Page 55 of Jailer to the Death God
Her clit needs to be kissed, so I kiss it twice, then suck on it lightly, nibbling and tugging.
The Queen is biting her wrist, her skirts scrunched around her waist, all her dignity forgotten.
Openmouthed, I cover as much of her sex as I can and stroke into it with my tongue, over and over. My eyes close as I sweep the luscious wetness into my mouth, drinking her delight. I forget that I’m enclosed in a tiny coach; I forget that I’m vulnerable, that Macha is after my throne, that I’m bound for a year; all of that rolls away into the darkness of my mind, and I am conscious only of the Queen’s arousal filling my mouth.
I swirl my tongue over her peak again, then lap it quickly a few times.
She tenses immediately and gasps, “More of that, please, oh gods...”
My tongue flickers over the tip of her clit, quick and tantalizing.
“Keep doing that, please, please…” The Queen’s voice is thin, sweetly desperate.
I’m teasing the climax out of her. I can feel it drawing closer as she pants, frantic and whimpering, as her body constricts in my hands, chasing the summit of pleasure.
Faster my tongue flickers, poised over that spot.
“Ah… ah…” she shrills, and then she comes for me.
Her legs, hooked over my shoulders, jerk with the force of the ecstasy. But I hold her firmly against my mouth, savoring the flutters of her delicate flesh, the surge of fresh wetness over my tongue.
The Queen relaxes, gasping, and I ease her down the slope of her climax with gentle licks. After a few moments I move her body, arranging her skirts and settling her back on her seat. Her fingers quiver over her tumbled hair, resetting pins. She’s crimson-cheeked and bright-eyed.
I take a handkerchief from the pocket of my coat and wipe her wetness from my lips, nose, and jaw.
“That’s surely not the first time you’ve done that.” Her voice is shaky.
“It is.”
“Shit.” She presses a trembling hand to her cheek. “I’ve had a couple men go down on me before, but that—that was—impossibly perfect.”
Triumph swells in my chest. I smile at her, settling back against the seat. My cock is still achingly hard, but I’m no longer being driven wild by the confinement and my chains.
But the Queen quirks an eyebrow at me, with a little smile that makes my dick twitch. “Is that it? What about you?”
“I thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“Yes, I got that impression.” Her smile widens. “Are you saying that devouring me is enough for you?”
“It is.”
Her eyes narrowed, still smiling, the Queen leans forward and cups the bulge in my trousers. “Then what’s this?”
Nothing has ever felt so torturously marvelous as her slim fingers rubbing me through the fabric. She probes the edges of the bulge, then strokes the ridge from root to end.
“Have you ever come before?” she asks.
“Once.” With the friction of a book and my own clumsy efforts—and the sight of her robe falling open.
“Would you like to come again?” Her voice is soft, her eyes wide as if she’s awed by what she’s doing and also enjoying it immensely.
“It’s messy,” I growl. “I don’t want to have to change my clothes.”
“There are ways to deal with the mess.” She removes her hand from my crotch and sits up again, pulling her hair back. “Unbutton those for me while I fix my hair.” She nods to my pants.
Grimly I unfasten the buttons.
“Spread your legs.”
