63. Chapter Sixty-Three
My mind was a blank slate.
The energy that Kieran radiated as he walked a lazy half-circle around me felt dark, alluring and otherworldly. Our physical chemistry had always been incredible, but this was something well beyond sexual attraction.
This felt like a godsdamn drug.
I had never offered anyone else the amount of submission I was willing to give to Kieran tonight—what I had already offered up, the moment the honorific left my lips. The unspoken exchange of power was rippling through the air now as if it were another form of aether. As if the tension between us was an entirely new element.
“Get on the bed, laying on your back. Facing me,” Kieran commanded after the weighted moment passed. “Just like that, good girl.”
My feet were dangling off the side of the mattress, but just barely. Kieran stood in between them, slowly starting to shrug off his jacket.
“Tell me, Arken,” he said softly. “Do you touch yourself often, lying in this bed?”
“Yes, Sir,” I admitted freely.
Of fucking course I did.
“How often? Before all of this, of course.”
“Every night,” I replied. “Sir.”
“And how often did you think of me when you did it?”
My pulse quickened.
“Every time,” I whispered. “Every night.”
Kieran inhaled sharply.
“Show me.”
I knew what he meant, but couldn’t resist the urge to be at least a little bit difficult—especially after he had drawn that confession from me with such arrogant ease.
“Can you be a little more specific, Sir?” I asked innocently.
His eyes darkened.
“Show me. How you touch yourself,” he replied evenly. “Show me how you get yourself off to the thought of me, Arken. I’m right here now, you won’t even have to close your eyes.”
Cocky bastard.
I let my thighs part for him regardless, slipping two fingers between my legs where I was already slick with arousal. Together, they circled my clit with a familiar pattern, starting slow and with gentle pressure. My other hand cupped at a breast, teasing at my hardening nipple with the pad of my forefinger.
“Fuck,” Kieran breathed, the susurration sounding more like a prayer than a curse.
His arousal only served to feed my own, and I let my fingers find a faster rhythm against that swelling bud, occasionally slipping them inside as well. Kieran watched me with the gaze of a scholar, studying every motion with dark admiration.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “When I fucked you in your dreams, was it good?”
“Yes, Sir,” I panted.
His eyes glittered.
“Was I gentle?”
“No, Sir,” I confessed, kneading at my breast, starved for his touch, not my own.
“Did it hurt?”
“Maybe,” I huffed, and he smirked.
“And did you like that?”
Yes. And part of me hated him for asking these things, but the other part of me adored him for it. He was stealing words from my lips that he knew I would never offer on my own, forcing me to tell him exactly how I liked it.
“Yes, Sir.”
A low chuckle, like thunder rolling in the distance.
“Oh, you really were made for me, weren’t you, sweet thing?”
“I’d like to think so,” I whimpered, half out of my mind with need.
Logic and reason were long gone, replaced by my most carnal desires laid bare before the man I had been desperate for, the only man who had ever fucked me like I wanted. The only person who had ever treated my submission like the gift that it was. I would have happily wrapped myself up in ribbons just so he could watch me come undone.
“Come for me, Little Conduit.”
It took all of thirty seconds for me to find the perfect pattern and cadence needed to follow his instructions, gasping for breath as the tremor of my orgasm shot through me. It was rare that I ever felt so spent by my own hand, but relief washed over me like the comfort of a blanket as my muscles relaxed. For a moment, I just stared at the ceiling, dazed.
“You’re such a good girl,” Kieran praised. “I think you’ve earned a reward.”
Was that not a reward?
Apparently, in my dizzied state of mind, intoxicated by endorphins and the most attractive man I had ever met watching me get myself off, I accidentally spoke those words aloud.
“Oh, Arken,” he said. “That wasn’t even close.”
All that I could do was sigh with pleasure, holding his gaze.
“Can my reward be you taking that godsdamned shirt off, then?” I requested. “Sir?”
He smirked.
“I was getting around to that,” he replied. “Forgive me if I found myself distracted.”
“By feeding your own ego?” I laughed.
“Something like that. And this is not what I consider your reward, for the record,” he replied, pulling the soft black undershirt over his head.
My eyes traveled ravenously across the tanned flesh he had just exposed—admiring every nick and scar. The hard muscle, the haunting ink that crawled up his neck, all of it was captivating.
“Though, allow me to offer you a confession or two in return, you insatiable creature.” He leaned forward and let the tips of his fingers trail across my thighs. “Sit up. And give me your hand.”
I extended my left palm, and he swatted it away.
“The other one,” he demanded.
I offered him my right hand, fingers still slick from my self-induced release. Kieran took it by the wrist, raising it to his mouth before murmuring the first of his confessions.
“I have fucked my own fist to the thought of you every godsdamned day since I met you, Arken Asher,” he breathed, before proceeding to lick the arousal from my fingers. “And you still taste sweeter than I could have ever imagined.”
Gods.
If that was my reward, it might have been the best exchange of currencies that I had ever participated in. Idly, I wondered what the probability was that we had often been touching ourselves at the same time, getting off to the same exact thoughts. Probably high, all things considered. It had probably happened often.
“And no, that wasn’t your reward either,” he said finally, releasing my hand. “Good girls who can come on command get to choose their own rewards.”
Had I not just gotten him shirtless? Besides, the only reason I had been able to orgasm so quickly was because he had been watching.
“Tell me what you actually want,” he demanded.
A slight wave of anxiety shot through me as I grappled with my own indecision. I wanted so many things. Too many things. I was greedy. Insatiable. Starving.
“I’ll have the answer to that question now, Arken.”
“I want you in my mouth, Sir,” I confessed.
His eyes darkened, glimmering with intrigue.
“Is that so? Get on your knees, then,” he crooned.
I swallowed hard, eyes drifting to where his erection was pressing hard against his slacks, the length of him on perfect display. As I sank to my knees, I nearly sighed with contentment as he took a step closer, finally close enough to touch.
“Good girl,” he murmured, slipping off his belt and tossing it aside.
“May I touch you?” I breathed.
“Only if you ask me properly, Little Conduit,” he replied.
His gentle reminder left me feeling emboldened to be a little more specific with my language, what little shyness I had left starting to fade.
“May I take out your cock so that I might give it the attention it deserves, Sir?”
“Gods, yes,” Kieran groaned. “Yes, you most certainly can.”
Thank the godsdamned Source. I needed this more than words could truly explain. Every time I had attempted to get on my knees for this man in the last week or so, he’d managed to interrupt—or counterattack, really—distracting me entirely.
But I wanted him in my fucking mouth.