Chapter 18
We walkfor several minutes in silence, the only noises the crunch of our feet over leaves and the harsh sound of my breath.
Behind us, a howl goes up, the sound mournful. I rub my eyes, a sob stuck in my throat.
Never meant to hurt him. Love sucks. Witch’s brew sucks. This situation sucks.
I’m still drunk and so, so aroused, and it makes everything that much worse.
“How much of that with me and Kane did you see?” I ask.
I feel Memnon glance over at me, his bourbon eyes flicking to my mouth. “Enough.”
I run my hand over my face. Goddess, but this evening has gone tits up.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Memnon admits.
“Do what?” I say, my fingers finding their way to the low neckline of my dress. I’m absently starting to tug on it.
“Fight for the right to be yours.”
I glance over at him just as he looks up toward the shrouded sky, and my eyes trace the line of his jaw.
“Before, when you were Roxi, you were mine and mine alone. I never needed to prove my worth to you.” He stops and faces me. “And now that I must, I feel my own inadequacies rising to the surface. I can fight and kill for you, but I cannot be whatever that man is.” He gestures in the direction we last saw Kane.
Even in the darkness, I can see there’s still a bit of swelling on Memnon’s face. Neither of our powers fully healed him.
I step up to my mate and place a hand against his cheek, letting my magic sink into his skin. I don’t utter a spell, but my power understands my intention, and it goes about healing his remaining wounds.
“I’m still so angry at you,” I admit. “So angry it’s hard to breathe through it.” If I had spoken these words days ago, they would’ve rang true. Right now, however, the heat of my hate has banked. “But tonight, I called out for you. I wanted you.”
I still want you.
Another wave of desire punctuates my confession, and under the force of it, I close the last of the space between us. For once this evening, my desire doesn’t feel like the enemy, like something working against me. It feels…if not natural then at least magical. Wondrous. Something to be celebrated.
My hand slips from Memnon’s cheek and moves to his chest, my fingers digging in at the solid feel of him beneath my palm. I want more. Need more.
“I am yours to command, my queen,” he says in Sarmatian. “So if you want me to please you, command it.”
The two of us stare at each other, the moment taut with tension.
I drop my gaze to his chest and deliberately place both my hands on his pecs. My pulse is pounding between my ears, my blood is roaring in my veins, and an evening’s worth of want is gathered up in me.
I push him gently. Memnon is as immovable as a mountain, but he lets me force him back, back, back until he bumps against a tree trunk.
My eyes rise to his throat, where I can just make out the panther tattoo that peeks out from the collar of his shirt.
Rising onto tiptoes, I wrap a hand around his neck and pull him to me. Gently, I graze my lips over the inked animal. Long ago, he got the tattoo in honor of Ferox, my familiar. My heart squeezes at the memory.
Memnon’s hand comes up, holding my face to his skin, like he wants to keep me there forever.
“Est amage,” he says softly, reverently, his free hand lightly stroking up and down my bare arm.
“I don’t want to command you,” I whisper into his ear. That’s what he wants. I want him to be at my mercy in an entirely different way.
So when I pull away, my hands slip to his pants, and I undo the button at the top.
“Selene,” he says, his voice roughened with surprise. He captures my wrists, trying to stop me. He can have my wrists. I don’t need them for what I’m about to do.
My magic rolls out of me, unzipping his pants and tugging them and what he wears beneath down his legs.
“When was the last time someone bowed to you, est xsaya?” My king.
Memnon goes preternaturally still, and when I meet his eyes, his expression is feral.
“Selene,” he says again, and his voice holds a dangerous edge.
He wants control? He wants strategy? He won’t get any of it right now.
I drop to my knees, my wrists still caught in his grip. The throb in my core has reached a fever pitch. I don’t know if it’s possible to come from arousal alone, but apparently I want to find out.
The sorcerer’s erection juts out proudly, a bead of precum glistening in the darkness. I have countless memories of taking him in my mouth, yet I’ve technically never experienced it in this life. That strange contrast only sharpens my desire.
I lean forward, wrapping my lips around the head of his cock. Memnon hisses in a breath. I draw my tongue up his slit, the taste of him nearly sending me. Shit, I might actually come this way.
“Selene,” he groans, his hips jerking forward of their own accord.
I take him deeper into my mouth.
Better than memory. So much better.
He still holds my arms captive, and honestly, it’s doing nothing but heightening my own arousal.
I pull away from his cock long enough to say, “If you don’t want this, release me.”
