Page 26 of Untouched Queen by Royal Command

Neither did she.

‘If you could kiss me in one place and one place only, where would you kiss?’ he demanded.

She’d seen so much sex in the guise of instruction. She knew the psychology and physiology behind each and every action, but knowing wasn’t doing and she’d never done any of it. His lips beckoned, the fierce cut of his cheekbones. The curve of his shoulder appealed, the water droplet sliding down his neck—she could lap it up and find the pulse point.

But his hand moved to curl around his erection and it drew her gaze like a lodestone. More than anything else, she wanted to know more of that. For some reason, kissing his lips seemed like more of an intrusion than kissing him there.

He looked so good naked and wanting, almost vibrating with tension as he waited for her to choose which part of him to kiss. He might not even allow it. Maybe all he wanted to know was her preference so he could destroy her with wanting and never having any of it.

She dropped to her knees and his eyes flared a heated warning.

‘Really?’ he rasped.

‘I want to know what it’s like,’ she replied. ‘Do you?’

‘I already know.’

She kept her gaze on his face, willing him to let her have this. ‘I want to know too.’

‘Brave,’ he rasped. ‘Did they teach you how to do this?’

‘Yes.’ With toys and tutorials but it was nothing compared to the soft warmth of his shaft as she leaned forward and placed her moist and parted lips against the most sensitive area just beneath the tip.

She tongued him carefully and he tasted of nothing but water. Not until she ran her tongue across the slit did she get a sense of his essence. The skin was slick and smooth. His hiss was hopefully one of pleasure. She knew not to use her teeth. She sucked, ever so gently, and received a fresh burst of flavour for her efforts.

‘That’s it,’ he murmured. ‘How much can you take?’

All of it. She closed her eyes and opened her throat and took him deep, down to where her lips met his testicles and she had to breathe through her nose. His hand came to cover her head, not pushing, just keeping her there, then he slowly withdrew until only the tip of him touched her lips.

‘Breathe,’ he ordered, even as his hand reversed its pressure and he drew her back down onto him. ‘Again.’

She lost herself in the rhythm of his slow and measured thrusts.

‘Put your hands on me,’ he said, and she did, first his thighs while her thumbs brushed the swell of his balls, and then more boldly while he simultaneously thrusted and cursed.

‘Look at me,’ he ordered on his next withdrawal and she opened her eyes while he searched her face as if studying a puzzle he had no answer for. ‘You like this,’ he muttered finally. ‘Heaven help us both.’

Yes, she liked it. The careful thrusting, his innate gentleness and iron control. The satisfaction that came of knowing that she was the cause of his arousal. She knew how to finish a man, theoretically. Suck and swallow, throat muscles working him over, but when she tried he withdrew so fast and roughly he left her blinking up at him. What had she done? Or not done? ‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, but she still felt as if she’d failed and he must have seen some of that thought written on her face, because he groaned and hauled her up and into his arms and crashed his mouth down over hers, hard and hungry, all power and unrestrained passion, and she responded in kind because this kiss was better than anything she’d ever felt.

He groaned into her mouth and she swallowed it down and opened for more. He tilted her head and consumed her and she fisted her hand in his hair and worked her lips down his neck, nipping and sucking, because she could do that to him here, and skating the edge of violence suited her, suited them both.

She had too many clothes on and he had none. They were ignoring so many steps in the sex-making process. Or maybe they weren’t.

‘Take me in hand,’ he muttered. ‘Touch me.’ He lifted her bodily and she curled her legs around him. He put her back to a column and rocked against her as his mouth claimed hers again.

He came with layers of silk clothing still between them, grinding down hard against her core and tipping her over into orgasm moments after his own release, strong hands to her buttocks, wet hair at odds with the harsh heat of his breath and the still scorching feel of his mouth on hers. She’d always known about the fire deep down inside her. It was the reason they’d chosen her.

She’d suspected from the beginning that there was a matching fire in him.

After a dozen more harsh breaths, both his and hers, he set her gently on her feet and turned away, not looking at her once as he found his clothes, put them on. He didn’t speak, didn’t look her way as he headed for the main room and swiftly strode towards the door. He didn’t speak as he opened it and let himself out. He left, that was all.

And then the emptiness crashed down on her.

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