Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
So I surrender. I drop onto the bed as his tongue and lips and even teeth explore me in ways beyond anything I imagined.
Whatever I learned from working with women at brothels, it appears this is not commonly on the menu, and that’s a damned shame because it’s glorious.
Undiscovered territory in a world I’ve been longing to visit.
Each move is precise and perfect, even when I’m not sure what he’s doing.
It’s as if he’s reading my wriggles and moans and knowing what I want even when I don’t know it myself.
The barest flick of his tongue here, and then a long, slow dive of it there and then his teeth, ever so softly, tugging and making me raise my hips, part of me starved for something bigger than his tongue and part of me wanting exactly this, pleasure exquisitely orchestrated just for me.
Bishop brings me to the brink of satisfaction, slows, and repeats until I’m ready to hold him down there until he finishes. Then he gives me what I want. Afterward, I lie there, panting, my eyelids fluttering, and when I can focus, he’s crouched over me once more, grinning down.
“You like that,” I say.
One brow rises. “And you don’t?”
I smile. “I mean you like pleasuring, showing off, conquering.”
“Conquering? Me? Never.”
“Liar.”
Another chuckle as his lips lower to my ear. “I’ll tell you what I do like. Hearing you screaming my name loud enough for everyone in the house to hear it.”
I burst out laughing. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
“So is this a complaint about my methods? You don’t like feeling as if you’re being—as you put it—conquered?”
“From anyone else?” I run my fingers down his chest. “I’d fight it every step of the way. But you?” I lift up to whisper in his ear. “A worthy conqueror.” I lower my voice. “My Alpha.”
He shudders, his breath coming in a long slow exhalation of pleasure, as if I’m stroking him.
“Say that again,” he growls.
I pull back to smile at him. “You need to earn it again.”
He hefts me up, ready to go back down, but I stop him.
“Not so fast. I enjoyed the conquering, but I need you to understand that if I let myself be vanquished, it’s exactly that. Allowing it. And if I allow it…”
I flip him over, the move so fast he does not have time to protest before he finds himself on his back, with me straddling him.
“If I allow it,” I say again, “I’ll also expect to do a little of my own.”
His lips twitch. “Believe me, I am already thoroughly conquered. I’m only trying to keep my footing.”
“You are a long way from being conquered, Bishop Daniels. What you feel is nothing more than me poking through a tiny chink in your armor.”
He meets my gaze. “I could say the same about you.”
“Then we’re well matched.” I lift up, looking down the length of him between us, gaze settling on the very prominent bulge in his trousers. “Now the question is what to do about that.”
“Would you like suggestions?”
“At some point, yes. But first, I’d like to try figuring it out on my own. I only warn that I have no experience in it.”
His eyes darken, a flash of heat. “None?”
“Absolutely none. I’m sorry. I can tell that’s dreadfully disappointing.”
“I’ll pretend it is, so I don’t admit that I like the idea far too much.”
“You might like it less when you realize I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“At this point, expertise is not required. Move back another inch or two, press down on me, and you could simply keep talking, with your tits bouncing, and I shall be done.”
“Well, that won’t do.” I tug my hair forward, covering my breasts, making him grumble, and then I back up, lowering myself to kiss his chest. I tease my way down, and I’m about to slide backward over his hips, preparing for my descent, when he catches me around the waist and lifts me up.
I glower at him. “I believe we had this discussion. I’m in control now.”
His eyes glint with challenge. “Are you?”
“I am. Because if you insist on making this a battle of strength, which I’ll lose, I’ll simply walk out the door.”
“You are naked.”
“Very naked. And it sounds as if there are still wolves wandering, so I probably won’t reach my bedchamber without encountering at least one, as I walk—very naked—through the hall.”
He gives a low groan, part pleasure and part warning, as if he both likes the thought and hates it.
I lean down to him. “Walking down the hall. Naked, my hair tousled, satisfied but not yet sated…”
He lifts his hands. “I yield.”
“Good.”
“However—”
I move back up to glare down at him. “You don’t actually know what the word ‘yield’ means, do you?”
“Maybe not.” He grins. “If you care to demonstrate, though…”
“Door. Naked. Me. Walking.”
“I wasn’t going to stop what you were about to do, Delia. I’m not a fool. I was simply repositioning you. As you said, you’re inexperienced and…” He shrugs. “I wanted to help.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing wrong. Only an adjustment. May I?”
I nod, and he takes me by the hips again, easily lifting me and turning me around, so that my chest is over his, my head positioned where it needs to be without me tumbling off the end of the bed.
Poised over him, I unfasten his trousers and… there is nothing underneath but him. A shiver runs through me as I peel down his trousers, and I’m thankful for this positioning because it means I can admire his manhood openly.
I’ve seen male members in this state only in drawings, and the reality is something very different. I stare the way men stare at my cleavage. Then I lean down and run my tongue across the tip. Bishop’s low groan tells me this is an excellent start.
I trace my tongue down the hard, hot length of it, licking and then backing up and gripping his shaft as I lick the end and then take that tip between my lips and—
Bishop’s own tongue licks between my legs, and I stop. His tongue slides over that perfect spot, and I lift my head.
“You—” I sputter. “You didn’t turn me about to position me correctly.”
“Oh, I believe this position is very correct.”
I flip my hair away to look back at him. “You are incapable of relinquishing control.”
“Maybe.” He peeks around my thigh. “You’ll need to teach me.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
“But for now, this is acceptable?”
“Yes, damn you.”
His laugh is deep and delicious, and I return my attention to what I’m doing, and he returns his to what he’s doing.
I might not exactly know what I’m doing, but I’m a quick learner.
How did he pleasure me so exquisitely? By paying attention.
By reading my body, my responses, my reactions.
I do the same to him, noting when he moans and when his hips rise and when he groans out my name.
When the end threatens to come too quickly, he expertly slows me down, which also lets me learn how to detect the throb that indicates his climax.
Finally, when I feel my own end nearing, I ignore his tugs on my hair, telling me to slow, and I’m doubly rewarded—in my own climax and in the sheer delight of feeling Bishop Daniels lose control, his body shuddering, my name on his lips, over and over.
Afterward, I’m snuggled in his arms as he runs his fingers through my hair, whispering to me, holding me, stroking me, half his words unintelligible, as if they are things he doesn’t want me to hear, isn’t ready for me to hear. I curl against him. Then I lift my head to look at him.
“I need to apologize,” I say. “You are absolutely not shy.”
He grins. “I’m really not.”
I sigh and snuggle in. “Excellent.”