Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (22)

“I expect you have.” His touch fell away, leaving a crisp burn. “Been wondering over my answer to your request?”

I frowned. “That’s not what I—”

“Trust I will not leave without giving you one, but first...” He yanked at the sleeve of my gown. “What is this?”

“A gown.”

“It is a tent to hide within.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, but annoyance still flared. “No one is telling you to wear it.” My eyes widened at my foolish audacity.

Florian stilled, as did my heart.

It pounded hard when he unleashed a devious grin. “My, you’re something else when a little riled, sweetling.” His humor died as rapidly as it came. “Take it off.”

Though I would have loved nothing more than to see what he had planned for me, my annoyance refused to budge. “And if I don’t want to?”

“Then you do not have to.” He turned for the divan. “We will conduct this meeting as you wish.”

The question left me without thought. “What will you do if I remove the gown?”

He stopped, and with his back to me, said with a softness that grazed, “What would you like me to do?”

I shouldn’t have said anything.

I should have just told him I would like him to kiss me again. To touch me again, wherever his hands desired to roam. Instead, I blurted, “You did not even wish to kiss me during our last meeting.”

He stalked back to me with slow grace, a brow raised. “Did I leave you disappointed?”

I couldn’t deny that I had been. He saw as much when I again averted my attention to my feet.

“Cease trying to hide. Look at me.” My eyes rose, and his knee knocked open my own as he loomed above me. “You shocked me. You continue to shock me in ways I find myself ill-equipped to handle, but I’ve decided something.”

“You have?”

“I’ve decided that I like it.” He cupped my face, brought it close to his, and ordered to my lips, “Now, I want this tent gone and your back upon the bed.”

He helped me pull the gown over my head. Slowly, I eased down on the bed. He stepped away, and I rose to my elbows in nothing but my slip. “What are you doing?”

“Admiring the treasure I’ve found.” But his expression remained unmoved. He stood with his hands clasped before him, his feet braced apart. “Open your legs.”

My heart stopped galloping and climbed into my throat.

King Florian cocked his head. “Are you uncomfortable, butterfly?” He knew I was, but still he said, “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Make your choice.”

“And if I choose not to?”

“Then you choose not to,” he said as though not having me however he wished would not bother him when we both knew it would.

It thrilled me that it would.

My skin burned beneath the weight of his attention. But as each second ticked by, my breathing evened, and the itch to see what he would do to me became a need impossible to ignore.

He knew I was nervous. He knew I wanted to play regardless.

My knees rose. Then slowly, they opened.

My slip slid over my thighs as they did, and though he made not a sound, I could feel it. The flood of tension emanating from him crackled, an iced breeze before a blizzard.

“Sweet indeed,” he murmured, as if to himself. “Tell me something.” His voice was closer, and I tore my eyes from the filigree etched into the mildew-dotted ceiling to find him standing at the end of the bed.

And staring between my thighs.

“Do you touch yourself?”

I hesitated only a moment before whispering, “Yes.”

He hummed. “But no one has touched you, correct?”

“Correct.”

I waited, my stomach tightening. As if knowing he was tormenting me, he seemed pleased as he said, “Would you like me to be the first to touch your lovely cunt, sweet creature?”

My next breath caught. Skies stab me, he was unmerciful.

And it would seem I wanted nothing less, a heady anticipation and impatience rushing through my body in the form of venomous heat.

“Yes,” I croaked.

“Then open nice and wide for me.”

I did as I was told, which earned me a soft hum of approval that swept over my skin like a whisper in the dark.

I tried to watch him, every part of me strung tight as the warmth of his touch hovered over my core. But as the first drag of his finger stroked through me, parted me, my eyes closed.

Bright light flashed behind my eyelids. My hips bucked.

“Do you wish for me to stop?” Humor thickened his question. He already knew what my answer would be.

“No,” I said instantly.

His finger returned, trailing from my clit and opening me slowly as it moved to my entrance. He paused there. “Your thighs shake already, butterfly.” A gentle dip inside me with the tip of his finger. “And you’re so fucking excited.”

His touch left me again.

I opened my eyes to find him sucking my arousal from his finger. His eyes closed as if he was savoring the taste of me. My stomach fluttered when I heard the low and almost imperceptible rumble in his throat. When I noticed the slight tremor of his broad shoulders.