Chapter 5 #2
“Or we can stop here, wife. But I vow to you that the next orgasm you get from me will come with feelings attached to it.”
I lick my lips, wanting another glass of champagne. I can’t even fathom stopping. “So you want me to…look at you?”
“Among other things.”
Ooh, I don’t like that vague sentence either.
“And if I don’t?”
He leans in close, his lips skimming mine. “Then you don’t come.”
Goddess, he is such a menace. “We’ll see about that.”
He grins, the action flashing his sharp canines. And damnit, but that grin makes my stomach flip.
Would a little intimacy really be so bad, Empress? he teases.
I don’t know…
There are obviously far worse things in the world than having a husband that wants to show me he loves and cherishes me during sex.
It still scares the shit out of me.
“Fine.” I mean, this can mean something to him; it doesn’t have to be life-changing for me, no matter the eye contact and other things he intends to do.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“No.”
Memnon leans in with that wolfish smile and nips my lower lip, smiling against me. Do you at least trust me right now?
Also no.
Now he laughs against my mouth. Wife.
Husband.
His gaze flicks up to me, his eyes alight at the term. Do you at least trust me to give you a good orgasm?
I’ll give him this. “Yes,” I murmur against his lips.
“Good. Then spread your legs.”
He’s watching me intently, and I realize that he hasn’t even entered me, and eye contact is already playing a role in this.
I open my thighs as I gaze up at him, my breath hitching at his intense expression.
He cups my pussy. “I’ve fantasized about this all day,” he confesses, his voice intimate, low. “Sliding into you, my wife. Getting to call you mine in yet one more way.”
I wonder if among those fantasies he worried at all that I might deny him. He certainly gave me the opportunity.
He shifts his weight, and my lips part as I feel the head of him press against my opening.
Memnon leans back to get a look at where our bodies meet. “Such a pretty pussy.”
Honestly, my vagina probably looks like a wrinkled old goblin, but I’ll still take the compliment.
Memnon drapes himself back over me. “Take my hands.”
It doesn’t even cross my mind to disobey him.
He threads his fingers between mine and pins them on either side of my head.
“You have had weeks to tell me what to do in bed,” he says, amusement making his eyes dance. “It’s now my turn.”
“We’ll see,” I say tartly.
He smiles at the challenge in my voice, looking as though he thoroughly relishes my disobedience. I know I do. This is playful. Light. Keeping sex right here is exactly what I want. I suppose I could even ignore my feminism long enough to take a few orders.
“Wrap your legs around my waist, like I know you want to,” he commands.
I do so, the action causing Memnon’s cock to breach my opening. I suck in a breath as I feel the tip of him begin to stretch me.
I glance down, but all I see is the delicate, filmy tulle of my dress.
“Look at me,” he coaxes, “and I’ll give you more.”
My gaze flicks back to his.
“There’s my wife,” Memnon murmurs, his lips curving up at their edges.
My skin puckers at that term. I’m still not used to it despite the numerous times he’s said it in the last few hours.
Drinking in my expression, Memnon shifts his hips and sinks his cock deeper into me.
My hands squeeze his at the pressure and stretch of him filling me.
“Good?” he asks.
I nod, licking my lips. Too good. I can feel myself fluttering and tightening around him.
He bites his lower lip, and with a few locks of his hair slipping forward, the action is so goddess-damned sexy.
And still we stare at each other. My heart thunders at the eye contact. I can sense my feelings gathering, swelling. Our past rushes forward, pressing in like no time at all has lapsed. Just him and me and this endless love between us.
If I could touch his cheek, I would. I’d trace his scar like it were some sacred path, and I’d marvel in it, in him.
These terrifying, horrid emotions.
Blessedly, I get a reprieve when Memnon sinks himself fully into me and closes his eyes.
“This is where I’m supposed to be,” he murmurs. “The feel of your pussy clenched tightly around me.” He opens his eyes then, and all that blazing focus is right back on me. “Gods, but what it does to my mind!”
I don’t admit what he’s doing to my mind, how each bit of worshipful praise lights me on fire.
Memnon releases one of my hands so he can press his palm against my back and draw me up to him. He takes a nipple into his mouth, and I let out a shameless moan, threading my fingers through his hair.
The two of us find a rhythm, and damnit, but it’s a slow, agonizing one. And Memnon is back to looking at me wondrously, taking in every subtle shift in my expression.
