Page 48 of Prometheus' Priestess

It was a small room, with the bed immediately to the right of the doorway and pushed against a cream wall. Opposite was a small bookshelf that was home to a few books Amara had picked up, a collection of crystals, bird feathers framed in a fan-like shape and a pot of potpourri. Prometheus smiled. If Amara had no inclination of her heritage, she really was being obtuse about it. Opposite the bed was a small wooden dresser that had a matching wooden vanity mirror leaning at an angle. He watched Amara’s reflection as she made quick work of taking out her earrings and shaking her hair out, loose curls bouncing around her head … before turning to him.

Part of his mind still functioned as his knees hit the back of the bed and he decided to sit. To let Amara take charge. To make sure she was comfortable throughout. Taking her cue from him, she immediately straddled him.

Her foot hooked around his left calf and began to rub up and down against his jeans. Underneath the hair on his legs, the friction of Amara’s movements, made heat travel up his legs. Her hips began to make the same small movement against his groin. Groaning, he curled his hands back into her hair, and kissed her like a drowning man craving air. Amara made a needy little meowl in the back of her throat. His hands travelled down to her waist and under her jumper before his dark eyes snapped open and bored into hers.

“Yes?” He wanted to make sure she was with him, all the way.

“Yes,” she said, breathless.

Making quick work of the jumper and blouse buttons underneath, with surprisingly nimble fingers given their size, he flicked them both to the ground, one hand cupping around her bare waist, barely grazing the black scrap of fabric that sat precariously below it. Amara rose to take off the remainder of her clothing, leaving her clad in only a black lace bra and underwear. Prometheus let out a dark groan.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her navel. Amara leaned her head back, goosebumps exploding the length of her body. Pulling her back down onto his lap, Prometheus’ lips made their way back up her neck. He felt the rabbit of her pulse as his teeth grazed, slowly, gently at first, over it.

She moaned.Good.

Having kept one hand curved around her hip, he tugged at it, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him and begin those little needy hip movements again. She did. He groaned deeper. Those little movements of hers would be the undoing of him. Noticing this, Amara flashed him a small, satisfied smile and began to pick up the pace.

On her third upward thrust he took advantage, flipping her onto her back, being careful not to press the heavy weight of him onto her or reach for her arms orwrists.

“Still with me, princess?”

Amara nodded, biting her lip.

Prometheus cupped her cheek, lowered himself for a kiss, his longer hair now falling over his forehead as he did so, before his lips began to make their way down the centre of her body.

At the barrier of black lace, he hooked one calloused finger underneath them.

“I likethese.”

“You do?” The question was a careless one and Prometheus grinned against her thigh. This was the way he wanted her to feel.Carefree.

Tugging the scrap of black material away from her thighs, he made quick work of his own clothes before settling back over the top of her. Her leg hooked around him once again, and she sent him a look of challenge, as if to say,what are you waiting for?The leg around him squeezed, urging him towards her entrance. Still, he didn’t move.

His weight was braced on his forearms on either side of Amara. Her nails clawed into his biceps as she thrust her hips up at him in demand. But he didn’t want to rush this, rush her. He would savour her. Make her feel like the most delectable treat. Let her know that she was adored, her body worshipped in this act. He wanted to undo all the harm she had ever been forced to feel when it came to this intimacy. He wanted to earn her trust. To have her feel so safe and held that she would melt into him.

So he nuzzled at her neck again, biting gently at the curve between her neck and her delicate shoulder. She shuddered, her hand moving at once into his hair, but she didn’t push him away. He continued to nuzzle as he played with her breasts, squeezing one of the small mounds before rubbing the nipple between his forefinger and thumb. Her grip in his hair tightened. He pinched her nipple. A gasp escaped her lips.

He looked up at her to check that she was still with him. Her eyes were hooded but they were very much on him, watching what his fingers were doing.

“Harder? Or softer?” he asked, demonstrating with her nipple as he did so. It was important that she make the decisions here. To know she was in control, though it was costing him every ounce of his strength to not lose his own.

“Harder,” she said, her voice husky.

He obliged, this time using his mouth, his tongue and his teeth on the other nipple. Amara arched her back as he sucked deeply, moaning breathlessly as he did so. When he was sure she was on the precipice, he released it. Bowing her back down into the bed, he kept his hands on her breasts as his head made its way down to between her legs. Only then, when he was positioned at her entrance did he let his hands wander down and grip at her thighs, making sure to keep them at either side of his head. Glancing up, he saw she had moved onto her elbows to watch him.

Uncoiling one hand from her thigh, he moved it between her legs and pushed one finger in. Slow and deep. Then he withdrew. And again. By the third time, she was making small little circles with her hips and a needy moan in the back of her throat. He inserted a second thick finger. She stretched to accommodate him, the moan escaping her mouth this time, the breathy sound making him painfully harder. It wasn’t enough.

Removing his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue and felt Amara buck against him. Taking long, slow, cavernous licks, he worked his way up to her clit, and flicked his tongue out over it. Amara bucked harder. Placing his whole mouth against her, he sucked and teased at her clit as his fingers went back inside her. Pumped once, twice. Circled that rough little spot on the inside that he’d designed to bring humans the ultimate pleasure and groaned as she finally let the pressure of the orgasm wash over her and onto his fingers.

Limp in a way that suggested she was satisfied, Prometheus moved back up her body, taking his time to feel every dip and valley of her skin as her breathing returned to normal. He skimmed her thighs, her belly, her breasts, before his hand curved around her neck and he took her lips in a deep kiss that she lazily returned. When they broke from the kiss, she opened her eyes and glanced down at their bodies.

“Are you planning on doing something about that?” she asked, a small smile flirting on her face.

“Witch,” he growled back playfully.

He settled himself over her and between her legs, his weight once again braced on his forearms. He began to move slowly, his chest hair rubbing against her breasts. Amara parted with a moan against his lips. She was slick already. He barely had to push before he was so deep inside her he could feel her internal muscles pulsating on him. Groaning, he slid out slowly − the release, one of pleasure and pain intertwined exquisitely − before returning home to her. It was a slow, rhythmic build, one that had her panting with need, but he heard no complaints. Only soft moans that got higher and breathier the closer she came to surrendering again.

This time, when she spasmed around him, her legs shaking and her hands clawing desperately at the tangled white sheet beneath them, his false name on her lips, he let out a guttural groan of his own and joined her as the feeling of ecstasy sucked them bothunder.

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