her mouth open, pushing in, playing with her tongue, moving a little, and taking her mouth again.
With the insistence of his lips and tongue and the gentle fire of thumb on nipple, wetness seeped between her legs. She clutched at him, digging her fingers into muscle, flooding with sensation as he slid his hand down her back to her buttocks and up to glide warmly between her top and her skin, then around to cup her breast again. Too much. She lost track of the whereabouts of his hands and lips. Everywhere throbbed.
Slowly she realized he’d stopped, though he still held her in his arms. Panting, heart rate climbing down from frantic levels, through half-lidded eyes she peered back at him. For once his hair wasn’t gathered into a ponytail and fell loose past his shoulders. She reached out and ran her fingers down a strand, feeling it slip across her skin like cool silk.
“Why did you stop?”
He caught both her wrists, pulled them down, holding them at her sides. “Because you’re ready now. Wet, open enough for me to remove the egg.”
Oh. He’s holding me for a reason. This sound like the start of a gyno examination . She turned her head to protest, and he bent and covered her mouth, kissing her and driving that ache to a higher level. She moaned into his mouth. The kiss was as potent as a stone falling in a pond, with the ripples spreading outward forever. She shuddered.
He drew back and smiled, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. A constriction at her waist made her look down. A rope of plaited stems dotted with little pink buds wound round her waist and across her bared belly button before curling round each wrist and holding them immovably at her sides.
“Damn. Roses?” The smallest of thorns pricked at her skin. She rolled her eyes. “You are sneaky.”
“Faeries often are,” he said, voice rumbling like distant thunder. He slipped from behind her to gently lower her onto her back, then rolled down the black shorts and her underwear.
She could have kicked him somewhere tender, but by then her heart thudded so hard she could see her breasts tremble with each beat. She felt like a mouse waiting to be eaten by a big bad ever-so dangerous cat. Screaming might be sensible. Except she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. The opposite in fact; he was likely to make this feel…nice.
He propped his hands either side of her and bent to tongue her flat stomach, his black hair feathering across her sensitive clit.
Mmm . She curved her back.
His hands nestled into her just where bottom curved into back, and his tongue, soft, kissing mouth, and nibbling teeth cruised southward.
She heaved out a rough sigh. “I might have done this, if you’d asked me nicely.”
“Might?” His eyes glittered.
She stared at him, unable at first to assemble anything sensible in her head.
“You said you were going to let me decide without the toah affecting me.”
“Or I could simply destroy it.”
“And let yourself die? No. Don’t do this. Please. I’m willing to help you. If you reject this and die…you’re going to leave me feeling—” She frowned. Lost? Was that the word she sought? There’d be a terrible emptiness, she knew that, and sorrow. She came out of her reverie to find him looking at her, frustrated and yet underneath seemed a morsel of exasperated pride.
“Very well. You’ll have your chance to think about this without the toah. So I still get to do this.” The predatory smile returned, and he bent to kiss her upper thigh.
“Maybe, like I said, I should do it?”
His fingertips slicked along her cleft, seeking her entrance, probing. Skin slipping on wet skin. Nothing mattered save the gentle separation of her inner lips, the press against the rim, the stretch as one finger was joined by another and another. Her clit engorged. She squirmed, panted.
“You want to do this? Are you sure of that, Danii…” He stopped, poised to enter her properly. She could tell he’d barely made a
With the insistence of his lips and tongue and the gentle fire of thumb on nipple, wetness seeped between her legs. She clutched at him, digging her fingers into muscle, flooding with sensation as he slid his hand down her back to her buttocks and up to glide warmly between her top and her skin, then around to cup her breast again. Too much. She lost track of the whereabouts of his hands and lips. Everywhere throbbed.
Slowly she realized he’d stopped, though he still held her in his arms. Panting, heart rate climbing down from frantic levels, through half-lidded eyes she peered back at him. For once his hair wasn’t gathered into a ponytail and fell loose past his shoulders. She reached out and ran her fingers down a strand, feeling it slip across her skin like cool silk.
“Why did you stop?”
He caught both her wrists, pulled them down, holding them at her sides. “Because you’re ready now. Wet, open enough for me to remove the egg.”
Oh. He’s holding me for a reason. This sound like the start of a gyno examination . She turned her head to protest, and he bent and covered her mouth, kissing her and driving that ache to a higher level. She moaned into his mouth. The kiss was as potent as a stone falling in a pond, with the ripples spreading outward forever. She shuddered.
He drew back and smiled, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. A constriction at her waist made her look down. A rope of plaited stems dotted with little pink buds wound round her waist and across her bared belly button before curling round each wrist and holding them immovably at her sides.
“Damn. Roses?” The smallest of thorns pricked at her skin. She rolled her eyes. “You are sneaky.”
“Faeries often are,” he said, voice rumbling like distant thunder. He slipped from behind her to gently lower her onto her back, then rolled down the black shorts and her underwear.
She could have kicked him somewhere tender, but by then her heart thudded so hard she could see her breasts tremble with each beat. She felt like a mouse waiting to be eaten by a big bad ever-so dangerous cat. Screaming might be sensible. Except she knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. The opposite in fact; he was likely to make this feel…nice.
He propped his hands either side of her and bent to tongue her flat stomach, his black hair feathering across her sensitive clit.
Mmm . She curved her back.
His hands nestled into her just where bottom curved into back, and his tongue, soft, kissing mouth, and nibbling teeth cruised southward.
She heaved out a rough sigh. “I might have done this, if you’d asked me nicely.”
“Might?” His eyes glittered.
She stared at him, unable at first to assemble anything sensible in her head.
“You said you were going to let me decide without the toah affecting me.”
“Or I could simply destroy it.”
“And let yourself die? No. Don’t do this. Please. I’m willing to help you. If you reject this and die…you’re going to leave me feeling—” She frowned. Lost? Was that the word she sought? There’d be a terrible emptiness, she knew that, and sorrow. She came out of her reverie to find him looking at her, frustrated and yet underneath seemed a morsel of exasperated pride.
“Very well. You’ll have your chance to think about this without the toah. So I still get to do this.” The predatory smile returned, and he bent to kiss her upper thigh.
“Maybe, like I said, I should do it?”
His fingertips slicked along her cleft, seeking her entrance, probing. Skin slipping on wet skin. Nothing mattered save the gentle separation of her inner lips, the press against the rim, the stretch as one finger was joined by another and another. Her clit engorged. She squirmed, panted.
“You want to do this? Are you sure of that, Danii…” He stopped, poised to enter her properly. She could tell he’d barely made a
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