His shudder skates across my cheek. “Did you know there are a dozen guards right down there? You can’t see them now. But in two nights, this entire garden will be bathed in a bright Hudem moon. You’ll be able to stand up here and pick each of them out.”
I suck in a breath as his hand slips between the folds of my robe. We won’t be standing here in two nights. Atticus will be in battle, and I’ll be fending for a horde of mortal children downstairs, worrying incessantly until his return.
“Before you came out, I was thinking that it’s twice I’ve taken from you without giving you anything back. That ends now,” he whispers, his mouth finding the tender skin behind my ear.
I revel in the feel of his tongue as his fingers graze over my inner thigh, sliding upward until they reach my center. He strokes me skillfully several times before slipping a finger inside. A moan slips free, my body slick and welcoming.
I must thank the priestess for her healing gift.
My legs tremble as I adjust my stance, granting him better access, my fingers enjoying the muscles that flex in his forearm. Never before have any of the males forced upon me ever bothered with such an intimate touch. I doubt they would be capable, but my needs never mattered.
With Atticus, he works slowly, circling my sensitive flesh with strokes of his thumb.
“Turn around,” he whispers, his mouth pressed against my ear.
I do as ordered, allowing my robe to hang open as I face him.
His mouth crashes into mine, as if he couldn’t wait another second, even as his hand never loses its pace, stroking deep inside me, building tension that begs to erupt. I grope his body aimlessly, absorbing every inch of hard muscle beneath my fingertips as wild desire claws at my inhibitions.
Eventually, I gather enough nerve to slide my palm between us, over the cut V of his pelvis. I wrap my hand around his hard length, marveling over his size, the velvety soft skin hot against my palm.
He groans as I grip him tightly and stroke as I was taught, from root to tip. For once, I actually want to do this. I want to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I want to watch the king of Islor fall apart under my touch.
“I need you to stop doing that so I can finish doing this.” His tongue sweeps into my mouth as his hand works me over mercilessly, its tempo increasing.
I stall but don’t let go, instead imagining it inside me. A rush of heat floods my lower belly.
“There it is,” Atticus whispers, and I don’t know how he senses it but moments later, a surge of ecstasy washes over me. I bite my bottom lip to keep my cries from slipping out as he coaxes wave after wave until my legs tremble.
Atticus hoists me in the air, guiding my legs around his hips. His tip rubs at my slick entrance—a tease of anticipation that I ache for—as he walks us back inside his chamber and shuts the door. I barely noticed the cold outside anymore, but the difference inside is stark. My bare skin promptly flushes.
“I’ve never met a mortal like you.” He sets me down on the bed, my legs splayed and waiting, my silk robe fanned out beneath me. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You are so kind and gentle, and patient, despite all that you have been through.”
“There are many like me.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You have a way about you. A quiet bravery I admire.” He kneels on the bed before me, his palms beginning at my ankles, smoothing up my calves, my knees, to my thighs. Gripping the backs of them, he drags my body down to where he can fit himself in between. His hands collect mine and pin them above my head.
“I’ve been thinking about this for days.” Our mouths meet in the middle in a slow, tantalizing kiss that smothers my cries as he rocks into me, his fingers tensing around mine. My body accepts him—willingly, eagerly—as he sinks deeper and deeper, until I’ve taken all of him inside me.
His lips break free of my mouth to shift to my neck where he traces a line with his tongue. “This is what it’s supposed to feel like,” he whispers, his hips moving with skill, his hard length filling me completely with each thrust and yet not causing me the pain that so many others have.
“Atticus.” His name slips from my lips as I lose myself in the feel of him where we’re joined, all thoughts fleeing my mind.
“Say it again.”
“Atticus,” I echo.
It seems to spur him to go faster, harder, his lips a furious tangle against mine as our bodies meet with each thrust, my legs curling around his hips of their own accord as I feel myself growing impossibly wet for him.