Her man, at least for a while.
She edged closer and brushed her cheek against his cock, then darted her tongue against the head.
His eyes flew open and he stared down at her. “Ophelia.”
She smiled at the plea in his tone. “Yes?” She licked him again.
“Don’t play with fire,” he ordered as he dropped back down to the settee, forcing her hand away and pressed his lips to hers.
His kiss was harder now, more driven, and she welcomed it. Because of her confession, she had felt him being cautious as he touched her. Careful, as if she were glass and he feared breaking her. What he didn’t understand, what she couldn’t say, was that she wanted to be broken. She wanted his passion, his drive, like she had felt as he licked her in the throne room. She wanted reckless abandon.
She dug her nails into his shoulders lightly, pulling him even closer, and he grunted against her mouth in a low, dangerous sound of pleasure.
“I want fire,” she murmured against his mouth. “I want you.”
He pulled away slightly and met her eyes. He was so close that it felt like there was only him in the world, or at least in her world. A feeling that was both terrifying and comforting.
He edged off the settee and back to his knees on the floor. Without saying a word, he cupped her hips and dragged her closer. Just as they had on the throne earlier that day, her legs fell open. Only this time she was naked. This time she knew what he could do with that tongue. He smiled, utterly wicked, as he massaged her outer lips, peeled them apart and then put his mouth on her for the second time that day.
She arched against him as he licked her, hard and fast. In a way, she supposed this was exactly what she’d demanded: fire. His mouth was fire against her, building a fire within her. She lifted to meet his strokes, hating and loving how easily he could take her to the edge. But once he got her there, he slowed down, never quite allowing her to fall.
It was torture, but the most wonderful kind. Pleasure was just there and he kept it out of reach, smiling against her as she writhed and tried to lift into him to take what he was withholding.
“Greedy, greedy,” he murmured, sucking her clitoris lightly and then edging back when she cried out.
Before she could curse his name, he stroked two fingers across her entrance and then gently dipped the tips inside. She held her breath. Although she had touched herself since her time with Montgomery, she had never done that. Nothing had been inside of her since the one and only time Erasmus had taken her.
Until now.
Grantham slowed his tongue, circling her clitoris gently now as he slid inside to the first knuckles of his two fingers. He looked up at her, and she shivered at the image of his powerful man on his knees, asking her permission with his eyes as he pleasured her.
With Erasmus, his taking had hurt. He certainly had not paid so much attention to her body before he just…slammed inside of her and changed her forever.
Grantham was different. In every way. She was so slick with need, so close to the edge of pleasure, that his fingers only made her feel full, stretching her, yes, but not damaging or hurting. She clenched around him, testing what it would feel like, and he sucked her clitoris harder before he grunted like he liked what she was doing.
“You want it?” he asked, looking up at her again. “Take it then.”
Without another word, he slid his fingers farther into her, gently flexing them inside as he began to suck her clitoris with far more focus. She did as he had ordered, lifting against him, grinding for release, worrying about nothing but her own pleasure.
When it hit, it was more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. A crash of sensation that felt like it took over her entire body, erasing all fear and worry, all pain of memory. There was only pleasure and it went on and on as she trembled against his mouth and his curling fingers.
He gave her no respite, licking her as she spasmed until she went weak against the settee, her gasps and cries fading.
Only then did he rise over her, aligning his big body to hers, stroking the entrance to her sex with the head of his cock. She leaned up on her elbows and watched as he gently worked himself inside of her.
The stretch of his fingers had been nothing in comparison, and yet there was nothing unpleasant about what he did. Her sensitive body sang as he filled her inch by inch, slowly until he was fully seated and he shuddered.
She flexed again and his face contorted with pleasure. “Christ, Ophelia,” he grunted, and then thrust gently.
She gasped at the slide of him inside of her and the echoing sensations of pleasure that immediately were reborn in every nerve ending in her body. How was that possible? How could he make her feel so good, over and over, like a craving that she could fulfill at will?
They moved together, slowly at first, learning each other’s bodies, finding the rhythm that best pleased them both. But as that pleasure mounted, his intensity increased in equal measure. His thrusts grew faster, he cupped the back of her neck and their foreheads touched, breath mingling as they both panted in need and pleasure and surrender.
His hips ground against hers and she lifted to meet him, shocked when another orgasm hit her like wildfire. It seemed that was what he was waiting for. He held her gaze, taking harder and faster, dragging her through pleasure, working for his own.
She could see the end was near from the growing wildness of both his expression and his thrusts. She tensed a little, hoping he remembered his promise to be careful. It seemed he did, because at last he withdrew from her with a roar and stroked his cock, pumping into his hand before he pressed his mouth to hers, heated and then gentler, slower.
She pulled him to cover her, sighing at the feel of his weight pushing her into the cushions. She was…light. Unburdened, as if these powerful moments had given her freedom. It had definitely not been like that with Erasmus. Odd that the same act could feel so different.
Grantham lifted his head and looked down at her. For the briefest of moments, she saw so much in his eyes. Down to the depths of his soul in a way she’d never felt before. But as if he sensed that too, he turned his face, blocked her from the heart of him and carefully got up.
She frowned as she watched him grab for his trousers and cover himself. When he had done so, he glanced back at her. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“I think you know you didn’t,” she said softly. “You were very careful not to.”
He shrugged. “At the end not as much. It was a bit…animal at the end.”
“I liked it,” she reassured him. “All of it.”
The hint of a smile tilted his lips, but he didn’t allow it to fully bloom. The king was returning, that was clear. The man packed away, at least for a while.
“And do you wish to…to continue this arrangement?” he asked.
She laughed despite herself. “So formal, Your Majesty. Would you like to extend the invitation in writing?”
His brow furrowed at the teasing, at how easily they fell back into the roles that had created such tension between them. Now she could see how much they were part of building toward these heated moments. Truly a game. She danced around him, pushing him closer and closer to an edge until he could no longer fight her and he cracked. And then? Well, he unleashed that animal side he had spoken of a moment before.
And she could not wait to replay that scenario all over again.