I stare up at him, waiting. His hands flex on my wrists but don’t let go. “Selene, you are the one who needs?—”
“I need this,” I interrupt. “I need you.”
With that, I lean in, taking Memnon’s cock as deep in my mouth as I can.
“Gods, Empress,” he curses as his hips begin to move in tandem with my mouth, “Feels like heaven. I’d almost forgotten.”
I smile around him, pleased by his reaction—pleased by him.
Slowly, I retreat from his cock until only the head of him remains in my mouth. Then I move back up his shaft, enjoying the feel of him against my tongue. I fall into a rhythm, one that has my own core throbbing harder and harder. The longer I work him, the more my jaw burns with the effort. Even that ache is familiar. And somehow, the memory of it is breaking my heart and filling it up all at once.
Through our bond, I sense his knees growing weak. My desire roars in my veins, but through our connection, I also catch wisps of the pleasure I’m giving him. My breasts feel too heavy, and the ache between my thighs pounds harder than ever.
Memnon finally releases my wrists so he can dig his fingers into my hair. “My queen, my mate, this is rapture…cannot last much longer.”
I can sense it too. Goddess, I can. It’s stoking the heat inside me, ratcheting it up and up.
I should leave you unfinished like this,I tell him, running my hands up his thick thighs. Feels so damn good. Just as you left me so many nights.
He’d sent me so many sex dreams, edging me without release night after night.
You’d be justified doing so.Memnon groans, thrusting a bit deeper into my mouth. I enjoyed cruelly teasing you.
I’m tempted, I say, my own core still throbbing as I release him from my mouth. But what I really want, est xsaya, is to see you lose control inside me.
Memnon is breathing heavily, staring down at me from where he leans. In the moonlight, his eyes glint like coins, his scar a darker shadow than the rest. He looks as though he were born from the darkness, the angles of his features sharp and wicked.
“I wanted to wait until you didn’t hate me so much,” he says softly.
Is that why he’s always stopped short of sex with me? If so, that’s…annoyingly noble.
I shake my head. “I called you here tonight for some quick, meaningless sex,” I say. “If you’re not up for that, you can leave.” It hurts to say this last part, but my arousal will pass. I’m not going to use our bond to force him to stay if he doesn’t want to.
Memnon crouches in front of me, not bothering to pull up his pants and tuck himself away.
“Est amage, you and I both know I don’t do fast fucks, and I definitely don’t do meaningless ones.” He regards me for a long moment. “I can eat you out until sunrise and beyond, but if you want me inside you, those are my terms.”
I narrow my gaze at him, my breath ragged. “You do know I can command you.” I think he’s forgotten who has the upper hand here.
He tilts my chin. “Then command me,” he challenges. “I willingly gave you that power over me.” Memnon stares at me a little longer. “Otherwise, those are my terms.” When I don’t say anything, he leans in. “I think, even caught up in whatever potion you’ve taken, you do still want deep connection, and you want to feel safe when everything else is out of control.” He pauses for a moment. “That’s all I ask for, Empress.”
There is a lot of nuance to his demands; it would probably be simpler if I sent Memnon away or stuck to oral. I don’t want that.
My eyes drop to his lips. “Kiss me,” I breathe.
In an instant, his mouth is on mine. His lips are a memory, and with every stroke of them, I awaken. I’m Roxilana, and I am Selene.
“Do you still want me?” he whispers against my lips.
I nod against him, wrapping my arms around his neck.
He grins against me, pleased, so pleased. Like he’s gotten everything he wants. His hands hook beneath my arms, and he lifts me up, twisting us so that it’s my back that hits the tree. The sorcerer lifts me high, high up over him, his magic twisting around my waist and beneath my thighs to keep me pinned there. I stare down at his face, confused at why I’m so much higher than even he is.
Until, of course, I realize my pussy is eyelevel for him.
“Nice panties,” he says a moment before he snaps them off. “Now, legs over my shoulders,” he commands.
“Wait, what?” I say dazedly. “I want you to fuck me.”
He leans forward and nips my dress and what he can of my pussy, and I yelp, bucking against him.
“We’ll get to that eventually.” He gives my ass a squeeze. “Over my shoulders, feisty witch,” he says again.
I do as he says before I can think better of it, only slightly miffed that he’s the one bossing me around.
He steps in close, forcing my legs farther apart. While his magic holds me in place, his hands caress the outsides of my thighs, pushing my dress up to my waist.
Cold air hits my pussy.
“Memnon,” I gasp, staring down at him.
“Hold on to my hair, est amage. I want to feel your pussy grinding against my face.”
