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Yet I fought that temptation as hard as I might.
“Don’t make me sleep.” Because with that sweetness, that sound vibrating from his chest, and the soothing warmth engulfing me, he could do as he pleased.
He could do anything to me.
Pulling away to look me in the eye, Cyderial showed me a face of innocence. “You were right; it’s too close in here for either of us to keep a clear head.” He reached for one of the bottles lining the shelf. “Allow me to wash your hair, and you have my word I will not make you sleep. We can talk over these complicated subjects later.”
I didn’t trust the imperious jerk one bit, but I was in no position to fight back. “Fine.”
That softened the man immediately, Cyderial only too happy to demonstrate all the treasures he procured to spoil me—shampoos with pretty perfumes, conditioners to soften and add shine, tonics for the skin, soaps I might sample in my half-dazed euphoria.
Never could I have imagined how nice it might feel to have such strong hands wash my hair. Or considered leaning into someone’s strength so they could weigh my breasts and tease between my legs. Yet it was easy when Cyderial was up to no good.
With nothing more than a few simple strokes between my legs, he brought me to a single, fluttering climax. Rocking to my toes from the unexpected burst, I rode his fingers, struggling with real irritation that it was his hand that brought me into mania and not the wriggling member straining against my lower back.
After all, all the sweet perfume was a promise for pleasure that my body understood better than my mind. The newly awakened animal part of me craved it with such intensity I was near ready to pierce my claws into his flank and drag him where I wished. To take all I desired.
One final caress up my seam was all he gave me before pulling away.
Bemused, I turned, wondering why he was not advancing upon me as he had before. After all, he scented the air and sang for me, agitated me with anticipation for more. Yet, I had been abandoned, left to stand there and watch while he gripped his cock, looking me over as he savored one slow stroke from base to tip.
That freakish thing was waving in his grip, beckoning me to make demands.
But I found I could not move, captivated by the show of his hands on his body.
He took great pleasure in my attention, leaving my bones practically vibrating for what was soon to be mine.
Inside, I buzzed with want, even if I despised the owner of that organ. Clearheaded enough to consider, I knew through and through that the addiction could not be doubted. I wanted everything this man could put inside me in a way that left me salivating.
Desire plain on my face, I wondered what he might taste like.
I licked my lips, the jerking movements of his two fists on that wriggling monster growing violent.
The noises he made were obscene. I should have been horrified, disgusted, but I was stuck in that steamy shower simply because it smelled too good to leave.
And because I craved.
A low whine left my throat, my body tingling in places that rampaging organ should’ve been.
“No, Lorieyn. No knot unless you beg for one.” Debauched grin in place, he purred, “Not unless heat requires that I serve you.”
Beg? He was going to leave me that way unless I begged?
I was wrong; my head was not clear. I had to remind myself that’s why fluid flooded between my legs. This was no heat; this was nothing more than simple addiction and male tricks.
I may have wanted it, but I didn’t need it.
But craving set in, his movements so beautiful I breathed in time with his strokes.
The show went on, his audience rapt.
On a disturbing level, I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, praying he would shove me against the wall and force that writhing muscle deep into my guts. That he would make me endure him, force me past resistance with mind-blowing pleasure.
But he was taking all the pleasure for himself, wringing his cock while working it with the aptitude of obvious practice.
And then my fantasy was shattered.
His first full eruption bubbled free, only to be followed by a great burst.
