“You are hurt other places?” he asked, his eyes were full of concern.
“Not hurt, not like you’re thinking. But there are places that ache.”
His eyebrows winged up, but he remained silent. Waiting. Obtuse. Why oh why did a woman have to spell out every freaking detail? “I’m sore from you. From us. From the other night. I didn’t want that to…go away.” I dipped my chin, looked at his still hard cock and reached out to wrap my hand around the thick head. He hadn’t gone down at all even through all of this talking. “From your cock. My pussy isn’t used to…well, you.”
He grinned then. Wickedly. And he had a dimple. How had I missed a dimple? God, I was in trouble. If I weren’t already naked, that dimple would have had me tossing my panties at him.
“You wanted to remember our night, what I did to you?”
“Yes.”
He growled, most likely the growl came from the beast informing me of its pleasure with my words.
He ignored the hand I had around his cock and reached for my elbow, his gigantic hands holding the joint like I was delicate as a hummingbird. “Are you well now?” he asked.
I shifted my arm, moved it to test whether the wand had done its job. It had and it had done it quickly. Perhaps I hadn’t been as hurt as I’d thought, that a wand was all I’d needed to begin with. Or maybe I was so high on lust for my beast that my body pretty much didn’t care about anything else.
“Yes. And I want you.” Only our breathing filled the room now. Concern was gone from his eyes. Need was back.
“Good.”
He scooped me up, carried me to my bed and laid me down on my back. He followed me, his hand by my head to hold the bulk of his weight off of me. A thigh slid between mine, parted me and then he shifted so he was settled between my thighs. I felt the thick heat of his cock against my belly.
A hand cupped the back of my knee, lifted it, spread me wide.
“Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” I breathed. The coolness of the bedding at my back was a stark contrast to his heat above me.
He looked at me, studied me.
“I will find out for myself.” He kissed my neck, then worked a path down my body, stopping at my breasts to lick and tease my nipples before moving lower. “I will not have you hurt by my cock. You ached from our wild fucking before and you were dripping for me. I will not hurt you if there is a chance you aren’t ready.”
“I’m ready,” I panted.
“I will be the judge of that,” he said, his breath fanning over my pussy.
Arching my back, I wanted his mouth, especially since I knew what he could do with it. With his one hand holding my leg up and wide, I was open for him. With his other hand, he circled my entrance with the tip of his blunt finger. “So wet.”
“I told you.”
“Yes, you are wet. Ready, no.”
His finger dipped inside, just the tiniest amount and I bucked. His hands were like dinner plates, his finger smaller than a cock but still quite large. He was teasing me and I rippled around him, trying to pull him deeper. But there was no moving the beast. Instead, he moved in decadent little circles just inside my entrance as his tongue moved in the same leisurely fashion over my clit.
“Angh!” I cried, my hands going to his head, tangling in his hair.
I was primed. I’d been primed for an orgasm since the second I saw him in the fighting pit. Nothing had changed since then. I’d come from his skill so many times that one night and I should have been satisfied. No, it had only made me eager for more. So foreplay wasn’t needed to get me all revved up. In fact, I arched my back and cried out my pleasure, my first orgasm of the night just by the most basic—yet intimate—of contact.
“God, oh. My. God.” I practically ripped his hair out as I came. He didn’t speed up his pace, didn’t relent on the teasing motion of his finger, the flick of his tongue.
“Angh!” I cried toward the ceiling, but he wouldn’t stop.
I came again, my body lost to him. I was at his mercy, the heat, the need, the bliss.
Finally, after minutes, hours, days, he lifted his head, slipped his finger from me.
“You’re wet. You’re ready,” he said, using the back of his hand to wipe his glistening mouth.