Goddess, but he’s such a dirty talker. My chest is heaving faster and faster with my arousal. The anticipation has taken me right to the edge. He could barely touch me, and it would set me off.
My hands thread through his hair. Flashing me a hungry look, he leans forward.
Mere inches from my core, I tug on that hair of his, pulling him away.
“Mercy, little witch, do you want to feel good or not?”
I glance down at the sorcerer and take in his ferocious, violent beauty. My heart is beating fast, so fast, and I feel vulnerable.
“This is just for tonight,” I say, watching him carefully. “It won’t be a regular thing.”
“Of course,” Memnon says smoothly, his gaze unfaltering. I should be skeptical of his easy agreement after all his earlier demands, but honestly, I want this too bad to peer closely at his reasons.
Just for tonight,I repeat to myself silently. Just because of the brew.
“Now,” Memnon says, running a hand up and down my outer thigh, “will you let me taste you?”
“Yes.”
I’ve barely gotten the word out when Memnon’s mouth is on me.
I gasp as his lips move against me, my hold tightening on him, and I’m rising, rising, rising?—
“Memnon!” I cry out as I come.
He continues eating me out as I come, and holy fucking Goddess, it’s too much. I make tormented, helpless noises.
“If you think I’m stopping just because you came quick,” he says against me, “here’s your notice—I’m not.”
I don’t know whether to curse him or thank him, because no sooner has my orgasm begun to ebb than my arousal comes roaring back.
Memnon teases all my sensitive spots before slipping a tongue in me. I moan, pressing my core closer to his mouth. My world has come down to the point of contact where Memnon’s mouth meets my pussy.
“Tastes like fucking ambrosia, mate,” he says as he works me with his mouth. The man eats me out with a hunger reserved for starving men, his hands kneading my thighs.
His mouth moves to my clit, and he is merciless. I move against his face, grinding against him like he wanted me to, my body desperate for more. I pinch my eyes shut, leaning my head back against the rough tree bark, writhing against him as sensation rapidly builds in me all over again.
Before it can pitch me over the edge, Memnon moves away from my pussy, lowering me.
I cry out at the loss of his touch, my eyes opening.
The sorcerer’s own eyes are taking in every inch of my face like he’s committing it to memory. “Do you still want me, est amage?” he asks when we’re at eye level.
I nod, my core feeling painfully empty.
“Then command me,” he says.
“I want you inside me.”
He gives his head a shake. “Command me.”
I hesitate, searching his gaze. I don’t want to take the sorcerer’s agency from him, and my orders do just that. Yet he wants my commands pressed onto him, I think. I think his demand for them is his consent.
My hand drifts to his neck, where my snarling familiar is inked on his skin. I trace the lines of it. “If you don’t like anything I order you to do, say ‘Ferox,’” I whisper.
Cannot believe we’re about to have the sort of sex that requires safe words.
Memnon’s eyes shine. “All right, Empress, I can do that. Now, command me.”
I wet my lips, then lift my chin. “Fuck me, Memnon.”
“That’s my queen.”
He spreads my thighs, lining us up. I can feel his heavy, throbbing cock at my entrance.
Memnon pauses. “This changes things.”
I open my mouth to argue, because it doesn’t change anything—it’s just sex, a simple, physical act. But before I get a word out, Memnon drives into me.
I gasp, my grip tightening around my soul mate’s neck as his massive cock fully seats itself inside me. I’m speared on the thing, and despite my dripping pussy and all the foreplay, I am stretched nearly beyond my limits.
Memnon exhales sharply, a shiver running through him.
“Are you good?” he asks softly, sensing my tension.
I nod, swallowing a little. “Just give me a moment.” I had forgotten how big he was.
For several seconds, all I can hear are our ragged breaths and the distant, pleasured cries of other witches. The sorcerer leans forward, pressing a kiss to the underside of my jaw, then my cheeks, then my nose, then my eyelids. With each gentle brush of his lips, my body relaxes, and my core stretches, accommodating him.
“Gods,” he murmurs in Sarmatian. “Two thousand years and I’m finally home.”
I don’t want to admit it, but I feel it too. Those gentle, reverent kisses, the fullness in my core—this feels right, so right. This is more intimate than I planned, but a deviant part of me enjoys this anyway.
“Don’t move,” I whisper. “Not yet.”
His lips brush against my mouth. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.
My body has already stretched for him, but I stay there a few extra moments, just to relish it a little longer. Eventually, my arousal takes over, and I shift against him, now needing the friction of his thrusts. Only…they don’t come.
