16. 15 #3
“I want everything, Lance,” she said softly. “Your mind, your body.” Her palm dropped, hesitating over his chest before pressing into the fabric. “Your heart. A-and maybe that’s selfish of me. I have no right taking what I can’t keep—”
His lips found hers, clearing every doubt in her mind. “It’s yours. Everything. It always has been.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of everything neither of them had dared to say until now. Hovering above her, he paused, eyes locked with hers, his hand brushing a copper strand from her face.
His hand glided down her side, tracing her waist, her hip, the curve of her thigh, never rushing. He savored every inch, fingertips featherlight, teasing, before slipping back up to rest against her stomach.
She arched into his touch, needing more, but he only smiled against her collarbone, his breath warm as he whispered, “Not yet … Let me take my time with you.”
Each touch lingered longer than the last. Her body trembled beneath him, caught between anticipation and aching need, the tension stretching deliciously thin. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Too beautiful to hide,” Lance said, his voice husky, almost awed.
He unclipped the button on her cloak. His hands slid to her hem, fingers brushing lightly against her thigh before gathering the fabric.
He inched it upward, kissing the newly revealed skin as he went—her knee, the soft inside of her thigh, the dip of her hip.
Each kiss was slow, appreciative, leaving her trembling beneath him.
Mabel’s breath hitched, her hands twisting in the sheet below, the rising need nearly unbearable. She silently thanked Auren for the lack of a corset.
The slip rose higher, baring her stomach, the delicate line of her waist. He paused there, lips pressing tenderly on her skin. “Beautiful,” he whispered again, as though he couldn’t stop saying it.
Finally, Lance drew the fabric up and over her, his knuckles grazing her arms as he slipped it free. He let it fall aside without looking, too intent on her, every inch of her laid bare beneath his gaze.
Her skin burned in the freezing air, flushing beyond what he’d already drawn out of her. “Fuck—it’s so cold,” she gasped, her entire body tensing.
“Shh,” he sounded in her ear. His hands found her waist, pulsing against her skin with that familiar buzz of magic.
She watched his lips as he mouthed an incantation, unneeded but ingrained in muscle memory.
Warmth flooded her, and every inch of her body relaxed against his touch with a grateful sigh.
For a moment, he only hovered, eyes roaming with appreciation, his chest rising and falling as though he needed to steady himself. Then, slowly, he lowered himself back down, covering her body with his own.
When his lips closed around her breast, his tongue circling slow and hot around her hardened nipple, Mabel gasped, her hand clutching his shoulder. He groaned at her response, the sound vibrating against her skin.
Every movement was unhurried. Lance wanted to remember every second. The blush on her skin, the gasps and moans, the way his name fell from her lips.
Mabel’s body arched ever so slightly as his fingers traced the edge of her softness, teasing but not yet giving. It made her whimper, a sound that drew a low groan from his chest.
“Shh … I’m going to take care of you,” Lance assured her, his lips brushing her cheek as his hand finally slipped against her, granting the contact she’d been aching for.
The first touch was featherlight, almost unbearable in its care. He stroked his fingers between her folds, savoring every shiver, every gasp that escaped her lips.
Her hand clutched at his shoulder, nails digging in as her hips lifted, seeking more with a desperation that had him straining in his trousers.
He obliged only gradually, his fingers moving with patience, circling, pressing, enough to drive her mad.
His name spilled from her mouth like a prayer, and he answered with a groan, his forehead pressing to hers.
“Such a good girl,” he whispered, voice raw, as though the sheer intimacy of touching her like this was undoing him. “So wet for me, baby.”
His fingers moved with aching care, stroking her clit in slow, deliberate patterns that made her body tense, then melt beneath him. Every touch drew another sound from her lips, breathless and needy, the sheet twisting under her clenched fists.
“Lance …” His name broke from her throat, half a plea, half a gasp.
He kissed her jaw, her temple, anywhere his mouth could reach, whispering soft praise between each press of his lips. “That’s it, baby … Let me hear you … So fucking good for me.”
Her hips lifted to meet his touch, chasing the rhythm he set. The pressure built inside her, tight and burning, each movement winding her closer to breaking.
“Please—don’t stop,” she begged, her voice trembling as her head fell back against the blanket.
