“You need what, ma magnifique?” As a rasp invades my voice, her eyelashes flutter in surprise. She has the right to see her power over me, and I expose it to her in full. “Please, my beauty. Tell me all of it. Give me your filthy, fascinating words. The sorcery of your syllables…”
“Yes. Fine.” She gasps. “But your cock first!”
I work a little more of myself into her. “You get it when I say you get it. Your words first.”
“Damn it!” She locks her heels against my backside, attempting to force her agenda that way. “You don’t understand!”
“Oh, but I do.” I smirk without letting the mirth climb to my eyes. “What do you think obsesses me during those long nights on patrol for Louis? How do you think I get through the weeks of waiting, having to sneak peeks at you through the palais salon windows? Cherishing the days when the weather clears and you are asked to stroll with the ladies in the garden? Counting the hours, minutes, and seconds until time is on my side and gives you back to me?”
“Time.” Her echo is more air than sound, once more spoken at some invisible entity in the room. “Not sure whether to thank or curse that bastard at the moment.”
I smile. “More bees with honey, ma chérie.”
“Not craving honey, Desperado.”
“Then what do you desire, little lily?”
One edge of her mouth quirks up. “Why don’t I just show you, duke of wonder?”
Before I can help it, my grin expands to a laugh. But also before I can help it, she again upends my expectations. I am shoved up enough to be free from her entrance, but not from her ministrations. A groan escapes as my cock is encased in new pressure. The long massages of her fingers… Mon dieu. Every inch of me stiffens beneath her intensely perfect strokes. Lust clouds my logic. The strength leaves my limbs.
She knows it at once. And, because of that, is able to topple me onto my back.
Where I receive every affirmation that I have followed her to heaven.
Nothing else makes sense once she switches the grip on my shaft. As she replaces her fingers with her mouth.
“Magique. This is such…it is so…”
But then my aroused haze spreads, taking over my mind. Words are impossible. I am choked and fevered. Caged but set free. Milked to the point of madness.
The best insanity I shall ever know.
Especially when she rolls her soft fingers across the sac at my base.
In an instant, I am broken down. And then broken out.
My liquid heat flows up. Explodes out. Drenches and fills the scorching cave of her mouth. But she does not let go, clamping my shuddering head with the back of her throat. I splay a hand against her head, keeping her in place. It’s one of the happiest moments of my existence but one of the most despairing. Surely every drop of my seed must be leaving my body. All the De Leon heirs will have to come from my brother.
A price I shall joyously pay.
A joy that blossoms wider as soon as my woman raises up.
“You are still here,” I say, treasuring it as fact. Only now do I recognize the trepidation at the back of my mind, nursing the fear that my physical finish would make this all vanish. But it is all the same. This warm cocoon of a room. This silken vision of a woman. Heaven after all.
One corner of her mouth hitches up. “And so are you.”
“That perplexes you?” I grunt good-naturedly. “Ah, of course it does. An angelic life was hardly ever my ultimate goal.”
“Worthy of celebration.” Her tone does not commit that as complete humor, though certainly she is not serious. I transfer that curiosity to a slight scowl, which she addresses with haste. “Angels are only my thing if they bring their wings with extra garlic and a side of chipotle coleslaw.”
A slight frown crawls across my brow. How long has she truly been in this realm? All these things I have never heard her say before…and meanings I can only guess at…
But even guesses elude my mind from the moment she reaches and palms my balls again.
I groan in stunned ecstasy, savoring how it sounds with Magique’s sighs peppered in. Somehow, I raise my head enough to rake her anew with my gaze. The hoods that drop over her precious greens. The stiffness that claims her ruby nipples. The dewdrops that glisten between her gently parted legs.
Oh, oui. Most importantly, that.
A brief mewl spills from her once I rivet my stare down there. “More,” I command, showing her my need by dragging my fist up my cock. “I need to see more. Spread yourself, little lily.”
Incroyable, how she affects me. How much pleasure I have, returning so fast. I am even stiffer as she complies, revealing her wet, pink mysteries to me.
I lose my hand over the purple bulb of my crown. It is hot and hard, hating and adoring me at once. But I do not look away from her decadent cunt. The utter artwork of it.
“Holy hell. Look what you do to me, ma magie.”
Her hips jerk. More drops appear between her legs, collecting along her beckoning slit. “Look what you do to me, Bastien De Leon.”
“Most assuredly,” I rasp. “But now I want to see.” I am prepared for the question in her eyes—and ready with an answer. “Spread all of your petals now. And then touch them. And fuck into them.”
A nervous swipe of her tongue along her lips, which pumps even more blood up my cock.
“Was I unclear, woman?”
“No. No. I just—”
“What?”
“If I do it, I’ll come.”
“Well, then…you had best hasten about it.”
RAEGAN
Orgasms and I have been good friends for a long time. Whether I should send a thank-you note to my free-spirited parents or the original Gossip Girl producers, I still have no idea. The conflict is especially acute as I frown at the clock on my drawing pad, indicating I’m wide awake at six on a Sunday morning because my bloodstream is still sizzling from the climax I rubbed out in front of Bastien De Leon. And then the next one, given with his own fingers, before he exploded for me again too.
It was the hottest no-fuck climax I’ve ever had.
No. It was the hottest climax I’ve ever had, period.
What would it be like to actually have the man ride me until he came? To ride him until I did the same?
Nate Archibald and Chuck Bass don’t stand a chance against my new fantasies. Sorry not sorry, boys.
For the first time in my existence, I understand why some women emphasize the word man. Exactly what those underlines—and sayings like them—mean. Stuff like wet till it hurts and weak in the knees. So weak, I forgot I had knees.
Is this why so many people do the historical reenactment stuff? I mean, if everyone knew that the hottest sexual secrets of history have been stowed in the eighteenth century and then were given a way to start yanking the men out of there, what would that do to world history?
Though I’m pretty sure my eighteenth-century god doesn’t know he’s leapfrogged over the last two hundred and something years.
But how to tell him?
It’s not like I can text Allie and ask her. After Max’s jump, he was the one who had to convince her about the truth. Instinct tells me that won’t be the case this time—which is why I’m here, counting last night’s “sleep” as a total bust between web searches on my phone. Absconding from the bedroom either of my other devices wasn’t an option, once I realized they were both stuck at the foot of the bed after Bastien and I made new dents in the mattress.