Memnon presses his forehead to mine, letting out a husky laugh. “Amazing as this feels, est amage, you’re going to have to release me from your last command if you want me to continue.”
Oh, right.
“You can move,” I whisper, too overcome by the feel of him to be embarrassed.
He pulls away to kiss me under my jaw. Memnon drags his cock almost all the way out of me before thrusting back in.
I gasp.
“You feel so godsdamned good,” he murmurs, grabbing my hands from behind his neck and threading his fingers between mine as his hips continue to rock against me. “My fierce little fiancée.”
The reminder drags away some of the lust-driven haze that I’m under.
“This means nothing,” I insist.
“This means everything,” Memnon says, squeezing my hands. His next thrust is punishingly deep, and I moan as it hits every nerve ending inside me.
The sorcerer still wants something soft here; he’s tried to angle this to his advantage.
But he isn’t the one in control.
I meet his eyes. “Harder,” I demand, lifting my chin. I don’t want to be reminded that we were married once or that we might be again someday. Terms be damned, right now, all I want from him is sensation alone. “Fuck me like you’re determined to get me to come as fast as possible.”
Memnon groans as his own pace picks up. He bites his bottom lip as he looks at me. I don’t think he’s aware of the action, but it has me mesmerized. I moan at the sensation, tilting my head back as I begin to climb once more.
The sorcerer leans in. “Just so we’re clear, Selene, I want to give you soul-devouring sex,” he says as he slams into me, his hips pumping faster and faster. He fucks me like it’s the one thing he’s been made for. “Not this hasty shit.” Each punishing stroke of his cock sends me closer and closer to the edge. “I want you to see the life we once shared—the one I still want to give you,” he says, squeezing my hands.
“You’ll give me what I ask for,” I tell him. “Isn’t that what you want from your queen?”
Memnon holds my gaze, his thrusts relentless. “I live to serve you, Empress.”
I can’t read his expression, not in the darkness here, but there’s no trace of mockery or disappointment in his voice. I think he’s being wholly sincere. But it is a reminder: I will only get my way like this so long as the bond remains and I don’t fall in love with him.
The sorcerer pulls down one of the straps of my dress, exposing the breast beneath. Bending down, he sucks on my nipple and teases it between his teeth.
That’s all it takes.
I cry out as my climax explodes through me, clouding my vision. I squeeze his hands as wave after wave of it crests.
Memnon groans against my skin. “Missed the feel of you coming around me.” He hisses in a breath. “Squeezing my cock too good,” he says as he continues to mercilessly drive into me.
Memnon has barely uttered the words when I feel him thicken. I cry out again as the extra pressure extends my climax.
“Gods, Selene.” He pistons hard into me, abandoning my breast in favor of my lips.
And then he’s coming.
He kisses me through wave after wave of his own orgasm. I can feel an echo of it across our bond, amplifying the receding edge of my own. He’s in my mouth, in my pussy, and wrapped around me, pressed against me as closely as he can get. I sense if he could, he would simply melt into me.
I like the thought. Right now, with the brew still burning like fire in my veins, I wouldn’t mind Memnon sinking into me and never leaving.
Eventually, his thrusts gentle, and he gives my mouth one last kiss as he pulls out of me. He clutches my body to his as he lowers me to the ground.
“Can you stand?” he asks as he sets me on my feet.
My unsteady legs immediately fold.
He catches me. “All right, that’s a no,” he says, lifting me back into his arms.
“I’m fine,” I insist, but Memnon is already wrapping my legs around his waist and holding me so that we’re chest to chest.
The two of us gaze at each other. I lock my ankles together and twine my arms around his neck.
“This is nice too,” I admit.
Memnon’s eyes twinkle. “Good, est amage, because I have no intention of putting you back down.”
I hear the rustle of his jeans and the sound of his zipper being done up as his magic redresses him. And then he begins to walk.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask.
“Back to your room. Unless you’d rather stay out here?”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or if it’s a legitimate question, but I shake my head. “My place is good.”
His gaze drops to my lips, and he nods. “Good.”
Memnon hasn’t taken twenty steps when he makes a tortured noise and glances down between us.
Heat rises to my cheeks when I realize what he’s noticing. Memnon’s come is leaking out of me and getting all over his shirt.
“I’m going to make a mess of your clothes,” I say softly.
“If you think I’m anything but pleased,” he says, “you’re mistaken.”
