21
Aspen
My voice mirrored his own inflection, each of us suffering from a thousand wants. That first kiss hadn’t resolved a mystery, drained the tension from our systems, and then closed the door. Instead, it had blown open a fucking floodgate.
Our bodies siphoned oxygen. In and out. Shallow and harsh. Those noises pumped into the hollow, our outtakes ragged, our hearts pounding like battering rams.
Not only that. A firm ridge protruded from his lower half, pressing hard into my tailbone and leaching the air from my lungs. Seasons, his cock rose.
Long and thick. Packed with heat.
Because of me. Only for me.
The knight’s inner turmoil, his fight to behave himself, turned me on like flint and tinder. I’d never felt so empowered. The sensation dampened my pussy, the flux seeping through my knickers.
Such a good man on the brink of collapse. Such a commendable soldier on the verge of mutiny.
Still, Aire said nothing. As the reckless seconds flitted by, my pulse doubled. Then it exploded as a ragged noise pushed from his chest, and his strong, beautiful, fucking hand moved.
First one, palming my hip. Then the other, crushing my skirt.
The merest brush wrenched a strangled gasp from my lips, which encouraged him to keep going, making a slow, agonizing track that frayed my nerves.
Those fingers spanned my waist before descending along the outer edges of my thighs, all the while fisting more of my skirt, gradually bunching it up my legs.
My bare calves lifted into view, then my trembling knees. The knight acted with intention, trailing some invisible force attuned to my desires, following a magnetic type of path. Not because of his gift, since reading me was off-limits to him. But something else guided him.
Something fundamental.
The more material Aire gathered, the harsher our breathing grew. My lips parted as he exposed my upper thighs, leaves, petals, and vines coiling over my skin. The knight’s thumb slid across one plant stem, the onslaught racking me with shivers.
At my response, his lips tilted against my jaw. Then he shackled my thighs in a gentle but firm grip, and his voice hit an authoritative edge. “Open them.”
That demand tapped all the intimate buttons, my pussy clenching on instinct. Together, we scissored my thighs, revealing the linen drawers clinging to my cunt and ass. Amber light snuck through the tree, illuminating the studded outline of my clit and the sodden oval penetrating the textile.
Aire sucked in a breath. “Now tell me how you feel.”
“Wet,” I panted, the word shoving from my lips. “Wet and warm.” Twisting, I took a risk and draped my tongue along the rim of his jaw. “But empty. My pussy feels so empty without you.”
An anguished groan raked from his throat. “You have the filthiest mouth.”
“You like my filthy mouth.” I nipped my teeth into his flesh, grazing the hard line of bone. “And you like what you see. It makes you hard, doesn’t it?”
And my knight lost his mind. “Fuck,” he muttered, then snatched my chin and veered my gaze toward the gap in my legs.
I had expected another soul-shattering kiss. Instead, the rough motion dislodged a gasp from me, threads of hair falling over my face, my breasts inflating and collapsing through the vent in my cloak.
Then I realized. Aire might be a saint, but he wasn’t a softie.
He’d done many things before, with many women. This man could be patiently attentive, erotically romantic, and graciously sensual. Sensory powers or not, he could be visceral to the point of shocking.
If he wanted, this warrior could fuck like a gentleman. And make love like a beast.
My walls pooled with fluid. Aire ducked his head, staring over my shoulder.
Both of us observed as one gloved hand made the excruciating climb up my inner limb, grazing the side of my knee, skimming the ledge of my thighs.
Chills shimmied in his wake, the supple glide of leather penetrating me to the core while the opposite hand secured my leg in place, keeping my thighs sheared apart.
My joints relaxed. My legs fell wider, splaying for his touch.
The backs of his knuckles teased me, skating toward the curves of my ass, then the gulf of my limbs. He progressed at a leisurely pace, prolonging the agony, a whimper sticking to the roof of my mouth. And at last, those fingers dragged to the soaked trench of my pussy.
I burst into flames. A cry shot from my lips with the might of a cannon, the noise slamming off the tree trunk.
Oh, gods. Aire was touching me. He was fucking touching me.
With a riveted groan, Aire sketched the swells of my cunt through the fabric. His powerful fingers traced with prolonged urgency, etching up and down along the rift. The movements smeared my arousal over the lips, the stimulation causing a dizzy spell, my eyelids lowering.
I did as he bade. I watched this knight fondle my cunt over the drawers, then row the point of his index finger over the split, driving me to madness. He took his measured time, urging more responses from my body, every sound amplifying, every taunt stripping me apart at the seams.
