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A ferocious sound gripped him, pummeling his body as he penetrated me…then poured into me. He pumped and pumped and pumped, his cock bursting and his fingers stroking, spiraling my own desire until I could do nothing but detonate, my knees giving out as my sex became a perfect, throbbing star. As the orgasm went on, Shiraz wrapped me tight against him, one arm supporting my weight as the other hand adored my clit, coaxing me toward another wash of incredible implosion.
“M-master…oh, God…I can’t…”
He turned me around—but only so he could press me back against the wall, letting my tank fall back into place, replacing that submissive darkness with an even stricter dominion: his midnight-colored stare.
“You can,” he snarled. “And you will. tell me you understand.”
“Y-yes,” I sighed. “I—I understand.”
The edges of his eyes creased a little, but that was his only sign of approval. I had no idea what his intention was, even as he withdrew his hand from my pussy in order to rip the condom off his cock, still beautiful and semi-hard.
“Keep your thighs spread, sweet one.”
“Yes, Massss…oh!”
He angled his thigh in, replacing his hand with the fullness of his bulging quadricep. Because he was still mostly dressed, my clit had instant, extra abrasion from his pants. Arousal rushed in all over again, searing and pulsing and overwhelming, especially when he dipped his head to fully take my mouth beneath his.
At once, our bodies lurched toward each other. Pressed like power magnets, our seal interrupted only by the heat of his cock—unbelievably, jerking with fresh blood again. I reached down, savoring that heated flesh beneath my fingers, massaging the length of him in time to the rhythm he set for my pussy along his thigh.
“Va cock de Créacu.” His whole body undulated, though he stayed back far enough to keep our gazes locked. His face, set in beautiful lines of pure resolve, was changed by the fireworks from angel to demon then back again. I watched, fascinated by the changes. I didn’t care if we were in heaven or hell, as long as I could hold him like this…worship his magnificent dick like this. “That is…good, tupulai. So fucking good.”
With my free hand, I gripped the bulge of his shoulder, conscious yet again of his royal formality and my near nudity. I was so turned-on, there was probably a massive streak of my cream on his thigh now—but that consequence was on him. I’d only come in here to fix a friend’s evening gown. Not that I complained one damn bit now, as my body raced toward its next shattering climax…
“Squeeze me harder, Lucina. Fuck—yessss—near the tip. I have more for you. Make me come again.”
Well, hell. Now he was fulfilling fantasies I didn’t know I had. But I could definitely go with the flow, especially when it involved attacking him like this. Making him growl at me like this.
“Like this, Master?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes.” His voice was a sparse grate as he forced my body up and down on his leg. I gripped him tighter, fingers digging into his arm and stroking around his cock, as our lust climbed together…and our hearts collided once again.
We came in a rush, him then me, the hot spurt of his essence coating my fingers a second before the warm rush of mine drenched his leg. Colors cascaded over us, flashing in his eyes as we found the completion of our passion…the union of our hearts.
Still rocking our bodies in rhythmic sensuality, Shiraz gazed down through the tumble of his hair, curling up one side of his lip. He was so replete with roguish satisfaction, my heart flipped three more times. We stayed locked like that, spinning down from our ecstasy as the last of the fireworks fizzled in the night. The crowd started strolling back inside, drawn by the promise of dancing and dessert service.
Shit-eating grin still plastered across his face, the prince of perfection finally extracted his thigh from my crotch. I couldn’t help but glance down—then let out a giggle. I was, after all, still me.
“Sure hope you have a discreet dry cleaners around here.” In LA, I had a tidy list of recommendations.
Frown. A small and fast one, but intense as if I’d jabbed myself. Hard.
LA. Even my brain had called it that.
Not home.
Not even a place I was looking forward to seeing inside the next 24 hours. Okay, yeah; I missed Mom and Ezra and margaritas and bobas—and perhaps, a little, the nice lady who really did rock my dry cleaning—but with the idea of going home, there came the inevitability of leaving Arcadia.
Of leaving…him.
Reactions tumbled around my senses, disjointed and uneven, as Shiraz bent to help me step back into my shorts. Sorrow. Longing. Loss. Aching. All the same stupid shit that’d bombarded during our moony stares across the lawn at each other, only worse. The conflict, and my anger about it, were only worsened by his silent tenderness about covering me again. What the hell? I’d been ready for this for days—but not anymore. This last hurrah fuck had changed everything, turning my heart back into a tomato in a pinball machine.
When he was done, he stood, preparing to turn—but still didn’t leave well enough alone. One second I was still plastered to the wall, barely keeping my legs from crumbling beneath me; the next I was cradled against his brocaded chest, being hauled off to—
Where?
And why was I so panicked about it?
“Shiraz—”
