41. Chapter Forty-One
After picking up some of my things, Trinte flies us back to his apartment. It’s been well over a month since the last time I was here. When he invited me over, a part of me was worried it would be at the same level of disarray.
So imagine my surprise when it’s actually clean. As in, a real mop was used recently.
Trinte smirks as we walk in, as if knowing my thoughts. He drops my suitcase by the coffee table. “Would you like something to drink? I happen to have a dozen Heimlocks ready.”
I laugh. “A Heimlock sounds great.”
He motions to the couch. “Go on; spoil yourself. Your cute butt deserves it.”
Getting comfortable on the couch, I watch him pour the Heimlocks into clean glasses. It’s suddenly clear how much of a mess he was the day I barged in. It makes me even more curious about the Weyr reunion. Whatever it was, had this man flipped upside down.
After handing me the beer, Trinte sits down, getting comfortable. With a dramatic sigh, he says, “Wow, my tailbone really missed this.”
I lift a pillow in a threat. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in. You know, some people aren’t home enough to need a couch.”
After taking a sip of his beer, Trinte asks, “Why don’t you have furniture? I didn’t ask while you had semi-stinky armpits, but I’m dying to know why.”
He catches the pillow when I try to hit him with it. “I do not stink. And if I did stink, it’s because my caretaker sucks at cleaning me.”
Mouth twitching, he says, “Maybe your caretaker could have employed other ways to clean you.”
“Is this where you tell me you’ll lick my armpits?” I demand.
“Kyrielle, you need to listen to me carefully.” He leans forward, putting the beer on his coffee table. Dread increases my pulse at the serious expression.
He grabs my free hand, rubbing the top of it with his thumbs. Looking deep into my eyes, he says, “I will literally lick anything you ask me to. Toes, elbows, eyeballs — you ask and my tongue is there.” His focus dips to my lap. With a salaciously slow smile, he says, “Amongst other things.”
My cheeks burn because I know how that licking feels. “Wouldn’t that, uh, count as sex?”
“Firefly, I don’t know of anyone who thinks eyeball licking is sex. Even a Cyclops might side-eye that one.”
I laugh and put my beer next to his. “Shall we put this to the test?”
Trinte cocks his head. “Is this where you’re actually going to make me lick your armpit? Because I’ll do it.” He lunges; I squeal, hugging my good arm to my chest. He’s gentle as he pretends to lift the arm, tongue at the ready.
“No!” I screech. “No armpit licking, Trinte!”
He lets go and sits back, looking disappointed. “But you promised.”
Laughing, I slap his knee. “I did no such thing.”
His lower lip juts out. “So what can I lick?”
Raising my good arm, I present my elbow. “Here.”
Raising an eyebrow, he flashes a grin, then sticks out his tongue. My breath hitches as he gives it a slow, savoring swipe of his tongue. When his teeth lightly scrape the skin, I have to refrain from letting out a moan. Over an elbow? I’m doomed.
“How was that?” His voice is hoarse; strained.
Swallowing hard, I nod in approval. “Not too shabby, but there’s room for improvement. I’ll make my final decision when you’re done.”
“Oh?” His gaze rakes over me, incinerating my inhibitions. “What’s next, dear damsel?”
Pulse fluttering, I point to the back of my hand. He lifts it and, like the elbow, he gives it a thorough lick, never breaking eye contact.
“Next?”
My body begins to heat, knowing I’m quickly running out of ridiculous options.
Twisting, I point to my scapula. Immediately, I know it’s a big mistake.
Trinte’s body crowds mine as he leans forward.
One of his arms slides over my chest, cradling my body.
Warm breath causes goosebumps to explode all over my body.
He gives my shoulder a slow, sensual lick, ending it with a tender kiss.
The nervous impulse to giggle almost overwhelms me because I’m about to lose my fucking mind. Maybe I should bend over to offer an ass cheek. Imagining that is also a big mistake.
“What’s next, Firefly?” he says, voice husky against my neck.
Mouth going dry, I twist back to face him and point to my knee. It’s covered by pants. Trinte’s gaze darkens as he realizes what this entails.
“You’re going to have to lose these, you know.”
My shaking fingers fiddle with the button. “You’ll have to help me.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he says, that single blue eye sparkling like the ocean on a summer day.
He helps me stand between his thick thighs. I peer down at him, trying to hide how much my body shakes from both lust and nerves. When his knuckles brush my skin, I shiver. The button pops, exposing my lower belly.
“Look at me,” he commands.
My eyes obey, never leaving his as he works the pants down my thighs. My arms hang limply at my sides; the urge to cover myself is difficult to resist. He must see something in my expression because he pauses.
“You know what we need? To make sure this whole licking business stays as appropriate as possible?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice. If I speak, it’ll be to request using his face as a chair.
“A safe word.”
That throws me back into reality. Forgetting about sitting on his face for a second, I consider, knowing I don’t want to repeat any safe words I’ve had with others. “What is your least favorite food?”
“Someone once told me they like pickles on their pizza,” he says thoughtfully. “So why not pickles?”
I bark out a laugh. “Okay, pickles it is.”
