A flush started along his neck and crept up to his ear. But he complied, his gait loose hipped and rolling. “This slow enough?”
“I think I need to film it for posterity. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a man’s legs more.”
That got a smile, though it seemed more of a “The woman is ridiculous, but I like it” one. “If you’re good”—he set the tray on the side table—“I’ll let you ride my thigh later.”
That should not have made my sex clench with anticipatory heat so very hard. But it did.
Lucian looked me over. “Although I have to say you didn’t do yourself any favors putting on that shirt.”
“Was that bad?”
“Very,” he said sternly. “You’ll be taking it off soon, or no thigh ride for you.”
“Yes, Lucian.”
Lips twitching, he handed me a glass of cool water with a twist of lemon. I smiled at it.
“What?” He sat on the edge of the bed.
“You. Putting a lemon slice in the water.” I took a sip.
“It makes it taste better,” he grumbled, still a bit pink around the ears.
“It does.” I drank some more, then handed it to him. “You’re adorable.”
He rolled his eyes and took a drink.
“You like taking care of people.”
Lucian offered me more water. “I like taking care of you.”
I took another long drink. “And I’m in true danger of letting you do it all the time. But it’s more than that. You have this innate sense of seeing something ordinary and making it extraordinary.”
“You’re trying to embarrass me, aren’t you?” He accepted the glass and drained it.
“No. I’m giving you a compliment.”
Lucian set the glass down, a bemused expression playing over his face. “I have no idea how to handle those.”
His honesty startled me. “You’re fawned over by almost everyone you meet. Even dickhead Greg was sucking up to you.”
Lucian ducked his head, shaking it a bit. “But I’m not that man anymore. Even when I was playing, that type of praise felt rote. It was more about my performance than who I was as a person.”
Slowly I nodded. “When people tell me how much they love Princess Anya, I can’t help thinking, ‘But you’re supposed to. That’s my job.’”
“And yet if they complain or pick it apart, you can’t help but think they’re fools who don’t appreciate talent when they see it.” He said it with the dry humor of a man who’d lived it.
I laughed. “Yes, true. Although it sounds horrible when you say it out loud.”
“Such is the strangeness of fame.” He shook his head lightly again, then turned to the tray and picked up the white pastry box. “You haven’t opened this.”
“I was too nervous.” I held my hand out for the box, and he gave it to me, his bemusement growing.
“I made you nervous? I was ready to get on my knees, Em.”
My heart flipped over in my chest, and I covered the moment by fumbling with the string holding the box closed. It slipped free with a jerk, and the box, designed to open like a flower, revealed its gift.
A gasp escaped me. Nestled in a white cloud of spun sugar was a perfect little sphere-shaped gâteau covered in chocolate so dark and glossy it shone like midnight. But that wasn’t what had my mouth falling open in awe.
Resting on the very top of the orb was a pink-and-gold butterfly made of sugar glass. The delicate wings were so fine and thin the light shone through them. It looked so real I half expected it to fly away.
“Lucian . . .”
“This is how I see you sometimes,” he said in a low voice, eyes on the gâteau. “Beautiful and rare, something not to be contained but treasured.”
My eyes misted over. He was killing me. I had been called beautiful before, but not quite this way. And yet I feared he saw me as fleeting. I didn’t want to be a brief moment in his life. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, though. Not with his gift in my hand.
“It’s beautiful. Perfect.” I looked up at him, afraid my whole heart was in my eyes. “I can’t eat this!”
His brows snapped together. “Why not?”
“It’s art. I can’t go in like Godzilla and chomp it to smithereens.”
Lucian choked on a laugh. “You really do have the wildest imagination. It’s supposed to be eaten, Snoopy.”
“Don’t Snoopy me. I’m having a moment here.”
Snorting, Lucian reached out and took the small cake from its nest. I would have mussed it or dropped the entire thing in my clumsiness. But his hands were rock steady, fingers deft as he plucked the butterfly off, put it back in the nest, then held the cake out to me. “Take a bite, Em.”
I wanted to so badly my mouth watered, but I held back for a moment. “This is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it? Feeding me, I mean.”
His gaze went to my mouth. “Yes. I’m trying not to break down the reasons why. Only that it pleases me.”
The words stroked between my breasts, sparking something deep within. Before Lucian, I had never tasted food with my whole soul. I’d gone through life observing it, mimicking it for entertainment. With him, every moment was one to be enjoyed, savored.
Eyes locked with his, I opened my mouth for him to feed me. His nostrils flared as he eased the sweet between my lips.
Bittersweet chocolate so dark and deep it was almost too sharp coated my tongue. Then I bit into the soft cake, releasing mellow creamy mousse. It wasn’t chocolate—perhaps coffee or maybe caramel, the flavor elusive. But the combination of all that dark bitter bite with smooth cream made it something new, rich but not cloying.
I made a noise of satisfaction that had Lucian’s gaze turning rapt. “Good?”
“Exquisite.” I licked my lips. “More.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Damn, I didn’t think this through.”
A glance down had me licking my lips again. He was hard. Gloriously so. Thick and pulsing. Raising a brow, I swiped my finger through the cream-filled cake, collecting a dollop. “You better take the last bite,” I advised. “I’m going to be busy.”
“What—”
I swirled the cream over the fat head of his cock and swallowed him down.
“Oh, fuck . . . oh . . .” A tortured groan ripped from his throat as he clenched the sheet with one hand, his head thrown back. “Em . . .”
He was beautiful. And delicious. And I savored him the way he deserved to be, slowly, thoroughly. Until he was whimpering my name, undone and panting.
Only later, when he’d fallen upon me—resting his head upon my upper chest, his arm wrapped around my waist like he needed to hold on in order to settle down—did the full interpretation of his dessert hit me. All that darkness swallowing up the light. A glossy beauty that wasn’t made to last.
“I’m the butterfly. You are the cake.”
Replete and limp, he turned his cheek more fully toward my breast, giving me a featherlight kiss. “Honey, to me, you’re both.”
But I wasn’t convinced. And I didn’t think he was either. But for now, it was enough.