My cheeks burn hotter, even as I tighten my grip. Given this position, the two of us are painfully close. As close as we used to be when we’d ride together—closer, technically, since then I always faced away from him.
On a whim, I press my face into his neck and breathe in. The action causes his hold on me to tighten.
“You don’t smell like grass or horse anymore,” I say, surprised and maybe a little dismayed. He doesn’t even smell like sweat. He used to. I close my eyes, and I can remember with striking clarity that other version of him. His low-slung pants and kurta, which he’d peel off the moment his torso got too sweaty from training. The bow and gorytos he wore in addition to his blades. The warm, sunbaked feel of his skin after a long day out on the steppe.
“That must be a welcome relief.” Memnon’s voice has that husky, intimate quality to it.
I shake my head against him, playing with a few locks of his hair at the nape of his neck. “No, it’s not.” I frown to myself, then breathe him in again.
Memnon does still smell like himself in the most innate way. And it’s that smell that makes me lean my head against him.
My old friend. My fiercest enemy. My newest lover.
After a moment, he says, “I’m unused to hearing you speak of our past as…ours.” He pulls me away from his neck to gaze at me. “It fills me with no small amount of joy.”
I stare back at him uncertainly, my emotions tangled up, when that goddess-damned witch’s brew stirs in my veins, and my core begins to ache all over again.
No, no, no. Please, not again.
I press my lips together to stifle a moan, but I don’t manage to stop my hips from grinding against him.
“Again?” Memnon says, surprised.
I duck my head, a little embarrassed. Instead of responding, I lean in and press a kiss to his neck, then another and another. Memnon draws in a sharp breath, his hands gripping me tighter.
Despite my own misgivings about my soul mate, I’m absurdly relieved that it’s him who’s with me tonight. The sorcerer is as natural and familiar to me as my own skin. Perhaps it is like this with all soul mates, but I suspect so much of it has to do with the life we lived together long ago. That one was built first out of friendship.
He makes a sound deep in his chest. “What did you take?”
“What do you mean?” I ask him, even as I continue to trail kisses along his skin.
“You have a healthy appetite for sex, little witch, but this is something else,” he says as I continue to rub myself against him. “I can feel your need clawing at me through our bond.”
“Witch’s brew,” I say. There was no such equivalent in the ancient world. “It draws out our magic, but it has some side effects.” Though those side effects are not usually this potent.
Once we break through the tree line, the moaning noises grow more numerous.
“This sounds like our camp after a celebration,” he says, harkening back to his people.
The noise intensifies the closer we get to my residence hall. By the time we step up to the door of my house, it sounds like there’s an orgy happening on the other side of it.
Once we enter, it’s clear that there is an orgy happening in the library—RIP to any nearby books. Several other couples are scattered in the house’s den, and I can hear more in the spell kitchen and the dining room.
Somehow, even with my panty-less attire and my pussy juices all over Memnon, we’re still looking like the most modest couple here.
The sounds follow us up the stairs and down the hall.
It’s only once we enter my room and Memnon kicks the door shut that the sounds grow muffled. Sort of. I can still hear rhythmic thumping from a nearby room.
Memnon’s magic pours out of him and covers the walls, muffling the sound until it’s just us. Well, us and Nero.
The big cat is curled up in his bed, looking miserable at all the commotion. He gives me a betrayed look as Memnon finally sets me down.
“I’m sorry,” I say defensively. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this.”
His tail twitches with annoyance.
Apology apparently not accepted.
“The woods are full of more of the same stuff. You can go out there, but you’re still going to be annoyed.”
That’s all the permission he needs. My familiar gets up from his bed and lithely leaps onto the windowsill.
“Just be careful. There are ghosts and werewolves and at least one douchey fairy out there. If anyone tries to get close, protect yourself.”
Nero glances back at me and blinks his amber-green eyes. It’s the only indication that he heard my words at all. Then, with a final flick of his tail, he leaps onto the oak tree outside, and then he’s gone.
I turn my attention back to Memnon, who’s already gazing at me with naked longing in his eyes. My skin is becoming uncomfortably hot again. I don’t know when the brew will eventually let up, and now trapped in this room with Memnon, our past is reaching for me from the grave.
“Stay with me tonight,” I repeat. “That…is an order.”
The command feels wrong, yet Memnon looks at me like a man who’s been given a second chance at life.
“Don’t read into this too deeply,” I caution. “Tonight—this is all just empty sex,” I insist, driving home my earlier point.
Memnon gives me a husky laugh as he closes the space between us. I tilt my head back to look at him, reminded all over again just how huge he is.
