Chapter 8 #3
His mouth left hers, and he moved down her body. Down her throat, across her collarbone, and lower still to her breasts. His tongue circled one nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suction that made her cry out.
The finger inside her continued its maddening rhythm while his thumb pressed against that concentrated point of pleasure. Her hips rocked against his hand, seeking more.
His mouth moved lower. Down her stomach, his tongue tracing the dip of her navel before continuing to the juncture of her thighs. His breath ghosted across her curls and then—
One moment her mind churned with fragments—the Church’s teachings, the wrongness, the shame—and the next, all of it dissolved as his tongue found her center, each stroke making coherent thought impossible.
The intimacy of it should have horrified her, made her push him away, cover herself in shame. Instead, her hips lifted off the floor. Her fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer. The pleasure built higher, sharper, until it crested.
Then it broke.
The release tore through her with a force that stole her breath. Her back arched, her thighs clamping around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through her. She heard herself cry out—a raw, broken sound that echoed off the chamber walls.
The waves rolled through her in diminishing pulses. Her fingers loosened in his hair, her thighs falling open as the tension drained from her muscles.
Khaeric pressed a final kiss against her inner thigh before lifting his head, rising to his knees between her splayed legs.
The sight of him—hair disheveled from her fingers, mouth glistening—sent a fresh pulse of want through her.
He moved over her, his hands bracing on either side of her head, his mouth claiming hers.
The taste of herself on his tongue should have mortified her; instead, it sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through her belly.
“Could I...” Aeryn’s hand slid between their bodies, her fingers tightening around the rigid length of him through the leather. His breath hissed between his teeth, his hips jerking forward into her grip. “Could I try?”
Khaeric nodded, shifting away. He pulled his tunic over his head, and his hands dropped to the laces of his breeches. He worked them loose, the leather parting to reveal—
Oh gods.
The rigid length of him emerged: thick and flushed darker than the grey of his skin, curving slightly upward. A bead of moisture glistened at the tip.
Her hand hovered in the air between them. Touch that? Put her mouth on—she’d asked if she could try, but the reality paralyzed her. His hand closed around hers, guiding it to wrap around his length.
His hips jerked into her grip, a sharp exhale escaping him. His hand tightened over hers, and then he was moving, guiding her grip in a slow stroke from base to tip.
The motion drew a groan from him, his hips thrusting into the circle of their joined hands.
He did it again. And again. Each stroke deliberate, teaching her the rhythm through the pressure of his fingers over hers.
Up, then down, his hand controlling the speed and pressure until she understand what he wanted.
With each stroke, his member seemed to swell further. Then, to her shock, a bead of thick white fluid appeared at the tip. Was that normal?
Khaeric’s hand left hers. His finger gathered the fluid and brought it between them. “Taste it.”
Aeryn hesitated. The scent rising from him was nothing like she expected—not sweat or musk, but a sweetness.
She leaned forward and parted her lips. His finger pressed against her tongue.
The fluid was warm and unexpectedly sweet, nothing at all like she’d imagined.
She released his finger. “It’s sweeter than I expected… like honey.”
“There’s more.” His hand returned, wrapping around hers to stroke himself again. Another pearlescent droplet formed at the tip, larger than before.
“I’ve never—” Her voice caught.
“Aye, I ken.” A small nod. “Just feel, explore.”
Her fingers trembled as he guided her hand in another slow stroke. Another bead formed at the tip, threatening to spill over.
“Go on,” he said, his voice rough.
She leaned forward, her lips parting as she brought her mouth to the head of his length. Her tongue darted out, tentative, catching the droplet. The taste flooded her senses—the same unexpected sweetness, stronger now, coating her tongue.
The head of him pressed against her tongue, and he shuddered. His hand flew to her hair, fingers tangling in the strands. Not pulling, not forcing—just there.
She didn’t know what to do beyond this. She tried to move, to take more of him, but uncertainty froze her.
Khaeric’s fingers tightened in her hair, and a low sound rumbled from his chest. “Just—” His voice came out strangled. “Move yer mouth. Up and down.”
Up and down. Like her hand had done. She pulled back slowly, her lips dragging along his length until only the head remained, then slid forward again. The motion felt awkward, unpracticed, but another groan tore from Khaeric. His hips thrust briefly, pushing deeper.
The sudden depth made her gag. Her throat constricted, and she struggled to pull back.
“Sorry,” he groaned. “Didnae mean to do that.”
His taste grew stronger as she worked, that sweet fluid coating her tongue with each pass. Aeryn’s hand wrapped around the base of him, stroking in time with the movement of her lips. The rhythm came easier now. Her mouth moved along his length while her hand worked what wouldn’t fit.
Khaeric’s breathing grew ragged. His hips moved, small thrusts that pushed him deeper despite his obvious restraint. The hand in her hair tightened, then loosened, then tightened again.
“Aeryn—” Her name came out broken. “I’m going to—ye need to—”
She didn’t understand the warning. His hips jerked, pushing deeper, and then his entire body went rigid.
The sweet, thick fluid flooded her mouth. His cock pulsed against her tongue in waves, his seed filling her mouth faster than she could swallow. Some spilled past her lips, trickling down her chin.
Finally, the pulses slowed, then stopped. His grip on her hair loosened, and she pulled back slowly, letting him slip from her mouth. Her lips felt swollen, her chin wet with what she hadn’t swallowed.
Khaeric’s hand slid from her hair to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing across her chin to catch what had spilled, then bringing it to his own mouth.
“Come here.” He shifted backward, settling against the side of the bed, and pulled her into his lap with an ease that reminded her of how small she was compared to him.
“Are ye all right?” he asked, his voice a rumble she could feel through his chest.
“Yes,” she whispered. Her body hummed with lingering pleasure, muscles loose and languid in a way she’d never experienced before. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
Khaeric’s thumb traced her lower lip, his touch gentle.
“The Church filled yer head wi’ lies, Aeryn.
Told ye that pleasure was sin, that wantin’ was shameful.
” His other hand spread across her lower back, holding her against him.
“But there’s nothin’ wrong wi’ what we just did.
Nothin’ wrong wi’ ye wantin’ my hands on ye, or wi’ me wantin’ to give ye pleasure. ”
Could it truly be that simple? Years of sermons, of whispered warnings about the weakness of flesh, of being taught that her body was something to be guarded, controlled, offered only in duty—could all of that be dismissed so easily?
Odelina’s words in the bathing chamber echoed back: Or maybe you’re discovering that who you are was never truly yours to define. That the Church and the court shaped you into what they needed you to be.