Page 202 of Flame and Sparrow

“Thirsty, are we?” I teased as he pulled away.

He smirked. “It turns out spending days away from you has a dehydrating effect on me.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and dragged him down into another kiss. Slow, deep, lingering—I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to leave this moment, even though I knew we had no choice, and even though I couldn’t stop myself from mumbling, “I don’t think we have time for this.”

“Not to drink you fully in the way I want to, no,” he admitted, his hands sliding underneath my thighs. “But I still intend to savor you for as long as I can. Unless you have any objections?”

I swallowed hard, my fingers brushing through his hair, curving along the strong line of his jaw. “It would be cruel to leave you completely thirsty.”

“Yes,” he agreed, lips quirking. “It would.”

The towel fell from his waist as he lifted me and carried me into his bedroom, laying me back on the bed, trailing kisses from my stomach up to my mouth as he climbed on top of me. He lingered at my mouth for a moment, his tongue fully exploring it, while his hips sank toward mine and pressed his hard length between my legs.

One of his knees settled on the inside of my leg and pressed it outward, opening me to take him in more fully. He eased into me bit by bit, sinking the tip of his shaft inside only to draw teasingly back for a moment before returning, pushing deeper.

My lips formed a softoh,which he mirrored with his own mouth, as he pushed fully inside, filling me so completely I couldn’t help but cry out.

It was different from any other intimate encounter we’d shared in the past.

He’d used the wordsavora moment ago, and he made good on that promise now; it was a slow, rhythmic, exquisite kind of torture, what he was doing with his hips, the way every rise and fall of them felt like a deliberate attempt to drag out every ounce of my pleasure.

My hands clenched the blankets on either side of me and my back arched, and he stopped rolling his hips for a moment and simply stared at me, his fingertips trailing thoughtful paths across my lower stomach and along the insides of my thighs.

The curtains were drawn. The light outside was fading into evening, casting him in shadows and splashes of warm, amber-toned light that highlighted every powerful muscle and line of his body. His skin still glistened from the steam that had clung to it in the washroom. His eyes were their normal silver shade, but aglow in the lighting in a way that made me think of smoke, thick and hiding a building fire underneath.

I couldn’t look away from him.

And I couldn’t help feeling…less than glowing, compared to his perfection—still ragged and raked thin as I was from my battles over the past few days—but the feeling soon subsided; it was difficult to feel inadequate while he was looking at me with eyes shining with wonder and lips softly parted, as if he’d never seen anything more beautiful, nor ever would again.

He leaned forward, pushing even deeper into me as he did, and he kissed me in the same slightly awestruck way. Little tastes of my neck, my jaw, the scars across my cheek. Kisses meant to memorize my skin rather than devour it.

I knew what it felt like to be so struck by a sight you needed to map it out, and this was what he was doing—committing me to memory, while he continued to move inside me, to lay claim to this territory he was discovering inch by inch, touch by touch.

My hands roamed over his body as his lips traveled mine, trying to trace him just as thoroughly, even though I was beginning to think I’d never manage to fully map him out.

His kisses trailed off and he sat upright again, reaching for a pillow and sliding it under my back as he did, creating a better angle for his thrusting. He smoothed a hand over my hips and brought it to rest between my legs, his fingers trailing through the dampness, circling and rubbing my sensitive bud of nerve endings while he penetrated deeper.

He continued this until I was writhing underneath him, practically begging for release, before he brought his lips crashing down on mine, pinning me fully underneath the weight of his strong body.

There was nothing but heat and sweat between us, and the occasional brush of plush blankets and silk sheets as we twisted and tangled ourselves among them.

We eventually ended up in a similar position to what we’d had in the tub—me in his lap, his arms wrapped around me in a warm, powerful embrace.

He guided his hard shaft into me once more. I sank slowly down against him, drawing a deep, rumbling growl of appreciation. His hands dug into my sides, power and heat rippling through his grip, and I thought for a moment he might lose control—but just as before, he slowed, deliberately relishing me instead.

His hands roamed over my body as he rocked against it, cupping my breasts and pinching their centers to hardened peaks before sliding down and continuing to map the points of pleasure between my thighs with precise, reverent touches.

We had no time to spare, yet it felt like he had never moved so slowly, never explored me more thoroughly.

I was entirely mesmerized by this patience—by all the sensations I could focus on when he moved slowly like this. Every throb inside of me, every twitch of his muscles, every heated touch of his fingertips against my skin.

And then his whispered command against my ear: “Arch your back for me again, love.”

He groaned softly as I did so, head tipping back for a moment before he brought his mouth to the curve between my neck and shoulder. It was the last bit of torture I could take—the feel of his mouth latching onto this sensitive spot, sucking and kissing as I pressed back against him.

I no longer wanted to go slow.

I guided his hand to the warmth between my legs and held it there while I rocked against him with increasing speed and pressure.

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