“How could I?” he whispered, his forehead pressing to hers, their breaths mingling. “I’m right here, you can do it.”
His fingers worked her steadily, coaxing her higher. Her moans grew softer but sharper. The heat coiled low in her belly until it snapped, her body arching up into his touch as release flooded through her.
“Lance!” she cried out, clinging to him as the wave took her, her entire body trembling with the force of it.
He held her through it, kissing her hair, her cheeks, her lips, whispering against her skin as her shudders slowly subsided. “So beautiful … so incredible … I love watching you fall apart.”
Her body was still quaking, every nerve sensitive, when his fingers found her clit again. She gasped, trying to catch her breath, but his fingers didn’t leave. Instead, he stroked her softly, coaxing little aftershocks from her trembling body.
“Wait, it’s—” but she couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her, half-delirious, her voice cracking on his name.
“I know, baby,” he muttered against her ear, kissing the shell of it tenderly. “I’m not done with you yet. Unless you want me to take you right now—stretch you open on my cock—is that what you want?”
His hands pushed his trousers down, his hot, thick length hanging proudly between his legs. She had to swallow at the sight of him. Without warning, he pressed it against her warm entrance, teasing. His hand guided his tip, threatening her tight, fluttering hole with its presence.
Her wide eyes couldn’t leave the sight of it. Her hips pressed up, catching his tip on the rim of her wet heat. A desperate cry left her lips, aching for something, anything.
“You’re not ready for that, baby. But I’ll get you there,” he purred. Slowly, carefully, he pressed a finger inside, then another, stretching her gently. The sensation made her whimper, her hips shifting against him instinctively.
“You’re so tight,” he whispered, his voice ragged with awe. His thumb circled her clit with agonizing care, syncing with the slow thrust of his fingers. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.”
Her breath hitched, a soft cry escaping her as the coil of pleasure began to return, sharper now against the rawness of her sensitivity. She clung to him, nails digging into his arm, her legs parting wider to welcome his touch. “Yes … Oh gods, Lance …”
He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, quickening his rhythm. Each stroke brought her higher, every movement guided by her gasps and cries.
She trembled beneath him as he stretched her open. He pushed in a third finger slowly, watching her face twist in pleasure. Her head tilted back. A moan escaped her.
And he wanted nothing more than to make her feel like she was on fire.
“You’re so close again,” he said with a smile, his lips brushing hers as he pushed deeper, curling his fingers until she shattered around him once more.
Her body arched, a sob of pleasure breaking free as she came undone, trembling violently against his hand. He kissed her through it, swallowing her cries, whispering praise into her mouth until she collapsed back onto the blanket, spent but glowing.
Her body still quivered from the waves he’d drawn out of her, every breath unsteady as she lay bare against the frigid night air. Lance kissed her softly, brushing damp strands of copper hair from her face, letting her settle back into herself.
For a long moment, he only looked at her—eyes dark, full of both need and something deeper, almost worshipful.
His thumb traced her cheekbone, his tone soft when he finally spoke. “Mabel … I need to hear it. Tell me you want this.”
Her lips parted, her chest still rising and falling quickly. She searched his gaze, finding only devotion there, only patience. Her throat tightened, but her answer came steady, certain. “Mind and body, Lance. I want you.”
A groan tore from him, relief and hunger tangled together, and he kissed her fiercely—then gentled it, as though to honor her words. She tugged at his tunic, eyes pleading. He made quick work of pulling it from his body, tossing the top with abandon before he kicked off his boots and trousers.
Her eyes swept over his bare skin with appreciation, hands reaching to run over his sculpted chest. Her featherlight touch sent a chill through him as she dipped her fingers down his waist. “Beautiful.” The word slipped from her without thought, simply in awe of him.
He shifted, guiding her carefully, until she straddled him, her knees sinking into the earth on either side of his hips. His hands steadied her, sliding up her thighs, caressing the curve of her waist. “Slow,” he whispered, his voice ragged but tender. “I’ll guide you.”
She nodded, trembling as she looked between their bodies. He took her hand, reached down, and wrapped her fingers around his warm cock. She swallowed, the size of him filling her palm delightfully. Lance’s hand steadied hers, and he carefully pressed his hips up.