Chapter 28 #2
“You look more perfect than I imagined,” he says.
It's an odd reaction to me almost drowning and making a fool of myself.
But I'm not about to stop him. My toes curl as Roiven's tongue presses like a hot brand to my center, then drags tantalizingly slowly up.
Just that one lick feels so good I could die happy.
Every muscle in my body strains as I press against his mouth.
Leaning back on my elbows, I watch the Witch-King through heavily lidded eyes.
This doesn't feel real. And yet… pleasure floods my body as he pauses to rub the flat of his tongue over the nub above my entrance.
Roiven draws his mouth away and looks up at me. His hands dig into my thighs, the muscle aching beneath his touch.
“Swimming lessons.”
“What?” The wind is cold against my wet skin.
“When all of this is over. You need them.”
“You bring that up now?”
“I'm not continuing until you agree.”
I huff. Lessons aren't a bad idea, if there's a freshwater pool big enough somewhere, but I don't like the condescending tone in his voice.
“Nevermind, then,” I snap. I start to press my legs closed. Roiven wraps one hand around my ankle.
“Pretending won't work, Caiteven,” he growls. “I can feel how much you want this. Almost as much as I do.”
That last admission—that I'm not the only fool—makes me gulp and soften my legs, inching my thighs apart again.
“I don’t like you issuing commands.”
“It’s not a command. It’s a bargain.” His hand slides up from my ankle, circling my calf and stopping inside my thigh, just above my knee. I want him to keep going. “Please?” Roiven adds, his voice soft. His hand inches slowly higher. My body throbs in response.
“Fine. Swimming lessons.” I don’t see why he cares if I drown.
“Was that so hard?”
The sky is darker with each moment, and I can barely see Roiven now. His head sinks between my thighs again, a press of his lips, then his tongue. My whole body hones in on his touch.
His hot breath pants against the crux of my thigh.
His fingers replace his tongue, rubbing me in tight circles until I press up against him.
My back arches and my head falls back. Desperate need pounds through me until I can't form a coherent thought.
Is it my lust, or Roiven's, or both, so overwhelming I buck against him like a netted fish?
I lock my ankles behind his head and moan.
My hand reaches for him and fists into his long hair, squeezing and tugging at his roots as he buries his face against me. Roiven groans into me and I feel a flare of desire overwhelm everything else in my mind.
His hands are on me, one digging into the flesh of my hip, the other pumping in and out of me, his fingers curling to coax pleasure from me.
“I want you,” I manage. The words are choked. My mind flutters, slips sideways. His fingers. His tongue. His breath. His lust. He’s the last person I should want. And yet he’s pleasuring me with more dedication than any lover's ever shown before.
Roiven's fingers slip from me and he bows his head lower.
His lips suck gently, then harder. I moan.
My hips rock against his mouth of their own free will.
The king keeps going, without pause, without breaking rhythm, as I pant and gasp and tighten my fist in his hair.
Pressure builds until I can't stand it, until I'm nearly screaming with frustration.
And then I finally shatter. Stars burst over the night sky. My eyes are squeezed shut, but I can see the heavens wheeling overhead. My whole body rings with pleasure, and even the sound of the ocean is muffled as my body sinks deeper and deeper into the pleasure.
This isn’t a short, frantic climax that snaps through me, like I’m used to. It’s long, and I am destroyed, every inch of my body humming with ruin.
My arched back falls flat to the cold hard stone.
“Gods.” The word comes out hoarse. Treason shouldn't feel this perfect.
“Good girl,” Roiven growls, but his lips are only off me for a second before he flicks me with his tongue.
His hands grip me and drag my hips toward him across the stone.
He hitches one of my legs over his broad shoulder.
Like wringing water from a towel he's squeezing every drop of pleasure from me my body can give.
No time to rest or recover from the first one.
I clench around his fingers with a whine, wanting more. Wanting all of him.
Roiven reaches for my left breast. My nipples are stiff and peaked from the cold wind. He lightly pinches. I moan out as my core squeezes tight. He tugs, with a small twist of his fingers, and my eyes roll back with a groan of pleasure.
I cry out as Roiven drives me through a second climax.
My body is exhausted, tingling with pleasure, my muscles limp.
He runs his hands over me, stroking, squeezing, like he already knows what feels good.
Through the bond, he can feel my immediate response without having to hunt for it.
My body is pliant under his touch. I quiver and whine until I’m nothing but a sobbing mess of nerves as his mouth finds its way back between my thighs.
I'm nearly sore from his lips, but I pant and rock my hips as he brings me up to, then over, the cliff of a third climax.
The world is spinning. My heart beats so loudly my ears ring. I can barely see.
Roiven lets go of me and braces his hands on either side of the pool. The witch hauls himself effortlessly out, water sheeting off his skin. I keep staring straight up at the sky, unable to move.
“You’ll have to move me if you want to fuck,” I mumble, my body so spent the words don't come out sounding too enthusiastic. But I’m still hanging over the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, and I genuinely don’t think I can re-arrange myself to accommodate him just yet.
“No,” Roiven says. He picks up his clothes and dries himself with them. My body feels cold and I'm suddenly far more awake.
What kind of man spends that long on someone else’s pleasure and asks nothing in return?
“Why not?”
The boom of Sava’s wings sounds right above me and a blast of air announces the dragon’s arrival.
I yelp and clasp a hand over my bare breasts, not that a dragon would care.
She flies low overhead, turning the already dark landscape utterly black.
The wind rushes over me. Something bright smacks onto the ground three feet to my side. It’s silvery, and the size of my torso.
A fish.
“Dinnertime,” Roiven answers. “Don’t go back in unless you hold on to the edge.”
He walks away, leaving me shivering in the cold and the dark.