Con got one shoe off, grunting in triumph, and set to work on the other. I leaned over and traced along the thick muscle of his neck, then settled my palm over the hard bulge of his shoulder, squeezing, enjoying the surge of wet heat between my thighs. He stilled under the touch, as he had before when I caressed him, reminding me of an abused animal waiting to see if they’d be petted or beaten. Con had gone somewhere inside for a while there, too, a place of terrible memories.
I knew enough of Anure’s soldiers and guards—and the “perks” of their jobs overseeing the downtrodden of the empire—to guess at what Con had witnessed. Con might not have wanted to give me details, but Anure’s tactics varied little—always the most cruel and degrading to those who dared resist.
“There,” he said, dropping the other shoe and looking up.
I raked his hair back from his strong face, caressing his cheek, giving him some of the tenderness he likely hadn’t received in his tortured growing up. “You are a gorgeous man, Conrí,” I told him.
He looked even more arrested, his golden eyes full of doubt and suspicion. “I know I’m scarred and ugly,” he replied, terse, even a little angry, as if he suspected me of taunting him.
I shook my head, staying very serious. “Scarred, yes, but ugly? No. Didn’t you see how everyone was looking at you tonight? They all hope to lure you to their beds and parties, to find out if your stallion’s build delivers on its promise.”
His mouth quirked, uncertain. “Does it?”
“Oh yes.” I let him hear the delight in my voice. “But you’re all mine.”
The smile deepened and he wrapped his hands around my ankles, sliding rough palms up over my calves. “I think you are all mine,” he countered, a wicked gleam sparking to life in his eyes.
“What an excellent arrangement,” I purred, feeling the hard edge of unsatisfied desire surge up in me, letting him urge my thighs apart.
He bent to kiss the inside of my knee, then the other, pushing them wider and opening me to his gaze. I loved seeing the hardness in him peel away, giving me glimpses of the man beneath the armor. At the moment his face lit with curiosity, and lust. So much desire I felt, as if I could feed off it. He flicked a glance at my face, assessing, then made a sound of satisfaction.
“Show me what to do.”
Obligingly I spread my legs for him, anchoring my heels on the edge of the desk, so I sat on it entirely, my sex open. Having him look at me was a delightful and unexpected spice. Perhaps I’d grow inured to it, but no man had ever seen me there—and he had never looked at a woman that way—so the discovery added a titillation that had me even needier. “Do you want more light?” I asked.
He glanced up at me, wry and surprised. “Yes.” But he didn’t take his eyes off my face, studying me. “Do you like me looking at you?”
“I do,” I breathed. “Very much.”
“Good.” He gave me a half smile. “I think I will never tire of looking.”
That made me catch my breath, my heart giving a little thud. Who knew I’d turn out to be so vulnerable to such simple things? Picking up a small candle in a shallow saucer, I set it under the rising angle of my thigh, its flame warm on my skin. Leaning back on my ring hand, I used the other to touch my sex, parting the folds though I hardly needed to.
He watched, gaze fixed and hard with growing lust, the flickering candlelight playing on the sharp angles of his face.
“Outer labia,” I said, showing him. “And inner. The vulva you know already.” His mouth quirked but he didn’t take his gaze away. Just to tease him a little, I dipped my finger in and out, ignoring the sting of the recently abraded tissues. It felt good, too. I might be wrong about not having him inside me again. Con wrapped a hand around my ankle, squeezing in warning. Ah yes, with his fuse so short, best not push him so far just yet. I trailed my fingers up, pulling back the hood over my clitoris. “The point of most acute pleasure.” I stroked it in demonstration, my hips arching and a groaning sigh escaping me.
“I touch it like that?” he asked, his voice rough with answering need.
“Yes. Gently. It’s sensitive.”
I held myself open, inviting him to try, but he hesitated. “Mouth and tongue would be softer,” he offered, glancing up at me and down again. “I’ve seen that done. For men. Does it work on women?”
“Oh yes. But I haven’t washed.”
“It’s my seed and your fluids. I don’t care if you don’t.”
“I don’t care,” I said, then gasped as he took my thighs and put his mouth on me. Maybe because I’d gotten so wound up without satisfaction, but I convulsed at the sensation. His jaw silky on my thighs, mouth rough on my sex. He ran his tongue along the folds, so much stronger than the delicate lapping of my ladies’ tongues. When he fastened on my clitoris, sucking hard, I screamed.
This time he didn’t falter. He also didn’t let up, flicking his tongue on my turgid bud and sucking, then nipping lightly. I groaned his name, pleading, and he tightened his grip on my thighs, holding me in place for his mouth and finding the rhythm to drive me wild. Unable to hold myself up, I arched back, crying out my pleasure.
The orgasm grabbed me like a fist, wringing my entire body as I thrashed in his unrelenting grip. It seemed to go on forever, my cries escalating until I went rigid for a long and endless suspended moment.
Then I collapsed, boneless, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, swimming in a languorous sea of stars.
* * *
When my mind roused and I could think again, I opened my eyes to find Con bending over me, stroking my cheek with tenderness. He smiled when I did, a warmly open expression from him—and one that made a dimple in one cheek, softening the stern lines of his face. I reached up to touch the boyish dimple with a fingertip, wondering if he knew he had it when he smiled just right. I wasn’t going to tell him. Instead I’d save the knowledge for myself, so I’d always know when he was truly happy.
Perhaps I’d pretend to myself that I was the only person he showed it to.
“I’m guessing I did it right,” he said, filled with male pride.
Tempting to mess with him, but I suspected he might be too fragile on the subject still. “The best, my Conrí,” I murmured, cupping his face in my hands and drawing him down into a deep and drugging kiss. I tasted myself on him, and him on me, the muskiness of shared desire, as he returned the kiss with sweet intensity. I felt as if something I’d held tight inside unfurled.
His cock thrust urgent against my thigh, and I smiled to myself. A vigorous lover indeed.
He groaned and pulled away. “Perhaps we should try a bed.”
“All right,” I agreed, sitting up and groaning, too. Though not in the same way. The table had been hard and Con was learning, but he’d been rough. My body ached, and I’d have bruises in the morning.
“Let me,” he said, and lifted me into his arms, carrying me like a bouquet of flowers. “That way?”
“Yes.” I wound my arms around his neck and savored the sensation of being held so easily. “I’m not too heavy?”
He snorted and gave me a disbelieving look. “My bagiroca weighs more than you.”