Page 72 of Wicked Embers

“Let go for me, ptichka,” I murmur against her lips. “Let me see you come.”

Her body obeys before her mind does. She cries out, trembling as her orgasm crashes through her, and I hold her steady, fingers still moving to prolong her pleasure.

When she slumps against me, breathless, I scoop her into my arms.

I carry Leigh into the bedroom, her body limp in my arms, flushed and glowing from the pleasure I just gave her. I gently lower her into as sitting position on the edge of the bed. For a moment, I just stand there, drinking her in—her damp hair dripping onto her creamy skin, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath.

But I’m not done with her yet.

Grabbing a thick, fluffy towel from the nearby chair, I kneel in front of her. Her eyes catch mine.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is soft, almost teasing.

“Taking care of my wife,” I answer, my voice low and rough, the word wife resonates through me leaving a warm feeling in my chest.

I drag the towel slowly over her skin, starting at one ankle and working my way up. Her leg is smooth beneath my touch, her muscles twitching as I glide the fabric up her calf. My hands linger on her thigh, kneading the soft flesh before I move to the other leg, repeating the slow, deliberate process.

Leigh bites her lip, watching me with wide, hazy eyes. Her breathing quickens when I stop between her thighs, the towel bunched in my hand.

I spread her legs just enough to make her gasp, my fingers parting her slick folds as I lower my mouth.

“Radomir...” she breathes, her voice trembling.

I press a kiss to her sensitive nub, tasting her again. She jolts, her hips lifting as if to chase my mouth. I grin wickedly, wiping her clean with agonizing slowness before abandoning the towel altogether and giving her what she really wants.

My tongue finds her clit, circling and flicking until she’s moaning, her fingers fisting the sheets.

“Oh, God...”

Her moans are music to my ears, but I don’t let her fall apart just yet. I pull back, licking my lips as I rise to my feet. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest heaving, and for once, she doesn’t look guarded. Just... undone.

I grab another towel and drag it over her body, this time slower, more teasing. I trail it over her flat stomach, up to her perfect breasts, where I take my time drying each curve. I roll her nipples between my fingers through the towel, and she shivers, arching into my touch.

“Radomir...” she whispers, my name a plea.

I drop to my knees again, this time pressing kisses to the tops of her thighs as I finish drying her. By the time I’m done, her skin is glowing, and she’s trembling—not from the cold, but from the heat building between us again.

“Your turn,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but firm.

She reaches for the towel, and something sparks in her eyes—mischief and determination. My cock hardens instantly at the sight of it.

“I don’t think so, ptichka,” I growl, but she silences me with a look.

“Stand still,” she commands, her tone matching mine from earlier.

I arch a brow but obey, watching as she steps behind me. The towel glides over my back, slow and reverent, following the lines of my muscles. When she reaches my lower back, she pauses, and I feel her fingertips trace the edges of my dragon tattoo—the ink curling down my spine, wrapping around my waist like a serpent.

Her lips press softly between my shoulder blades, and a groan escapes my throat.

“Leigh,” I warn.

“Shh,” she murmurs, dragging the towel lower.

Her touch moves to my hips, then my ass, and when she slips the towel between my cheeks and down to my balls, I nearly lose it.

“Fuck,” I hiss, my hands clenching into fists. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

She steps around me then, her eyes locked on mine as she drops to her knees. My cock twitches, already hard and aching, as her soft hands wrap around it.

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