Chapter 28 #2
His hands slide down my sides, fingers pulling up my dress, spanning my hips before reaching down to grab fistfuls of my thighs.
A sharp breath catches in my throat as he lifts me effortlessly, like I weigh nothing at all.
My legs wrap around his waist, instinctual, desperate, anchoring myself to him, to the heat of his body against the chilled air, to the press of his hips against mine.
Alderic groans, his mouth finding the curve of my jaw. “It’s sweet,” he murmurs. “But not as sweet as you.”
I chew slowly, chocolate and fruit juice trickling down my throat, and when I swallow, I hold his gaze. “Prove it.”
Alderic groans into my mouth as his hands slide beneath me, gripping my ass in his broad palms, fingers digging into me like he never wants to let go. He grinds against my heat, his cock straining against his pants, and a deep, grateful sound rumbles in his chest.
“Gods, Gemma,” he rasps, “you feel fucking perfect. All soft, all mine.” His fingers knead my skin. “I love knowing there’s more of you for me to hold, to worship, to feast upon.”
My back arches as Alderic lifts me and carries me to the table, the strength of his arms making me feel weightless.
The platter crashes to the floor, forgotten, strawberries rolling across the stone surface.
The moment I settle, the fruit beneath me bursts, their juices warm and sticky against my bare thighs, staining the wood, staining me.
His fingers brush over the laces at the back of my corseted dress before he starts to tug them loose.
Each pull unspools the tension holding me together, unraveling me stitch by stitch.
The fabric softens against my skin as the tightness releases, the corset no longer a barrier between us.
He trails his fingers along the undone laces as if savoring the moment before everything is laid bare.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
“No, Alderic, touch me.”
I lift the gown and slide it up and over my head with a slow, teasing roll of my shoulders. The fabric whispers against my skin as I peel it away and toss it onto the floor in a careless heap.
Alderic curses under his breath as his gaze rakes over me. He swallows hard, then exhales, his voice thick with hunger.
“Look at you. The perfect feast.” His fingers scoop beneath my thighs, gathering the burst strawberry juice, before sliding up, smearing the sticky red stain across my skin. “And I intend to savor every bite.”
I guide his hand to my mouth. My tongue flicks over the tip of his finger, tasting the tart sweetness, tasting him.
Then I take him deeper, sucking the juice from his skin, slow and deliberate.
My lips seal around him, my tongue swirling over the pad of his finger before releasing it with a soft, wet pop.
“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice nearly breaking.
His hands flex against my thighs before gripping them harder and dragging me closer, sliding me to the very edge of the table.
And then his mouth crashes against mine.
It’s wild, unrestrained, a claim as much as it is a surrender. He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’ll die if he doesn’t taste me, devour me.
His body presses flush against mine, the thick, insistent weight of him catching perfectly against the slick heat of my bare skin. I gasp into his mouth, the friction sending a shudder rolling through me, heat pooling deep in my core.
I need more.
I tug at his shirt, pulling at the buttons, the fabric bunched in my fists as I fumble in my desperation. He helps me, impatient now, yanking the linen over his head and tossing it carelessly aside.
I drink him in, my breath catching at the sight of him—broad shoulders, sculpted chest, skin flushed with heat.
My fingers trace down his abdomen, following the ridges of muscle, feeling the way they flex beneath my touch.
And there, cutting across the hard planes of his stomach, is a scar.
Its golden hue catches the light as I trail my fingers across the velvety softness.
Alder is attractive. But Alderic—God, Alderic is something else entirely.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, my palms flat against his chest, his heart hammering beneath my fingertips.
He cups my face, capturing my lips once more as he rolls his hips, the thick press of him straining against his breeches making me gasp, making me ache.
He reaches for the small pot of thick cream, now knocked over on its side, its contents spilling onto the table in slow, decadent ribbons. His eyes never leave mine as he dips two fingers inside, coating them in the velvety sweetness.
“Hungry?” he murmurs, voice dark, decadent.
“Starving.”
His other hand flexes on my thigh as he growls.
I part my lips, and he slides his fingers inside, pressing against my tongue, coating my taste buds in the creamy mixture of milk and sugar and him. I close my lips around him, sucking slowly, my tongue swirling over his skin as I savor every drop.
