Chapter 9 #2
“For two hundred years?” I’m pretty sure my jaw hits the mattress.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“If you destroyed a bunch of land when you fought for months, what happens when you fight for two hundred years?”
“It wasn’t a fair fight because my brothers locked me in the dungeon for most of it. I’ve only recently been freed.”
My brain basically short-circuits. “Are you fucking with me?” How did he tell me all about his brothers but somehow leave out this tiny detail?
He looks at me and laughs, his fingers still playing with mine. “Don’t look so shocked, little consort. We are brutes and don’t pretend to be anything else. But my eldest brother was tamed by his consort, who convinced him to let me out.”
I raise an eyebrow, equal parts disturbed and fascinated. “Is that my job? To tame you?” I reach out and trace his eyebrow with my finger, liquid heat pooling in my belly again. How have we been on this bed for hours without him making a real move? Does he not want to? I pull my hand back.
He gives me that sideways look, and that wicked, wild grin slides across his face. “You couldn’t tame me if you tried.” He tugs me against him by my waist, his dark eyes burning into mine. “I’ve tried to give you time, but I hunger for you. May I again lick you until you shudder all over my face?”
Well, good to know I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about it.
My body clenches at his words and the hardness I suddenly feel pressing into my stomach. Does he only want to go down on me again, or is there more on the table? It feels like we’ve had days of foreplay, and I’m already wound so tight I might snap.
I bite my lip to keep from begging him to fuck me. God yes, fuck me!
“You are so beautiful,” he breathes, running his fingers through my hair.
I frown. He’s just telling you what you want to hear so he can fuck you. Damn these old voices. I want him to fuck me! But when those ancient wounds get poked...
“What is this?” I breathe as he presses his hips against me. Hard. “What are we doing?”
We’ve talked so platonically for hours that I was starting to wonder if I’d imagined what happened at the lake.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, leaning down to finally, finally kiss me. He’s so huge he blocks out all the morning light.
“What do you mean? What’s obvious? That you want to fuck me?
” The words come out more confrontational than I meant them to.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m suddenly freaked by the intimacy or because I feel like he’s been luring me into a false sense of security with all this talking.
It’s probably my old insecurities rearing their ugly heads.
I want him so badly I’m thrumming with need, but I’m also terrified of being used again.
Remus scowls at me. “No. Not fucking you.”
A little thrill runs down my spine just from him saying the words. “What, then?” I gasp.
He’s practically on top of me now, wings flaring to block out most of the light so we’re in shadow. If I didn’t trust him so much, I’d be intimidated.
I do trust him though, don’t I?
I suck in a breath.
“This,” he says in a low, growling voice, “is me and you. Nothing more, nothing less.” He lowers his body so his chest skims mine. “Nothing happens here that you don’t want.” He dips his head so I can feel the warmth of his words right over my silk-covered breasts.
“But also, whatever you want can happen. If you want my tongue to explore slowly, oh so achingly slowly, every curve and crevice of your body, that’s certainly what I want.
If you want to be massaged and licked, inside and out, that, my dear, is what I had in mind when I sat down on this bed with you last night.
It’s been in the back of my mind the entire time we’ve talked of other things because the scent from between your legs drives me mad with want. What do you think about that?”
Some kind of incoherent noise comes from my throat.
I nod and flip over so I’m face down. “Sure. A massage sounds great.”
I hear him chuckle above me. “A massage, eh? That’s what you choose from the menu I offered?”
Being face down and not having to look at him gives me just enough courage to say airily, “A massage to start with, anyway. I’ve had a very trying few days being yanked through the air this way and that.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
I shrug. “You’re the one offering massages.”
I’m not ready for how close his lips are when they whisper behind my ear. “Any excuse to get my hands on you, little consort. Will you take off your coverings for me? I want to see you.”
I slip the straps of my nightgown off my shoulders, and he drags it down my back until it pools at my waist. At first, I think he’ll stop there. But no. He commands, “Up,” and I lift my hips.
Then his big, cool hands drag the silk down my ass. I love his sharp intake of breath when he realizes I’m not wearing anything underneath before he’s working the fabric down my legs and off completely.
I’m completely naked, face down on the bed. My fingers fist in the sheets. Just a massage. Right. I only want a massage. Excitement gathers low in my belly.
His big, cool hands return to my shoulders, slick with some kind of sweet-smelling oil.
This isn’t like any massage I’ve ever gotten.
Using his palms, he just starts to rub. He’s working my shoulders, but somehow it’s already sensual as hell.
I don’t know how to describe it, except maybe the way he digs in with his fingers, trailing at the end after his palm has worked my muscles.
Deep, too. He’s not just playing on the surface.
He’s getting intimately acquainted with my body. And the way I can see it affecting him—he’s not some detached spa worker. I turn my head to watch as his whole body bends over me, his soft fingers digging in and rolling. The concentration on his face, the pressure of his knowing hands—damn.
I almost come from that alone. Especially when he works his way to my lower back, gripping my hips like he’s a heartbeat away from flipping me over and taking me hard.
When he reaches for more oil, I take a deep breath and flip onto my back.
I want to cover my eyes, but I’m trying to be brave.
I’m trying to be better than the girl who ran from her cheating boyfriend and let herself believe it was her fault for not being pretty enough.
I want to be all that I am and own it proudly.
So I bare my breasts, and I don’t cover my eyes, and I at least pretend that I’m confident and believe I’m as beautiful as he says I am, even if half of me is terrified he’ll run or say something that’ll shatter my heart.