When he smirks, I immediately remember the desire to sit on that charming mouth. Shivers rattle my body when he runs a knuckle along the top of my underwear. My back arches as the hand runs along the back of my thigh, pausing behind my knee.
When he gives it a gentle tug, I shift my weight so he can raise it. His other hand comes to my right hip, holding me steady.
“Now, about this knee,” he says, staring at it. “Is there a particular spot you have in mind?”
“Manservant’s choice,” I say, my voice low.
“Mmm,” he hums. Maintaining eye contact, he swirls his tongue in the center, then nips the tip. I giggle.
Trinte looks to where my underwear barely covers my pussy.
In a voice made of honey and sand, he says, “Anywhere else?”
After a moment’s hesitation, I point at my neck. Pleasure shots right down to my center when he easily lifts and deposits me onto his lap.
“For easier access,” he says, eyes already on my pulse point. He can undoubtedly see how fast blood pumps through my body right now. Considering the hardness pressing against his pants, it’s safe to say he’s feeling the strain as well.
With one of his hands on my lower back, he uses the other to gently tilt my head. His voice rumbles between us as he says, “Is this going to be the final destination before the verdict is reached?”
After swallowing a few times, I’m able to choke out, “Yes, so you better make it good.”
“Always,” he growls, pressing his nose to the spot right below my ear. I can’t help it — I let out the smallest whimper. It feels divine, having him this close, enveloping me with his heat and energy.
When his tongue gives the tiniest lick to my pulse point, I inhale sharply.
My hands, demanding an anchor, fly to the back of his neck.
It twinges my shoulder, but I hide the wince.
He groans when my fingers dig into his scalp.
Trinte’s tongue runs along my throat, across my jaw, stopping at my mouth, where he initiates a scathing kiss.
We’re lost in one another, drowning in this demanding thing between us.
The same thing that brings us together again and again.
It’s ravenous and punishing, demanding as much as it gives.
My body burns with need. Judging by his ridged length and the Fyre glowing in his chest, he’s on the exact same page.
The hand on my lower back coaxes my hips forward; they obey with a needy thrust. Trinte moans, deepening the kiss.
Grabbing the hand still cupping my face, I deposit it on one of my breasts.
Instantly, he’s kneading it and tweaking my nipple.
I gasp, tossing my head back, already needing so much more.
His tongue laves along my neck; I cry out as he bites my jugular.
Those deadly fangs are sharp pinpricks; he could rip out my throat and I’d be helpless to stop him.
“Yes!” I grind against his hardness. My hands grapple for his shirt, desperate for it to be gone. Except he doesn’t lift his arms. I’m not sure why; maybe he thinks if he loses his shirt, that being slow will be impossible.
I’m not sure if this counts as being slow.
Instead of questioning him, I pull down my tank top, offering my breasts as an alternative. He doesn’t hesitate, clamping down on one with a greedy suck. Sparks fly in my vision; my moan is almost embarrassing in its depravity.
“Fuck, Trinte,” I groan, wishing more than anything that he was buried inside me. “You feel so fucking good.”
He hums, a nipple still between his teeth. When he switches breasts, I can’t take it anymore. One of my hands goes to my clit, making furious circles, desperate for friction.
Trinte growls, but doesn’t stop me. Instead, he begins a steady rhythm of sucking and nibbling. His hands support me, one moving my hips and the other between my shoulder blades. Through the chaos, he’s still careful with my wing, which only heightens my pleasure.
He’s so fucking considerate.
Thinking about it increases the tension coiling in my belly. How he saved me in the arena. Took care of me for days. Literally committed murder with me. Each memory of his devotion builds upon the other. My lungs burn from breathing so hard, and sweat coats my body.
I need more.
“Please,” I plead, not even sure exactly what I’m begging for.
Trinte ignores my begging, keeping his rhythm steady. It makes things worse — better? — for me. Slipping my hand into my underwear, I shove two fingers inside my soaking center. It’s not enough.
“Trinte, please.” I’m sobbing, riding my hand like death is waiting around the corner, and the one thing stopping it is my pleasure.
I whimper when he lets go of my breasts to snarl, “Remind me what that pretty face looks like when you’re cumming.”
The hand on my lower back begins a punishing pace, helping me fuck my fingers. Closing my eyes, I try to envision it’s his cock inside me. Filling me up.
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he purrs. “Think of how good it’ll feel when I’m finally inside you again. Making you mine.”
Those three words are my undoing. My back arches as I let out a cry of unadulterated pleasure.
“There you go,” Trinte says from a different universe, his hot mouth kissing my chest.
Coming back to this reality is almost painful. That is, until my eyes flutter open to see his expression of adoration.
“Stunning,” he breathes, his smile so painfully vulnerable, I want to weep from the gift of it.
Removing my fingers, soaked with my pleasure, I go to wipe them on my shirt, he shakes his head. Confused, I furrow my brows.
This big, beautiful blue Dragon sticks out his tongue. Without hesitating, I press my fingers into his mouth. He suckles, running his tongue along the seam of them. Lust zings down my spine again, my body ready for everything he’s willing to give.
Inhaling a steadying breath, I say, “Would that count as slow?”
Releasing my fingers, Trinte licks his lips. “I assure you, Firefly, you’ll know when slow is over.”