He fucked like Ares and I like Medusa.
We’d learned most of the secret places on each other’s bodies to drive the other wild. Where to kiss to draw a moan, where to touch to create shudders and gasps. So, it was silly to be nervous. We should have felt comfortable. What we were doing wasn’t physically different than any other time.
And yet, as his lips brushed down the curve of my neck, trembles worked along my legs. This felt different. Every sensation was heightened, each sound was new, and gravity deepened. Like what we were about to do was going to change everything.
He was lovesick Hades, and I was Persephone, his once unwilling bride who now was all in.
His kiss and touch were sedate and deliberate as he peeled us out of our clothes. He was taking his time, and his unhurried hands were strange and exciting. Completely different from our desperate encounter when we’d struck our deal earlier tonight.
When there wasn’t a stitch of clothing left on our bodies, he fitted me tight to his waist and let me feel the hard, heavy weight of his cock against my center. Our warm, bare skin pressed to each other, my breasts flattened to his chest, and I swallowed a deep breath. His eyes locked onto mine, and the power of his stare leveled me. How was it possible I’d existed the first twenty-one years of my life and not seen the person he truly was? He’d hidden it so well.
And he’d seen me exactly as I was—better than anyone else.
He looked so beautiful like this. The outer edges of his irises were ringed in a darker color, like they’d been drawn first, outlined in navy and then filled in with a steely blue watercolor. His high cheekbones had only a faint shadow of darkness because he’d shaved before we left for dinner. As his gaze slipped down over my face, his lush lips parted, and he took in a slow, deep breath.
Watching him stare at me while longing painted his face was erotic.
I cupped his head in my hands and pulled him into a feverish kiss, eager to be connected to him in all ways. He was too but had better patience than I did. His hands, which were resting on my knees, smoothed up my thighs and over my hips, around my waist and up my back. His lips were sealed to mine, and his kiss advanced, easing me back against the couch cushions.
Royce’s warm mouth carved a trail down through the valley of my breasts, leaving cool, damp skin behind. The fire raging in the fireplace was hot, but it didn’t compare to my naked fiancé on his knees in front of me, steadily working his way toward the center of my legs. His kisses marched across my fluttering belly, and as he moved lower, he settled back on his legs, making himself more comfortable.
Like he planned to use his tongue to tease and pleasure me for a long while.
Goosebumps lifted and pebbled on my skin in the wake of his roaming hands, and my breath went ragged as he peered up at me from between my thighs, his mouth hovering only an inch away. Was he waiting for permission?
Or for me to start begging?
I was a heartbeat away from pleading with him to put his mouth on me before he set his hands on the spots where my legs met my body and used his thumbs to peel me open. All the air went out of the room when he leaned in.
One painfully slow lick made bliss crackle through my body.
I was a live wire beneath him. Every careful flick of his tongue caused me to jolt and jerk, but his hands held me steady. And his eyes—his fucking eyes—never let me go either, even when I closed mine because the image was too much to bear.
It was incendiary.
Tiny whimpers fell from my lips, and the tremble in my legs grew more intense. Royce knew how to make me come when he had his mouth on me. He could do it quickly if he wanted, faster still if he eased a finger deep inside me, but tonight he wasn’t going for speed or efficiency. He wanted to draw it out and build my orgasm up layer by lush layer.
I was restless, though. The sensations were more acute tonight, which meant the tingling anticipation was sharp and demanding. I craved release mindlessly, squirming against the cushions, and tried to get him to increase the stroke of his tongue. Speed or pressure or whatever the fuck he wanted to do—just as long as he gave me more.
The need inside me drove my hands into his dark brown hair. It forced labored breath in and out of my lungs. Could he feel how badly he made me quake? Each pass of his tongue injected pleasure and heat in me, gathering strength as I rolled toward my climax.