Pleasure flowed over me. But I gave him a prim look. “Now is not the time for compliments. Drink your tea.”
A tiny smile played around his lips, and he did as told, handing me the empty glass as soon as he was done. Far too conscious of being in my underwear and his eyes upon me, I grabbed the cool pack. “Where do you want this? Neck or forehead?”
Something moved through his eyes, an emotion I couldn’t pin, and his throat worked on a swallow. When he spoke, his voice was rusty. “Neck. Please.”
“All right, scoot over.”
Watchful yet quiet, he made room for me, and when I lay back against the pillows, Lucian shocked me by curling into my body, resting his head on the tops of my breasts. When I placed the cool pack on the back of his iron-hard neck, he sighed in contentment and wrapped his arm more securely around my waist.
Smiling to myself, I ran my fingers through his thick hair. I’d felt it last night, but that had been frantic and fraught with desire. Soothing him, I could let myself enjoy the simple sensation of those silky strands. His hair was exceptionally thick, with a wave to it. I envied it; my hair would be a big unwieldy pouf at this point.
Lucian groaned, as if the sound had been wrenched from him. The tops of his shoulders went rock hard. Glancing down, I found his expression drawn and pinched.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I whispered.
“Yes.” He breathed heavily through his nose, as though trying to manage the pain. I knew this level of migraine. It had teeth that dug in and wrenched you around like a rag doll. Getting out from under that type of pain was difficult and exhausting. But I knew one way.
“Lucian? Have you ever gotten a headache from sex?”
He stilled, a pulse of surprise going through his body and into mine. “Em . . . I really want to but . . .”
“No, I’m not asking for that.”
“Okay.” He sounded confused, his words heavy. “No, sex doesn’t give me headaches. When I’m better, I’ll be good to go. Promise.”
I had to smile. “I’m sure you will be.” Gently as possible, I detangled us and slid down to face him. His lids barely opened, and I stroked his cheek. “I want to try something to help make you feel good. Do you trust me?”
“I wouldn’t be holding on to you if I didn’t.” His hand flexed on my waist, as if offering proof. “What are you thinking?”
“I want to give you an orgasm.” His eyes opened wide at that, and I forged on. “It can help. It does for me when I’m suffering.”
Lucian was bleary eyed, his movements slow, but the smile that flirted with his mouth made it clear he had all sorts of things to say. Then his gaze narrowed. “Are you telling me you get someone to make you come when you’re having a migraine?”
My thumb eased over his drawn brows. “No. I make myself come. But I’d rather make you come now, if that’s okay.”
The smile broke free. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dreaming you.”
The feeling was mutual.
I eased him back against the pillow. “No dream. Now, relax. Let me do this for you.”
Lucian
She said it wasn’t a dream. I wasn’t so sure. She felt like one, her cool hands on my shoulders, guiding me onto my back as she rose above me, the nimbus of her hair like moonlight in the dim room. Her indigo eyes smiled as she caressed my neck. And I felt like crying.
It was the headache. They always made me weak willed and emotional. Not her. It couldn’t have been.
I was excellent at lying to myself.
Her smooth palms slid over my chest, mapping it, as though she wanted to learn the shape of it by touch alone. Despite the pressure bearing down on my skull, threatening to crack it wide open, pleasure rippled along the trails her hands were mapping. She touched me as though I was an unexpected treasure she’d come upon, exploring with quiet delight.
A shudder went through me, and I rested my arms overhead, stretching out for her, silently begging for more.
Touch me everywhere. I’m yours.
She hummed under her breath, as though pleased, and bent down to kiss me. I was a man divided: head caving in on me, body swelling with soft pleasure. I didn’t doubt her word that an orgasm would help. Emma wasn’t the type to take advantage. But it caught me unaware just how good it felt to have her lips pressing softly along my skin. My tension melted, and I closed my eyes, letting my head fall to the side, sink into the pillow. Just feel.
Gentle hands, soft lips, and hot little breaths down my stomach. Pleasure, a thick syrup pouring over my limbs. My cock rose, growing heavy with desire. We were so new together, by all accounts, I should be panting madly, trying to take over. But I was slowly heating wax molding to her will.
Emma palmed me through my briefs, and I grunted. I wanted them off, no barriers between us. As if she heard the silent demand, she kissed my nipple and slowly eased the briefs down. I lifted my butt to help her. My dick slapped against my belly as it was freed. Emma made a noise of appreciation and then wrapped her clever fingers around me.
“Please,” I whispered. My body was weak, but my need grew stronger, drowning out everything else. She complied, stroking, her lips on my lower abs, teasing along the V leading to my hips.
“Em . . .” My plea broke off into a groan as her hot mouth enveloped me. There were no more words. I let her have me, do as she willed, and I was thankful for it.
And it felt so good I could only lie there and take it, try not to thrust into her mouth like an animal. But she pulled free with a lewd pop and gazed up at me.
Panting lightly, I stared back at her, ready to promise her anything, when she kissed my pulsing tip. “Go ahead,” she said. “Fuck my mouth.”
I almost spilled right there. She sucked me deep once more, and a sound tore out of me that was part pained, part “Oh God, please don’t ever stop.” The woman was dismantling me in the best of ways.
Waves of heat licked up over my skin as I pumped gently into her mouth, keeping my moves light because I didn’t want to hurt her, and because denying myself was outright torture. Apparently, I was into that.
She sucked me like I was dessert—all the while, her hand stroking steady circles on the tight, sensitive skin of my lower abs. It was that touch, the knowledge that she was doing this because she wanted to take care of me, that rushed me straight to the edge.
My trembling hand touched the crown of her head. “Em. Baby, I’m gonna . . .” I gasped as she did something truly inspired with her tongue. “I’m gonna . . .”
She pulled free with one last suck and surged up to kiss me, her hand wrapping around my aching dick and stroking it. Panting into her mouth, my kiss frantic and sloppy, I came with a shudder of pleasure. And all the tension, all the pain, dissolved like a sugar cube dropped into hot tea.
With a grunt, I fell back, a boneless heap of well-used man. Emma kissed my mouth lightly, then eased off the bed and got a cool washcloth. I closed my eyes and lay compliant as she carefully cleaned me. The tenderness of her touch threatened to shatter what was left of me, and I swallowed convulsively, unable to open my eyes.
Cassandra had fussed over me, sure, but she’d never really seen the true me in all my imperfect, humble glory. Deep down, I knew that. I liked that. It felt safe. Easy. Nothing about Emma felt safe or easy. She knew me in a way no one else did. And still she was here, caring for me.