Page 129 of A Reign of Roses
He chuckled, his cock now throbbing against my spine. “Yeah?”
I whined plaintively in answer.
He withdrew his finger and resumed his indolent tracing across my swollen lips, watching as I writhed.
It was decadent, the leisure. But my skin was on fire and I was losing my mind. “Please,” I practically slurred.
Through my wetness and the warm bathwater, he relented,reaching the spot I needed so, so desperately. I pitched upward, splashing us both, and he growled in satisfaction, pinching the nub lightly. When I moaned, Kane’s cock twitched behind me.
“Kane,” I whined, squirming.
“All right, all right.” He began a slow, excruciating massage between his thumb and forefinger of that one overly sensitive spot. I convulsed and cried out, frantically building toward a climax I knew would be the end of my sanity. Stars danced across my vision. My limbs sparkled. My body like a weightless cloud in the water, forcing Kane to heft me up him just a little so he could use one hand to hold me open and run the other through my plump, aching core.
“You are breathtaking,” he murmured.
I couldn’t even breathe, let alone respond. He dipped a finger inside me, the other hand continuing its gentle assault at the apex of my thighs.
And then he curled that finger, pressing against the spot that so often led to my unraveling. Acute pleasure coiled tight in my core and I clawed at the porcelain tub.
“Kane,Kane,” I babbled. “Oh,Stones,Kane—”
“Shh,” he murmured. “You’re all right.”
I wasn’t—I couldn’t take much more.
But Kane only ran his nose along the shell of my ear and the side of my neck. Licking and sucking and murmuring how beautiful I looked spread open for him like this, how tight, and wet, and warm. How mesmerizing my breasts were, how my face, pinched in near agony awaiting release would fuel his fantasies for years to come.
But my bones had turned to scalding liquid. I was surely melting in his arms.
I must have said as much because Kane’s throaty laugh accompanied his eventual acquiescence. Freeing himself of restraint, Kanepushed a second finger inside me until I was so full of him, stretched so tightly around his long, broad fingers, I released a purely animal groan that sent Kane swearing and grinding himself,strainingagainst my back as I moved with his fingers, pliant and aching and, all the while, that other hand circling rhythmically, delivering glorious pressure—
Bright colors burst across my vision. Water sloshed from the tub. I could barely contain the ragged, wanton screams—it was enough to keep myself from levitating out of the bath completely, or shooting firelighte out of my fingertips and burning the keep to the ground.
By the time I could breathe again Kane was nearly panting himself.
One of his hands had left my body to grasp the porcelain of the tub. Tiny fissures spider-webbed down the sides where his grip held firm. He had…cracked it. He’dcrackedour tub. And his cock—
Thick, taut, and painfully hard. I sat up and Kane groaned with the lack of contact.
“Stand,” I told him.
Kane’s lust-dazed face—those flushed, sharp cheekbones and near-feral silver eyes—contorted in confusion.
I nodded, letting the provocative ideas filtering through my mind color my expression.
He stood inside the tub, sending water careening in waves like a creature of the sea. So large, so powerful. I cast my eyes up at his controlled, possessive, thoroughlymaleexpression. A little smug as he towered over me—
My core heated again. It was getting ridiculous—would I never be rid of thisneedfor him? Kane’s erection was long and painfully hard, and my mouth watered with anticipation.
He grunted as I knelt before him. Now that he was standing, the water barely covered my navel, and the cool air tightened my nipples.
“Arwen.” His voice was a little guttural. “You don’t have to.”
It was wild to me that after everything, he still said this every time. As if his pleasure was less important than mine. Or that this act, this giving of myself to him, was somehow more than he deserved.
I ignored him, wrapping my hands around his thick length. He weaved his fingers through my wet hair, and I worked him over with my hand, reveling in his hoarse groans. His skin was soft from the bathwater, and warm in contrast to the slight, pleasant chill of the washroom.
I pumped him slower, harder, until the head of his cock had begun to drip and his ab muscles were contracting.
