Magical Acts: (Skeleton Key) by Michele Bardsley, Skeleton Key

Prologue
    Barrows Flat
    Another World
    A t the tender age of twenty-one, Auron Tarlett fell in love.
    As he caressed the luscious body of Chamomile, he inhaled her perfumed skin and tasted her satin lips. Her experienced, slim hands slid up his chest, her body writhing under his touch. His touch!
    Tonight, he would give her his heart.
    He cupped the most intimate part of her, sliding his finger between the folds of slick flesh. Auron remembered Chamomile’s lessons well. Stroke me as you would the petal of a rare flower. Moaning, she grazed her teeth along his shoulder.
    “Yes,” she said, “oh yes.”
    Sweat dewed her pale skin; he licked the tiny droplets, drawing patterns in her pale flesh with his tongue. Slowly, he worshiped her, kissing and touching until Chamomile shuddered beneath him.
    Auron nipped the firm skin above her pubic bone. Only a thin strip of blonde hair covered her most intimate part. He breathed onto the glistening mound, knowing she liked the warm whoosh of air. Her hands fisted in the covers, and she looked at him, her jade-green eyes filled with passion.
    A woman enjoys a man’s mouth on her. When you taste me, act as though you are partaking of the sweetest nectar. Do not delve between my thighs like a hungry man at a feast. Be gentle. Soft. Slow. Suckle. Lick. Tease.
    He knelt between her legs and parted her trembling thighs. He swept his thumbs along the swollen outer petals of her flesh. Hmm. She felt so soft, and she was so wet with her need for him. Happiness wound through him, tempering his lust. Oh, to spend every evening with his lady this way—showing her with word and deed how much he loved her. And she would do the same for him.
    He slid his hands under her buttocks and pulled her close, inhaling her earthy and intoxicating scent. He tugged the little hidden pearl between his lips and then suckled. Gods! She was as juicy as a ripe berry.
    “I taught you too well,” she said in a hoarse voice. Her fingers plundered his hair then clamped onto his skull and pressed him against her wet, swollen sex. “Oh, Auron!”
    Pleased that he had inspired such ardor, Auron flicked his tongue over and over on that knot of sweet flesh. Chamomile cried out, her hips lifting as her orgasm claimed her.
    He soothed her with long strokes, sipping from her feminine honey. Her hands were still wrapped in his hair holding him hostage when she collapsed to the bed. He bent low and rubbed his face against the coverlet. He loved her juices, loved the smell, the taste. He loved her. All of her.
    She pulled at his shoulders, her smile one of feminine satisfaction.
    “Come here, lover,” she purred, drawing him up her body.
    He positioned himself above her. She guided him to her entrance. He pushed inside, shuddering at the tight, slick feel of her. One stroke made him dizzy with pleasure. Trembling, he sucked in a breath. He kissed her neck, trying to stall his own release.
    “What’s wrong?” she whispered. Her green eyes seemed filled with love and devotion. Some had compared Chamomile’s eyes to emeralds—hard and cold. But Auron had always thought her gaze soft as the summer fields in the Barrows. “Take me, Auron.” Her lyrical voice flowed over him. “Take me!”
    Tears of the Goddess! Another stroke sent more pleasure rippling through him. She pulled him close, grasping with hungry hands; her body arched against him and he let go of restraint, thrusting harder and faster. Chamomile moved her hips against his, her hands sliding to grasp his buttocks. “More,” she whispered in his ear, her breath feathering his lobe. “More.”
    He let go then, matching her frantic movements with more gusto than grace. She met his every thrust, matched his every moan, and then she dug her nails into his buttocks and gasped.
    The pulsations of her orgasm tugged at his cock, and he went over, crying out her name as he filled her with his seed.
    After a moment, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her