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Wetting my lips with my tongue, I gave permission. “Okay.”
He never took my mouth.
Blond head dipping, a wet, hot bite closed over my nipple. Fabric and all, he sucked hard while I burned, crying out in shock at his filigreed ceiling.
Kneading my bare hips, dragging me closer to the edge of the chair, he devoured my breast before I might recover coherent thought.
Kiss until I cooled? I was moments away from combusting into flames.
So much of my body was twisted up with so little effort on his part. Places I’d never considered as anything but mundane screamed for something I would not be able to give myself when his mouth could not be everywhere at once.
The seam between my legsthrobbedin a maddening rhythm, the rush of boiling blood palpable.
“You smell so good,” he whispered against my skin once his tongue was done flicking my swollen nipple.
Trying to quiet the erratic beat of my drum, I struggled to answer. Yet I was fully aware these happenings were my body acting of its own accord. Flexing my hands, I knew I could strike him, that I was clearheaded enough to fight.
And that right there was the fight in itself. Let himkissthe heat away or be forced to fuck.
In a languid move, he rubbed his body over mine, slipping lower, pressing kisses over my taut belly. Warm hands on my lower things, he stroked high enough for his thumbs to part my pulsating seam.
I hated how much I relished his touch, despised myself for angling my hips to invite more sensation as my fire grew.
He had done so in his office, using his fingers to play with me. That had to be what he intended now.
Kiss me, he said? How had I not realized the trick?
His mouth found where I wept, the flat of that muscle licking the entirety of my slit in one long taste, all the while holding my gaze and watching the play of shock and pleasure move over my face.
Plump, soft, iridescent-scaled lips split like a ripe fruit so he might gorge. Where I twitched and throbbed, nectar began to spill so he might taste.
And taste, he did.
It was a purely male hybrid trait, a tongue that could extend several times farther than any female’s might. Rubbing that waving muscle over every part of my seam, as if showing off just how much he might do with it, his tip sought out my secret opening.
Swirling in, I was pierced.
I waspossessed.
My cries were shameful. How I arched off the chair and fisted his hair, utterly immoral.
Driving in deep, he lapped up every drip of cream, catching it on his tongue and drawing it out to swallow me down with sounds of pure male pleasure. I kicked air, would have torn myself away on instinct, buthehad me firmly by the hips.
Cyderial, who was doing this to me. He was the male rapt in his work of tonguing my slit. It was his blond hair gripped in my fist. His mouth I rode in desperation for God only knew what.
Nothing twisted my senses outside an urgent need to know higher pleasure.
And there was no way I could stop my rolling hips or deny that my body craved things beyond my understanding.
Lapping me down with a snarl of delight, he sucked, tongued, and kissed every vibrant-purple hidden secret between my legs.
And I was at a loss to stop myself, hardly knowing who I would be when this was over.
I should have said no when he’d offereda kissin place of subjugation. Life would have been so much simpler if I could have been drunk on male tricks, lacking accountability for my fervor to accept such treatment from so horrible a man.
And he knew. I saw his eyes change the moment realization dawned on me.
Victory was his.
