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Edward drops his hands from my cheeks, and he does something that makes my heart pound with surprise. He drops to his knees in front of me, his fingers toying with the buttons on my fly.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’ve never knelt for anyone before,” he murmurs as his hands go around my thighs, and he actually manages to shove down my trousers and panties without my help. “But for you, for my muse, I will worship at your feet every day and every night, grateful for whatever favours you deign to grant me.”
“Edward, that’s not what this is. I’m not with you as afavour—”
Whatever I was about to say is cut off as his tongue finds my clit.
I throw my head back as Edward’s tongue works in delicious little circles. His hands cup my ass, holding me in place and radiating a supernatural warmth that courses through my veins. And his tongue…it’s magical. That’s the only way I can describe what he’s doing and how he’s making pleasure coil from my belly out through my whole body.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, he’ll change what he’s doing, flicking me with the tip of his tongue, then laving over that sensitive spot, before pounding it into submission, until I think that I cannot possibly survive this, but what a way to go.
Gods. Yes.more.
Please, so much more.
“I will never get my full of the taste of you,” he murmurs against me.
I whimper in response, because he is undoing me with every sinful stroke of his tongue.
Edward strokes one finger over my pussy as he licks, teasing my entrance, coating himself in my juices. I moan. Gods, I want him inside me so bad. I’ll never have enough of this man.
My pulse leaps and dances as he worships me with his mouth. My body is made of liquid. I have no idea how I am still standing right now.
“Let go, Brianna,” he murmurs, his fingers digging into my ass as he pulls me closer. “Let yourself come apart for me. You are never so beautiful as when you cry my name.”
“Edward…”
He sucks my clit into his mouth, and I’mgone. I sob his name as the pleasure spirals through me, fracturing me to pieces. I lose myself, the world around me fading to black.
When I come to, I’m on the ground. Edward stands over me, his too-pretty mouth curved with concern.
“Your legs gave way. I tried to catch you.” Edward’s eyes are downcast. “But you fell through my arms.”
“Youshouldbe sorry.” I grip the edge of the bed and drag myself onto it. “It’s your fault that my legs don’t work right now. What did you do to me, prince?”
He laughs gently, crawling onto the bed to lie beside me. I kick my legs out of the trousers and panties, but I’m still wearing my hoodie. He dances his fingers over my thighs, sending delicious tingles down my legs.
“Tell me something beautiful,” I say. I touch his cheek. I know that we can’t go any further than this, and it’s tearing me up inside. I want to be close to him. I want to crawl inside him and know him in all the ways a person can know another. But I can’t. I can’t have that piece of his body.
So I will have a piece of his heart instead.
“Something beautiful…” Edward’s dark orbs bore into me. “I’m looking at her right now.”
“No, something else. Go on, Poet Prince, wow me.”
Edward rolls onto his stomach, his chin on one hand. His elbows hover an inch above the bed. He furrows his brow as he considers my question.
“Did your father ever tell you how they came to adopt Moon and Entwhistle?” he asks.
“He said that he found them in one of the outbuildings. They were only a couple of weeks old and their mother had died. He buried her and brought them inside to sit by the fire, and by the time he’d nursed them back to health he couldn’t bear to give them up for adoption.”
Edward nods. His dark eyes grow cloudy at the edges as he disappears into a memory. “After I died, Grimwood Manor was left empty for many years while various people fought over my estate. Pax and I lived here together, of course, but we were constantly at each other’s throats. I was perhaps not the best afterlife companion in those days.”
“Perhaps not.” I smile.
“He spent his days patrolling the forest for Druids, while I preferred the more poetic pastimes of remaining indoors and wallowing in my own self-pity. I watched my family and so-called friends come and go as they took their pick of my fine furniture, hunted in vain for my secret wine cellar, and bickered over how to spend my fortune. My father showed up on one occasion – he wished the house to be knocked down and my things burned so that all traces of his heretic son would be erased entirely, but Hugh talked him out of it. Hugh suggested instead that my father release a commemorative book of my poetic works, to show the nation that he was a father in mourning, and he said, “I’ll not spend a single moment mourning for that waste of air. As far as I’m concerned, he’s no son of mine, and his blasphemous poems should be burned.”
