He nipped at her toes, earning a squeal from her. “You want a ring, I’ll get you one.” Another kiss. “You want iron, steel, or titanium?” Wedding bands in Lunathion were simple, their value derived from the strength of the metal used to forge them.
“Titanium all the way, baby,” she crowed, and Hunt bit her toes again.
She squirmed, but he held her firm. “These little toes make me think some dirty things, Quinlan,” he said against her foot.
“Please tell me you don’t have a foot fetish.”
“No. But everything where you’re involved is a fetish for me.”
“Oh?” She leaned back farther into the cushions, her dress slipping up her legs. “So I make you want to get a little kinky?”
“Uh-huh.” He kissed her ankle. “Just a little.”
She arched into the touch. “Want to have drunk, sloppy sex, Prince Hunt?”
He rumbled a laugh against her calf. Only from her lips would he tolerate that title. “Fuck yeah.”
She pulled her leg from his touch and stood with that dancer’s grace. “Unzip me.”
“Romantic.”
She gave him her back, and Hunt, still seated, reached up to tug at the zipper hidden down the length of her spine. The tattoo of the Horn appeared, along with inches of golden skin, until the first tendrils of lace from her thong were revealed. The zipper ended before he could get a view of what he wanted.
But Bryce peeled the dress from her front, letting it drop. She hadn’t worn a bra, but the black thong …
Hunt ran his hands over the firm cheeks of her ass, bending to bite at a delicate strap of her underwear. She let out a soft, breathy sound that had him kissing the base of her spine. Her long hair brushed his brow, silken and as lovely as a caress.
Bryce turned in his grip, and—what luck—he found himself right where he wanted to be. From where it sat high on her hips, her thong plunged into a dramatic vee, a veritable arrow pointing to paradise.
He kissed her navel. Flicked her nipples with his thumbs as he licked up toward them. Her fingers slid into his hair, her head tipping back as he closed his mouth around a taut bud. He rolled her nipple over his tongue, savoring the weight and taste of it, his hands drifting around her waist, tangling in the straps of her thong. Tugging it down her hips. Her thighs. He moved to her other breast, sucking it into his mouth. Bryce groaned, and his cock pushed against the front of his dress pants.
He liked having her at his mercy. Liked this image, of her wholly naked and resplendent before him, his to touch and pleasure and worship. Hunt smiled against her breast. He liked it a lot.
He rose, scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom, his bow tie dangling around his neck.
He laid her on the mattress, cock pulsing at the sight of her heavy-lidded with desire, sprawled there naked and his for the taking. He pulled the tie free. “Want to get a little kinky with me, Quinlan?”
She glanced to the iron posts of the headboard, and her red lips parted in a feline grin. “Oh yes.”
Hunt made quick work of binding her hands to the bedposts. Light enough not to hurt, but tight enough that getting any ideas about touching him while he feasted on her was out of the question.
Bryce lay stretched out before him, and Hunt could hardly get a breath down as he unbuttoned his shirt. Then his pants. He shed his shoes, his socks—all the trappings of civility, until he stood before her naked, and Bryce bit her lip. Then he propped up her knees and spread them wide.
“Fuck,” he said, taking in her gleaming sex, already drenched for him. Its heady scent hit him, and he shuddered, cock now a steady ache.
“Since I can’t touch myself,” she said huskily, “maybe you’ll do the honors.”
“Fuck,” he said again, unable to think of anything else. She was so beautiful—every single part of her.
“Are you articulating what you’d like to do to me, or has your brain short-circuited?”
He snapped his gaze to her own. “I wanted to draw this out. Really torment you.”
Her legs spread a little wider, a taunting invitation. “Oh?”
“I’ll save that for another day,” he growled, and crawled on top of her. The tip of his cock nudged at her wet, hot entrance, and a shiver of anticipatory pleasure went down his spine. But he ran a hand down the length of her torso, fingers tracing the silken swells of her breasts, the plane of her stomach. She writhed, tugging on the restraints.
“So defiant.” He dipped to kiss her neck. He pushed in a little, his mind blacking out at the perfect tightness. But he withdrew—and eased back in a little more. Even when every instinct screamed to plunge into her, unless she asked for it, he’d be careful. He wanted her to feel only ecstasy.