AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She was mesmerized by the change in him, that she was the one bringing it about. Bastian was so in charge of himself all the time, dominating whatever room he walked into; should it really be a surprise that sometimes, when he felt safe, he wanted to lay that down? That she was the one he felt that kind of safety with, she who knew what was happening to him more intimately than anyone else ever could?
“You can,” he murmured into the humid air between them, the little space they’d left. “Order me, Lore. Please.”
Her breath hitched; her nails dug in harder. “Why?”
“Because then it’s you.” His voice was hoarse. “Because if I want you to order me, and you do, I know it’s not Apollius and Nyxara. It’s us. He would never.” He swallowed again. “I want to be able to at least pretend you love me like I love you. That you still would, even without the gods in our heads. That you—”
She cut him off with a kiss.
He melted into her, his arms coming up around her body, holding her close. Lore threaded her hand through his hair, tugged lightly; Bastian arched with a sigh, his teeth grazing her lip. “Order me,” he said against her mouth. “Tell me what you want. Show me.”
Lore had taken charge in such matters with other people before, but then, it’d been to make sure she got what she needed, not because she’d been asked. It threw her, just for a second, but she tried to turn off her churning thoughts, let instinct take over.
A moment’s terror, that trusting instinct would let Nyxara come forward, Her presence in Lore’s mind strengthened by Her first death. But the goddess didn’t stir. The goddess stayed gone. Some things should only belong to one mind.
She pulled back from Bastian, her hand still tangled in his hair, using it to turn him to face the canopied bed. “Go.”
He went, sinking down to sit on the edge of the mussed mattress, sheets and pillows spilled over the floor. His hardness jutted a clear outline against the thin pants he wore to sleep; he palmed it, his eyes burning on hers, his mouth slightly agape, like he couldn’t believe she was doing this, just as he asked, that she was letting him have this.
Lore pulled off her gown, left it in a heap on the floor. The thin chemise she wore underneath stirred around her feet as she walked toward him, the peaks of her breasts standing out against the gossamer, making her shiver. She waved a hand at him. “Off. All of it.”
And he obeyed that, too, like he’d been waiting years for her to give the order. Lore’s eyes widened when she saw him bared for the first time, his skin sun-bronzed and desire-flushed, and she didn’t realize she’d sunk to her knees in front of him until she felt the cool hardwood pressing into her legs.
His eyes were hazy on hers, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Beautiful,” he murmured, like he’d plucked the word from her mind.
But she reached up and took his hand, put it firmly down on the bed. “You don’t touch me until I tell you to,” she said, not letting herself think too hard, being driven only by want, his and hers. She picked up his heavy length, working her fingers up and then down. His eyes closed, his head tossed back, his breath a strain in his throat. “You sit there, and you let me do what I want.”
“Yes.” He murmured it to the canopy above them, bathed in moonlight, the shadows of it playing down the column of his neck, outlining every muscle and every scar, all bared for her to see. “Whatever you want.”
Lore took him in her mouth.
This wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed, usually. But for whatever reason, she wanted it with Bastian, wanted him here, panting beneath her lips, his hands fisted in the bedclothes because he was trying so hard to follow her orders, to not touch her until she gave the word. He tasted like musk and salt, and she hummed an appreciative noise as she pulled him farther into her mouth, flicking her tongue. Her hands were on his thighs, sliding around to his back, making her breasts brush against the edge of the bed; that was good, and elicited another pleased sound from her, vibrating in her throat.
“Gods, Lore.” Bastian sounded like he was being strangled; a look at his fists on the bed showed that he was the one doing the strangling, at least to the sheets. “If you keep that up, this will be over before it started, and I’ll need at least half an hour to recover.”
“Can’t have that,” she murmured against him, pulling away slowly, standing between his legs at the edge of the bed. He reached for her, remembered her orders, grabbed the sheets again, staring up at her as if awed.
She picked up his hand and put it on her breast, tender and peaked through her thin chemise. “Touch me.” Her voice was hoarse, too, her breath catching in her throat as he followed her direction. “You know, you remember—”
He did, his fingers closing in a pinch; she gasped, arching against him, her hips swaying forward in desperate search of friction. Bastian made a low noise, nearly a growl, and pulled her toward him with a hand on her backside. His fingers continued their work on one breast while his mouth started on the other, making a slick mess of the thin fabric, gently biting her through it, swirling his tongue.
And gods, she was getting close already, it’d been so long, she’d wanted him so long. Lore took his hand away from her nipple, pushed it toward the apex of her thighs instead, her hips still moving in anticipation of his touch. Bastian took the direction with another low sound, going over the chemise instead of under it. A slow draw of his finger against the place that longed for it, enough pressure to drive her higher, not enough to send her over.
“Bastian.” His name came out shaky, not the order they both wanted; she thrust her hips at him. “Please.”
“Aren’t you the one giving the orders?” He smiled against her, with another slow, torturous drag of his finger. “Be specific.”
And of course he would turn this around like that; of course Bastian Arceneaux would be able to flip the tables on her and leave her a quivering mess when she was supposed to be in charge. Lore fisted her hand in his hair and pulled him away, glaring down at his amused, glazed eyes. “Touch me with your finger the way you plan to touch me later,” she ordered, breathless. “Please, Bastian, please—”
Her last words broke off as his hand delved under her chemise, finally, his finger into her, finally. She rocked against his hand, the heel of it hitting exactly where she needed, and it didn’t take long for her to come apart, breaking into stars and darkness, her head thrown back and every muscle in her body going tense and then shuddering, shuddering.
Bastian flipped her onto her back on the bed, her chemise rucked up over her hips. “Not waiting for orders on this one,” he said, pulling her still-limp thighs apart. “Wanted it too much to wait.” And then his mouth was on her and her head was spinning, again, her body coiling for another release.
It came right on the heels of the first one, and when Lore went to sit up and pull him over her, Bastian’s hand went hard against her pelvis, holding her down, making sparks fly behind her eyes again. “Not yet,” he murmured against the crease of her knee, kissing down the length of her leg and then back up again. “Tastes too good.” Then he was back at her center, coiling her up again, and this time when Lore shattered, she screamed.
But she was ready to take control again, knew how she wanted this next part to go. “Behind,” she said breathlessly, turning on the bed, getting on hands and knees.
He did as she asked, caressing the small of her back. “You sure you want it like this?”