“Lay back,” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “I want to eat my dessert.”
I do as he says, sinking back against the table, my body humming with anticipation as I watch him through heavy-lidded eyes.
Alderic scoops up more of the thick cream, dragging two fingers through the luxurious sweetness, letting it drip down his hand.
His gaze meets mine as he hooks my leg and spreads me open.
I gasp as he glides those two fingers slowly over my clit.
The cool cream against the heat of my skin sends a shockwave through me.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, doesn’t rush.
He moves over me slowly, again and again, spreading the sweetness until I’m writhing beneath his touch, until I’m nothing but desperation and need.
And then his fingers slide inside me. Slow at first. Deep.
A moan claws its way from my throat as he pushes farther, curling them just right, finding that place that makes my vision white out at the edges.
I arch off the table, hips chasing his hand, gasping his name like it’s the only word I remember.
He bends down and his mouth is on me. His tongue licks through the mess he’s made of me, slow and savoring. Every stroke of his tongue is a praise, every flick a question I answer with a cry.
His fingers press deeper, filling me with a slow, punishing, perfect rhythm, dragging me higher and higher while he continues to worship me with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth.
He devours me like he’s starving. Like I’m salvation. Like this is the only thing that’s ever mattered.
And when I shatter—when I come so hard I break apart in his hands—he’s there to catch every trembling piece.
Alderic pulls his fingers from me slowly, dragging out the sensation, leaving me shuddering, quaking beneath him. My pulse pounds in my ears, shockwaves coursing through me, my body desperate for more even as I lay boneless against the table.
And then—his tongue sweeps over his fingers.
He groans deep in his chest, his eyes hooded as he licks me clean from his skin, savoring every last taste. “Like honey,” he rasps, his voice drenched in sin. “So fucking delicious.” His tongue flicks over the tip of his finger, his gaze locked onto mine. “The best dessert I’ve ever had.”
Heat caresses my spine at his words, at the way he looks at me. Like he could feast on me forever.
I sit up, still breathless, still feeling the echoes of pleasure thrumming through my limbs. My hands find his chest, tracing down, down, lower. His muscles clench beneath my touch, but he doesn’t stop me.
He watches, his pupils dark pools of hunger and need as I undo the laces of his pants, my fingers brushing over the thick length of him, straining against the fabric.
I meet his gaze, lips curving into a wicked smirk. “My turn.”
I slide off the table and press my bare skin against his as I descend. My fingers forge a path down the hard planes of his chest and then the soft scar that cuts across his abdomen before my lips replace them.
Alderic groans, a deep, ragged sound as I slide his trousers down his hips. His cock is thick, flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. His breath stutters, fingers flexing at his sides as if he’s fighting for control.
But I don’t want his control.
I want his surrender.
I press a lingering kiss to the sharp cut of his hip, my hands smoothing up his thighs, over the tension coiled beneath his skin. His muscles twitch under my touch, every part of him strung tight, barely restrained.
“Gemma,” he swallows, his fingers finally giving in, tangling in my hair as he strokes his thumb along my temple in a silent plea. “Taste me.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze through my lashes. “Oh, I intend to.”
Before he can respond, I flick my tongue over the tip of his cock, catching that first drop of him. The taste is salt and heat, heady and rich. His whole body jerks, a sharp inhale punching from his chest. His fingers tighten in my hair, not to guide, not to control—just to hold on.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, letting the weight of him settle heavy on my tongue. His curses break against the air, desperate, ragged sounds, and God, I want to wreck him. I want to watch him come undone for me the way I came undone for him.
I move slowly, savoring every reaction, the way his abs clench, the way his thighs tense beneath my hands. I run my tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his shaft, tracing every ridge, every part of him that makes him tremble.
His breaths come faster, rougher. “Gemma—fuck—” His voice is hoarse, almost broken, and when I hum around him, taking him deeper, his hips stutter forward, chasing more.
I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock, stroking in time with my mouth, dragging him to the edge. His head tips back, throat bared, his chest heaving, his grip on me turning almost desperate.