All this upheaval, and Aire hadn’t even pitched a finger inside me yet.
At length, he ascended to my clit. A stuttered noise cracked from my throat as he circled the peg of skin, enlarging it, coaxing it.
“Oh,” I keened. “Oh, fuck.”
“Watch yourself,” the knight hummed against my cheek. “Watch this lovely maidenhead.”
“I’m not a maiden.”
“I don’t bloody care.”
“Then call it what it is,” I choked out. “Let me hear the word.”
Tremors ratcheted across the knight’s big frame. “I cannot say that.”
“With me, you can.” I propped my thighs farther apart, opening wider. “It isn’t demeaning. It’s sexy. You can say anything to me, and it will always be sexy.”
Aire seethed, the edge of his finger stirring my arousal, smearing it over my flanks. “Intimate. Sacred.”
“Primal,” I implored. “Seductive.”
While holding my cunt, he teetered on a precipice. And because I wouldn’t urge this from him if I didn’t think he wanted it, this knight stepped off the edge.
“Your pussy,” he husked.
The word on his tongue. Seasons, I leaked through my drawers, and a mewl curled from my throat. “What about my pussy? What are you going to do to it?”
“I shall make you forget every other soul who’s made this pussy come.” And because he got the hang of things quickly, Aire hummed in satisfaction. “I’ll rub, pump, and climax this exquisite, brazen cunt as if it’s never been worshipped before.”
To demonstrate, he swirled the tip of his digit around my clit. I chanted something indistinguishable, a splintered kind of sound that encouraged him to repeat the delicate motion, then toggle that same finger over the peak until my vision blurred.
The delicious misery went on and on. At this rate, I’d either lose my voice or faint.
My octaves increased, whines hardening into moans. Our gazes stayed rooted to his hand toying with my cunt, saturating the gusset of my knickers.
The instant my arousal glossed his fingers through the textile, Aire rumbled. “I have thought of nothing but this since I tasted your moans on my tongue.”
“Show me what you thought about,” I stressed, jutting my hips upward. “Fuck me with your touch.”
His growl sank marrow deep. Diving into the hole in my drawers, two fingers pried open the slit, the rip audible. Not enough to destroy the garment, but enough for my cunt to lift from the aperture.
The knight’s breath stalled. My clit flushed from the apex, vines imprinted across my bare pussy, and the pleat glistened. I waxed my skin, a habit I had adopted from Briar, Flare, and the ladies.
Aire’s speechless reaction wetted me further. His eyes on my pussy was a palpable force, a shocked rasp grating from his lungs, equally covetous and predatory. Then he cupped my naked flesh, holding it like something priceless.
Warmth covered my skin, my arousal coated his palm, and a plaintive moan fell off my tongue. “Aire!”
“Fuck almighty,” he groaned. “The shape of your pussy is beautiful.”
Every curse slipping from his mouth played like a ballad to my ears.
For having such a clean vocabulary, this warrior hadn’t shied away.
In private with someone he trusted, someone who smashed his self-control to bits…
that woman got to hear every candid obscenity.
She also got to feel what her pleasure did to him, how it shattered this model citizen to pieces.
And how his body yielded.
Aire’s cock thickened beneath me, the flared head abrading my ass. Reaching up to clasp his nape, I rolled into him, the friction aggravating from either side, his dick and fingers stimulating each end. The movements bucked my pussy into his waiting hand, my cunt dripping onto his gloves.
The knight sputtered an oath. Synchronizing with me, he palmed my flesh, massaging in a languid rhythm. His moans tangled with my own, and his fingers pressed harder, slowly masturbating me until my eyelids fluttered.
Blood raced across my veins. My toes curled inside my boots.
And then he bent his fingers. And sank one between my lips.
A fractured cry broke from my chest. His broad finger pitched deeply, the tight walls of my pussy clasping him.
Aire hissed again. “Oh Seasons, Aspen.”
Swiveling my waist, I lodged him higher, sealing him in, sucking him in.
Murmuring encouragements, the knight slung his hand back and forth, matching the cadence, working into me with deft strokes.
Dipping our gazes, we stared as my pussy beat against his wrist, every entry and retreat visible in the muted light.
Next, Aire added a second finger. Then a third, filling me so good.
Sobbing, I arched like a bowstring, my head swinging backward to land on Aire’s shoulder. Using his nape for balance, I gyrated onto his hand, and he pistoned with sinuous precision. He tapped into my cries, knowing where to strike, which condensed places to hit.