Page 37 of First
As a healer, I’ve seen plenty of cocks. Maybe that’s why I don’t gasp, or flush, or let my jaw drop. I remain remarkably steady as Gabriel pulls himself out of his pants, already fully hard. He strokes up and down. Up again, and down once more. I take stock of his shape and size, lick my lips, and wait entirely too long to realize what is about to happen.
“You’re going to spend on me,” I say.
His hand halts in a brief stutter. Then resumes, faster, grip tighter.
“And then I’ll smell like you. Lennart, and his parents—everyone will assume that you took me.”
“Close your eyes,” he says again. Not evenly.
I tilt my head. “Because you’d rather I not watch?” I let out a startled, though genuinely amused, laugh. The flex of his forearms is impossible to look away from. The sheer strength of him. “That’s a little hypocritical, no?”
“Is that what it is?”
“You’re fine with performing sexual acts upon my body without my permission, yet set boundaries for my participation.”
He huffs, but sounds sincere as he says, “I wish I’d found you under other circumstances.” Muscles seize in his throat. He has a steady rhythm going now. His eyes drift closed, head tips back, and I wonder if this is a sight anyone has ever experienced—a warrior of his caliber lowering his defenses, deliberately leaving himself at my mercy. I could reach for his sword and use it on him. I could have hidden my own weapon to escape. There are any number of things I could do to him when he’s this vulnerable.
I’m interested in none. Oralmostnone.
The heat between my legs begins to pulsate. It’s new and wonderful, and since this is the most aroused I’ve ever been, I’d rather take as much control of it as I possibly can.
“Gabriel,” I say softly.
His eyes open. There is a ruddy flush high on his cheekbones that almost matches the darkening blunt head of his cock. His grip tightens, and while his movements don’t stop, they slow and become stiffer. One hand travels down to squeeze his balls, as if to shore up against something.
“Where?” I ask.
A thick swallow. His expression is at once angry, spellbound, and determined.
“Where on me are you planning to spend?”
The softest grunt. It’s born deep in Gabriel’s throat and dies there, too, but his lips don’t part, nor does he make any real sound. It’s more like a vibration, a purr that travels through his flesh and mine.
“On my belly? Is that why you had me pull up my shirt?”
He’s close. I’ve never seen anyone orgasm, but the stymied breaths and the tightening of his shoulders seem to be Gabriel’s tells, and he’s clearly on the precipice of something.
He’s enjoying this. Touching himself as he stares at my mostly covered body. Filling his lungs with my scent. I’m the one driving his pleasure, and it makes me bold enough to ask, “Wouldn’t you rather come on my breasts?”
The motion of his hand breaks. A low, strangled growl rises from somewhere, and I gasp at the beauty of it. His eagerness and impatience. The power I have over him, even as he seeks to ruin me. Our combined scents spiking.
I bite the inside of my mouth. “I noticed the way you look at them. Yesterday, in the dress. Today too.”
I can almost taste the strain that my words cause, but he continues pumping. His only response is licking his lips, but I begin to undo the buttons of the shirt.
“Sofia,” he whispers. But he doesn’t, really. It’s more like he’s tracing my name on his lips, an awestruck word that edges toward a plea.
“You do like them, don’t you?” I ask when a burst of insecurity shoots through me. “I didn’t misinterpret?”
He says nothing, but I’ve come too far to stop. Underneath, I’m wearing the bralette that came with my mating dress. When I lower both cups, my nipples are erect and puffy, surrounded by a pink flush.
“Would you like to touch them?” I ask, voice low, and instantly regret trying to sound sultry because what I should have said isI’dlike for you to touch them, Gabriel, I would die if you?—
The first hot spurt lands across my left nipple.
Gabriel’s groans are harsh, at once muted and feral; they fill the room as he continues fucking his closed fist. Rope after rope of white liquid paints across my skin. I watch him—strong neck thrown back, muscles clenched—and think that if the pleasure he’s feeling is a tenth as strong as the one I’m experiencing just looking at him…
Well. I’m happy for him, even if my abdomen is stretched tauter than a bow.
