His gaze darkened. “You had a wet dream? Fuck, Love. I thought you never dreamed.”
“I don’t—I didn’t. This was only my second dream, ever,” I admitted.
“And it was about me? That’s fucking incredible.” He rolled us back over, but sat up with his legs out in front of him and me sitting on his lap, straddling him. His erection met my core, and he was hard as a damn rock. “I’m going to kiss you now, Diora.”
“Oh, am IDiorawhen you’re preparing to kiss me, instead of yourLove?” I practically purred the words, emphasizing his accent and making him grin.
“Don’t distract me when I’m thinking about your lips,Diora, Love,” he drawled both names back, making me laugh. “Fuck, I love your laugh.”
He didn’t bother to press his lips to mine lightly, or hesitate in the slightest; he just captured my face in his hands, and kissed the hell out of me.
Namir’s tongue slid into my mouth, his lips soft and warm on mine as they grew acquainted. Neither of us moved to escalate the kiss, focused on the sensations and the way our bodies were pressed together. The only thing that separated us was those damned pants, but I was in no hurry to undress the king—not when he kissed me like he was.
Time passed as our tongues danced, our shadows intertwining around us while we continued tasting each other. Eventually, our hands began to move—to touch, to explore one another. His were on my back, my arms, my breasts. Mine were on his biceps, his shoulders, his abdomen. He was a work of art, and the way he touched me was almost as perfect as the man himself.
Our touches grew hotter, and needier, until Namir landed on his back on the bed, with me still positioned over him. Our mouths continued to move together as I began rocking against his erection, rubbing him against me, and moaning into his mouth when the tension within me grew tighter and more demanding.
The pressure within me finally came unraveled, and I groaned into his mouth as he rocked against me, harder and faster. His teeth bit down on my lip just hard enough to draw a little blood as he snarled into my mouth, and I cried out as another orgasm tore through me with the pleasurable pain.
It was such a small cut—and one caused by nothing but passion.
And I fucking loved it.
“Shit, Diora.” Namir pulled his lips from mine, panting. His eyes were wild and his hair was messy, but his hands were on my face, his thumb moving my lip around carefully as he checked out the injury he’d given me. “Fuck, Love. I’m so sorry.”
“I liked it,” I admitted.
He scoffed. “Don’t lie to me.”
I scowled back. “I’m not lying. It felt good.”
His scoff turned into a furious expression that surprised me. “I fucking hurt you, Diora. Don’t try to tell me that’s okay.” He rolled me back to my side of the bed, his arms unwrapping from around me. My core was damp with his release and my own body’s reaction to him, and I loved that too.
But he seemed determined to hate it, so I glared back at him as he sat up and shoved his hands into his hair.
“Be as angry as you want,” I growled back at him. “But don’t just go and assume you understand my feelings.” I rolled to my side.
Namir’s hand landed on my thigh. His voice wasn’t playful, or soft, for once. “Diora, Love…”
“Don’t ‘Diora, Love’me,” I snarled back. “If you’d really hurt me, I would’ve told you.”
“I’m sorry.”
Great.
Now he was apologizing for fucking me with our clothes on.
“Goodnight,” I growled back at him.
He shoved his hand through his hair again. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I didn’t respond; what was I going to say? I’m sorry you’re sorry that I loved what we did and you didn’t?
Stars, this was a shitty situation.
He slipped off the bed, heading into the bathroom. The shower turned on yet again, and I closed my eyes as the Shadow King washed himself clean. Eventually, I managed to push away the memory of his apology, and fell back asleep.
Lavee erasedthe awkwardness of the next morning by banging on my door before either of us was awake. Namir snarled curses at the door, while I stumbled out of bed and padded across the room.