He leans in and presses a kiss to the point where my jaw meets my ear. “A lie you’d like to be true,” he breathes against my skin. His magic tugs at our clothes, pulling my dress up and over my head. He moves away from me while it comes off, his indigo magic removing his own attire.
There’s a fire beneath my skin, one the witch’s brew ignited and Memnon has only stoked, and at the sight of him adorned in only his tattoos, my desire spikes so sharply it’s almost painful.
I only have a moment to admire him in all his glorious nudity before he wraps an arm around my waist and drags the two of us onto my bed.
We’ve barely hit the mattress when Memnon pulls away and flips me so that my ass is in the air.
“On your hands and knees,” he commands.
I hate bossy men—hate them,I think as I do as he says.
You’re lying again,Memnon says, clearly overhearing thoughts that were not meant for him.
His hands go to my hips, gripping me fast. With a brutal thrust, he’s inside me once more.
I cry out, nearly coming from that contact alone.
He must sense how close I already am because he leans in and says, “Not yet, little witch. We have barely started having fun.”
He then proceeds to fuck me slowly, only giving me these shallow, teasing thrusts until my orgasm moves out of reach.
“You bastard,” I murmur.
The devil laughs at my back. “You have no idea.”
Once he’s sure I won’t immediately climax, he drapes his chest over my back and wraps a hand around my neck, his pace picking up just a little. “I’m going to take care of you, est amage,” he vows, “until every last need of yours is met. But in return, you’re going to listen to me. If you’re a good little witch, I’ll reward you for it.”
I feel the heavy brush of his magic against my clit, dragging me rapidly toward an orgasm. But just as quickly as the magic comes, it’s gone.
“And if you’re a bad little witch, I’ll give this pretty neck of yours a squeeze.”
Lightly, he constricts my breathing, and for reasons I don’t fully understand, that too brings me closer to orgasm.
“Memnon,” I moan.
He squeezes my neck again. “Naughty witch. You’re going to call me husband or soul mate. Anything else gets punished.”
I’m the one with the power over him. I can stop this at any moment, yet I don’t stop it. I don’t even give it more than a passing thought.
The sorcerer’s hold loosens on my neck, but his thrusts slow again. Why is he slowing?
“Harder,” I insist.
He begins to pick up speed. “If you want more, then address me properly.”
I whimper, my pussy throbbing.
“Don’t be cruel—” Don’t say it, Selene. Don’t say it. Don’t— “Husband.”
There’s a rush of magic against my clit, and I nearly collapse against the sensation. Only Memnon’s bracing hand on my neck keeps me in place.
“Do you like that?” he says. “Tell me that your husband understands your needs like no other, and I will give this to you until you come.”
“That’s so fucking manipulative,” I say, even as he hammers into me.
He squeezes my neck, presumably for disagreeing with him. Maybe for cursing.
I gasp reflexively, my pussy tightening around him.
“If you don’t like it, you can always come the good old-fashioned way,” he says.
I bow my head, wanting to sob because I’m so fucking turned on, and he’s so goddess-damned evil.
“You understand my needs like no other.” I gasp out the sentiment. It doesn’t sound like a lie because Memnon does, indeed, seem to know every trick of my body.
He leans in near my ear. “Who understands your needs?” he presses softly.
This monster.
I turn my head to meet his gaze, our faces inches apart.
“You, my husband,” I spit out.
He holds my gaze for a second longer before he remembers himself.
“Good woman,” he praises me, his lips curving into a smile. And then his magic is scouring my clit and sliding up my stomach and over my breasts, teasing my nipples as well.
My arms buckle, and Memnon releases my throat so that my upper body can collapse onto the mattress.
The sorcerer brushes my hair off the nape of my neck and presses a kiss there. Between that and the relentless rub of his magic, I shatter, arching back against him as I come and come and come.
His hips slam into me, pumping harder and faster, trying to give me everything I crave all at once.
“Fuck,” I hear him curse under his own breath, even as I feel his cock throb inside me. Then, with a roar, he comes, his own climax lengthening my own.
I press my ass against Memnon even as I place my forehead on my hands. My orgasm hasn’t even ended, but the pulsing ache from the cursed witch’s brew is back again.
I make a frustrated sound, wanting to weep. My body is tired, but it doesn’t seem to matter; it’s demanding release again.
“Memnon, I think…” I think I need more.
The sorcerer smooths a hand down my sweaty spine. “I know, est amage. I can feel it through our bond. As long as you need me, I will take care of you.”
And he does. Many, many times over.