I don’t know what my expression is, but if the soft, disturbingly gooey emotions I feel are any indicator, I must be giving him an equally worshipful look.
My hands slide over his toned back, my power slipping out. “Faster,” I beg. I want friction and skin slapping skin. I don’t want long, loving looks and this inescapable emotional intensity.
Surprisingly, Memnon does speed up his pace, his cock dragging in and out of me. And now there is this delicious building pressure and friction.
Unfortunately, rather than distract me from this rising emotion inside me, it only serves to amplify it.
I swallow, staring up at him. I know he must see my heart in my eyes. I am afraid of this feeling welling up in me. It’s too big to hold in my bones, and I’m certain that, if I let it, it will devour me from the inside out.
But I can’t deny it all the same.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Memnon grins so large it seems to split his face wide open. He’s ferociously beautiful.
His expression gentles, his eyes looking deep and soulful. “My queen, my little witch. My wife. Te amo in aeternum.”
I love you forever.
To my great horror, things are happening in me that shouldn’t. I don’t know why, but something about Memnon’s words paired with his devoted gaze, his pupils blown way out, has me shaking my head, trying to fight off whatever this is. But Memnon, damn that man, he’s a shark who’s scented blood.
“I do,” he insists, his hands threading through my own again, his thrusts building in tempo. “I love you so godsdamned much it should insult the gods. Pes udugab vesamapus.”
I am eternally yours.
“Memnon.” A tear leaks out.
I feel it—his love. Mine. I cannot even tell, only that right now, it’s more potent than even his endless power. And it’s all there, right between us.
Then the absolute worst thing happens.
I come.
I cry out, my legs tightening around Memnon’s waist as sensation floods through me, rippling across every nerve ending. My scheming, monstrous husband grins victoriously. The look is only softened by the honeyed sweetness in his eyes.
Say it again, he whispers across our bond.
I’m still reeling in the glow from my orgasm. That’s the only reason why I say, “I love you, est xsaya, est etap, est Memnon.”
My king, my husband, my Memnon.
It’s Memnon’s turn to tighten his grip on my hands as he swells inside me. And then he’s coming, his thrusts no longer controlled but deep, so unbearably deep that I cry out from the refractile pleasure of it, his orgasm echoing across our bond.
I’m breathing hard—I’d like to say from exertion, but I’d be a liar.
I’m freaked out.
I just orgasmed, mostly from my feelings.
I close my eyes and swallow.
Not good, not good, not good.
Memnon’s arms slide around my torso then, and he gathers me to him.
He strokes a hand from my shoulder blades to the swell of my ass.
Surely he can hear my thoughts. I’m sure that if I ever was shouting them, I am now.
“How sharp are your memories as Roxi?” Memnon asks.
I wet my dry lips, thankful for this bit of misdirection.
“Not very,” I admit.
“There was a time when all I could ever imagine was holding you,” Memnon admits.
“I yearned for it for many, many moons. Once I had it, rather than satiating my craving for you, it only served to make my world come alive. Colors were more vivid, my magic more potent, my might greater, and my love ever deepening.”
My breathing evens out as I listen to him.
“I thought I’d have it all forever, but then I lost it.”
I feel his curdling horror across our bond. How swiftly and magnificently everything fell apart.
“Never again will I take the act of holding you in my arms for granted again.”
I bury my face in his chest, my heart beating like mad. I assumed I’d get a reprieve now that the sex was over. I assumed wrong.
“Please, Memnon, stop saying these things.”
His touch pauses, then starts up again—neck, spine, ass. He strokes me like a cat.
“I cannot,” he admits. “I am not a good man, but for you, I am this, and I shall hope it’s enough.”
I don’t have the words to reciprocate what he’s saying, but unfortunately, I want to. The urge rises in me, so strong it’s hard to quell.
Memnon sits up then, rising to his feet, though he’s totally nude. He bends down then and lifts me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck. I grimace when I feel wetness slipping out of me and between my thighs.
“Taking my wife to bed.”
I wake the next morning to chilly air and the heavy press of a body at my side. It comes back to me a moment later.
I’m married.
I don’t…feel any different.
Behind me, Memnon shifts, the arm slung around my waist tightening.
Except, there’s that. And there’s the soreness between my legs. And on my nipples. And my thighs. And my lips.