Page 12 of Pyne

I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, enjoying her honeyed taste. “I want to take this slow. Is that okay?”

Her pupils are blown wide, the pulse in her throat still throbbing, her scent so pungent my erection will never go down. But when I release her lip, she gives me a solemn nod.

“Slow. Good.” By the look on her face, her thoughts are still so hazy, she can’t put a sentence together. That’s okay. I can work with that.

I lift her and her towel slips away. After a swift peek—I’m not a strong enough male to avert my eyes—I settle her face down on the bed, straddle her, my knees outside her hips, lift her damp hair, and kiss her neck.

This. This is what I dreamed of a thousand times in my bed alone, first in the gladiator barracks, then in my cabin on theDevil’s Playground.Not furtive fucking, but generously giving pleasure as though I have all night to do so.

“I want to learn everyinceof you, Becca, what makes you moan, what makes you squirm, what makes you pant.”

I lap at her nape, then behind her ear as I find a sensitive spot that causes her to suck her breath in through her teeth.Experimenting, I discover nipping is her favorite and licks are a distant second. When I suck air in through my teeth at the shell of her ear, her writhing body tells me this wins first place. When I huff out a hot puff of breath, I decide I’ll have to do this again tomorrow to double-check what she likes best.

I lick the cords of her neck above her hateful slave collar, then nip them as I press her shoulders to the mattress to keep her from wiggling out of my grasp as she dives into her pleasure.

Circling the tops of her arms with my palms, I graze her flesh down to her wrists, then back up and down again. Her head thrashes as she whispers, “Too good. Too good. Torture.”

I’m a gladiator who has done things in the arena I’m not proud of, but I’ve never considered myself a sadist… until now. That she calls this torture just makes me want to prolong her agony. If I had any doubt whether she likes this or not, the desperate scent billowing off her is all the answer I need.

With my thumbs together in the middle of her nape, I spread my hands wide and slide my palms to her waist. My featherlight touch makes her whimper. If I live long enough, perhaps I’ll learn why such a gentle touch is so powerful. Now, though, I simply store the information in the back of my mind as I map her flesh.

“Please.”

It’s just one word. Not demanding in the least, but I can sense her desperation, cansmellit.

I shouldn’t keep her waiting long. It’s clear I’ve already pushed her too far, but there’s one thing I must do.

I settle my thumbs into the two divots at the base of her spine. They’ve been calling to me since the moment I first saw them.

With my thumbs in those indentations and my palms spread around her hips, I lean closer and husk into her ear. “My thumbs fit perfectly here.” I press a bit harder, so she knows what I’m talking about. “I wonder how else we’ll fit perfectly together, hmm?”

A funny sound I can’t quite name escapes her as it seems every muscle in her body loses its strength and she collapses against the bed. I’ve wielded a sword, one against many, but I’ve never felt so powerful as this moment, being able to vanquish her with words alone.

Kissing my way from beneath her ear to her nape, down her spine, bestowing one kiss to each vertebra, I stop at her tailbone when all those slack muscles tighten. That’s a clear boundary. Besides, I want to slip my tongue somewhere else.

Flipping her over without warning, I spread her thighs and spear my tongue into her with a desperate groan. Her taste bursts on my tongue as she clamps her thighs against my ears, fists my hair, and lets a soft shriek explode from her lips.

Her taste is intoxicating. So is the heat of her.

I’m pressed so tightly to her flesh that I don’t know how I manage to breathe. It’s as though I’m part of her. Merged. Melded together.

When I’ve wallowed in her taste and scent, burrowed so deep my face is painted with her cream, my frenzy slows. I pull back and take a good look at her pretty, pink folds. Then I explore.

I lick and nip and suck, noting her pleasure spots for the next time and the next and the next. She likes things harder than I would have guessed—the suction, the flicking, the circling.

She’s so aroused she’s wordless now. It doesn’t matter. She’s still so expressive she gives me a detailed roadmap. When she pulls my hair tighter, she wants more pressure. When she makes a guttural sound from the depths of her chest, it means she’s close—which makes me slow down because I want to extend her bliss.

When her thighs tighten around me, it means she wants more control as she thrusts up against me, taking her pleasure as much as I’m bestowing it.

“Please.” Her tone is scratchy, nearly breathless. It’s the first word she’s said in long minutes and by the sound of it, just saying that one word cost her dearly. I think I’ve teased her long enough.

I use my chin to press hard, right where I’ve learned she likes it, then slip one, then two fingers inside her as I strike up a rhythm. She makes a high, keening sound as though she’s startled as her release slams into her.

Between her moans of pleasure, her fingers scratching my back like claws, and the way her walls are spasming around me, it seems her ecstasy is intense. Her orgasm goes on for so long, if I wasn’t so good at reading her by now I’d think she was faking. Has anyone ever experienced such prolonged bliss in the arms of another?

She’s still rolling in pleasure, still clenching me with her inner walls, her heels scrabbling against the sheets as she manages to shout, “Pyne!” This seems to be the peak of her explosion, but I keep performing the motions that provide her this bliss as I nurse her through the cataclysm until every muscle in her body relaxes into the mattress.

Though I outweigh her by a hundreddextans, she slips her hands under my armpits and pulls me to lie with her, face to face, on our sides. The look of peace on that lovely human face is something I’ll carry with me always.

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