I try to remind myself that he seemed to like what he saw at the lake.
But insecurities are warring with my attempts at logic.
At the lake, I was being spontaneous and wild.
Here, there’s way too much time to think.
He cleans the excess oil off his hands with a cloth, then hovers there without touching, eyes locked on mine like he’s checking to make sure I’m still with him.
I nod, holding my breath.
But then he cups both my breasts, weighing them in his palms like he’s memorizing their shape.
“They’re real,” I blurt out, then immediately feel stupid for saying it.
If there’s one thing I’ve always been proud of, it’s my boobs.
Silly, since the only reason they’re so big is because all of me is so big.
But hey, I’ve always claimed they’re my best feature, and guys have appreciated them before.
“They’re glorious,” Remus says, holding them reverently and kissing each nipple.
But then he completely bypasses them and starts massaging down my stomach to one of my fat rolls.
“What are you doing?” I squeal, sitting up and automatically covering my breasts.
He looks confused. “Worshipping and massaging every inch of your glorious flesh.”
My mouth falls open. “Well, not there.”
Remus’s eyes travel down my stomach—the last place I want him looking—and I let go of my boobs to practically double over, keeping him from focusing on what I look like. “Stop it! Don’t look at me there!”
His eyes come back to mine, completely bewildered. “Why not?”
“Because,” I sputter, grabbing the sheet to cover myself. “That’s not a pretty part of a woman. Go wait in the hallway while I put my nightgown back on.”
“Wait. Why can’t I look at you there? It is as beautiful as every other part of you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap. “Don’t lie to me.”
He sits up straight, and suddenly his voice is dangerous. “No one accuses me of being a liar. Not even you.”
“You need to be more sensitive!”
“Why do you cover yourself and not believe me when I try to worship your beautiful body?”
That’s when I completely lose it and burst into tears.
“Lo-Ren!” he exclaims in shock, moving toward me.
He reaches out, but I twist away, giving him my back and curling up.
I wait for him to leave. Michael always hated when I cried and would disappear until I pulled myself together.
That’ll probably be good. I liked the way Remus was looking at me before he—
I cry harder, pressing my hands to my face like I can hide even more. If I can just have a moment—
That’s when one of Remus’s strong arms curls around my waist from behind. He’s climbed into bed at my back, and for a long moment, he just holds me. I cry harder at first, tensing. But then I relax back into his solid warmth.
When he rests his forehead against the back of my neck, I hiccup and grab his arm, squeezing tight as he holds me. He’s surrounding me, and I feel so safe.
Finally, he speaks. “Tears mean you hurt. I did not mean to hurt Lo-Ren. I often saw my father’s consort cry. I swore I would not hurt you, and yet I have made you cry.”
I shake my head and turn in his arms to face him. His words pierce my chest.
His arm around my waist holds me close, and our heads are inches apart on the pillows as we look into each other’s eyes.
“It’s not you. It’s a lifetime of other people’s shit that hurt me,” I whisper.
He scowls and demands, “Who? I will punish them.”
I laugh and press my face to his chest, basically wiping my tears on him before pulling back to look into his fierce eyes.
“There are too many to count. Society. Mean girls in high school. My mother.”
He nods at this, understanding flooding his expression. “Parents can be cruel.”
“I mean, I know somewhere deep down she loves me.” I roll my eyes. “Deep, deep down.”
He shrugs. “This hurt is unforgivable. You are perfect.” He says this with such vehemence that it makes my chest tight. “But you just tell me wherever you would like me to touch you and not touch you, and I will listen to you. I do not want to resurrect old hurts.”
How? How does a man from a world so different from mine know exactly the right thing to say?
Because unlike other guys I’ve known, his words aren’t rehearsed pickup lines.
He seems to be figuring this out as he goes, and it’s so genuine it makes my heart hurt.
This connection growing between us means everything.
With my free hand, I trace down his arm from his shoulder to where he’s holding me at my waist. Taking a deep breath, I guide his hand down so he’s touching my lower belly.
He smiles so sweetly, his dark eyes searching mine. His hand starts massaging me there, and for a second, I’m mortified. But then I breathe and focus on how his touch feels.
Every movement is so sensual as he kneads my body. Digging in with his palm, then his fingers trailing backward hungrily. Especially as he works around to my hips and ass.
His touch makes me feel beautiful and wanted and desirable.
I believe he’s telling the truth when he calls me beautiful because of the look in his eyes and the need in his fingertips.
A groan escapes my lips because I need him too.
The feelings that had been doused are roaring back to life between my legs.
Without thinking, just giving in to what my body wants, I lift my leg to wrap around his hip and pull him against me. It was playful earlier. Now it’s with purpose. I feel his hardness through his pants: thick, long, stiff, pulsing. More proof of his desire for me.
Another sound comes from my throat, higher-pitched. Oh my god, I want him so badly. He makes my whole body go liquid.
He grips my ass with his huge hands and starts massaging roughly. Needily. I arch my hips against him, satisfied when I get a short, needy grunt from him.
“I want you,” I gasp, leaning up to kiss him.
He kisses me like he’s starving. I can feel his need, his teeth nipping my bottom lip before he soothes it, then his tongue playing with mine.
I pull away, gasping, my hands squeezing his waist as I grind against his hardness and look into his lust-clouded eyes.
“I want you,” I repeat. And just in case that wasn’t clear enough: “I want you inside me.”