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What was happening to her? With a brush of his mouth, he depleted her anger.
He didn’t pull back, but hovered his face over hers as he rocked against her. The barely-there caresses hastened her to the edge. She arched and—friction!
Cookie whipped her hips, grinding against his shaft. They cried out in unison. But he didn’t speed up or rock harder. He kept her wanting...addicted.
They breathed each other’s air and panted. She grew wetter, trembling and aching, her arousal unfathomable. How much longer could she bear the acute sharpness? Every part of her remained aware of every part of him.
“Twelve months of torture, yet you are becoming my greatest torment.” He appeared dazed—or crazed. Did he even know what he was saying right now? “I never want you to stop.”
Twelve months of torture? The reason for his war with Jareth? No wonder Kaysar demanded retribution. No matter who he had to hurt.
A need to comfort him drew a ragged moan to the surface. Voice breaking, she commanded, “Kiss me, Kaysar. Kiss me and don’t stop.”
He dove down. Blessed contact. A man possessed, he thrust his tongue against hers. He devoted himself to the kiss, claiming her hard. Claiming her well.
The decadence of his flavor left her reeling. They fed from each other, as if starved. How did such soft lips deliver such powerful bliss? Beneath the gown’s flimsy fabric, her nipples throbbed for him. Between her legs, a sublime ache intensified.
He rocked against her, the friction better than before. Divine. Then he did it again. And again. Rubbing.
She broke his hold on her wrist to scrape her thorn claws through his hair.
He closed his eyes a moment, enjoying the contact. Slowly, he glided his hand from her throat to her breast.
“Yes,” she cried as he kneaded her. With his thumb and forefinger, he pinched her nipple. Moaning, she arched into his hold. Worked up so intently, so quickly? “More, Kaysar.”
His touch roughened. His kiss became wonderfully aggressive. When he lowered his head to tongue the rushing artery he’d threatened only seconds ago, she gasped.
“You want more? I will give you everything,” he vowed fiercely.
Mmm, that voice. The pure, undiluted authority of it. She rocked her hips, driven by raw instinct. Feeling more vulnerable and raw with every new sensation he elicited, she fisted his tunic, only to frown when she realized what she’d done. As a child, she’d grabbed her parents’ clothing to capture their attention. A habit she’d conquered years ago. Why did it resurge now, with him, a temporary diversion?
A worry for later. Must get rid of the tunic. Yes. The source of her trouble. Pulling at the material, she commanded, “Off.”
After Kaysar wrenched backward, she expected him to clasp his shirt’s hem. He remained immobile instead, panting and stiff. He searched her gaze, his own teeming with horror and shame, as if terrible memories danced behind his eyes.
Golden glass shards seemed to shimmer around pupils the size of dimes. Lines of tension branched from the corners of his mouth, where his skin pulled taut. A hated contrast to his red, kiss-swollen lips.
The sight of him like this hurt something inside her.
“Did I harm you, sweetling?”
Harm? Why would he think so? She shook her head. “No, not at all.” Just before he’d ended the kiss, she’d used the word off in hopes of undressing him. Was it possible he’d mistaken her meaning? That he believed she’d ordered him to stop?
The horror-tinged shame roused terrible suppositions.
She must have made a face he perceived as pitying. His cheeks flamed, and he reared further back. But he didn’t stomp off. He stood before her, a muscle jumping under his eye. As he examined her, his expression iced over. A corner of his mouth tilted in a sneer. “Your husband will be displeased when I describe this indiscretion. I think he’ll be particularly interested in the way you begged me for it.”
Oh, that cut. Did she understand why he’d said it? Yes. He was lashing out over the misidentified pity. It sucked—he sucked, too, kind of—but she did understand. She had probably done the same to others. If probably meant definitely. But what sucked the most—he meant those words. He wanted to tell Jareth; an undercurrent of glee had given him away. Which made her speculate about other things...
Had he attempted to save Lulundria from Jareth simply to hurt the other man?
“How original,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “The big, bad man-boy brags about his prowess over the easy conquest.” Cookie eased to her feet and arranged the folds of her skirt as if she hadn’t a care. “I hope you enjoyed your first taste of pleasure with me. Because it was also your last.”
“We do not split up,” he grated.
Right now? No, they didn’t. If she fled, he’d chase and catch her. But she could bide her time... “Trust me, Casanova. We won’t be together much longer.”
