whimpering under his attention. There’s something about seeing him look at me like that—it does more to me than praise, more than even his head between my legs can.
“You’re beautiful,” he utters.
Beautiful.
I’ve been called a lot of things. Cute. Hot. Sexy. Adorable. I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt beautiful, but when he looks at me like I’m something to worship, I do. He doesn’t try to remove the lingerie, his hands roaming but never pushing it out of the way. He touches my round breasts, my thick thighs, and even the large hips I’ve always been insecure about.
Then, his fingers graze over my belly, right above the fabric of my underwear. My instinct is to push the hand away from the pouch of fat there, but it feels good, so I let him continue.
