“Bad girl,” he laughed, gasping as his arm tightened, stilling my movements.
He wouldn’t allow me to take him where he was at his thickest, and I might’ve actually hissed . . . or growled. I wasn’t sure, because the pleasure crested again, leaving me quivering and still hot, still . . . still throbbing.
Thorne pulled out suddenly, pressing his cock against the curve of my ass as he found his release, as the tension erupted inside me all over again.
Releases that could last for hours . . .
“Oh fuck,” I moaned, the whirling sensation building in a crescendo once more. “I . . . I can’t.”
“You can.” His lips grazed my flushed cheek as he moved us down. “You will.”
The ground was cool against my chest, his body hot against my back even as he supported his weight on the hand beneath mine. The release took me again, and he wasn’t even inside me any longer.
“Why . . . why did you pull out?” I gasped.
“I didn’t want to,” he said, holding me tight. “I think I would kill to be inside you right now, but if you think this is intense?”
It was. I had never felt anything like it.
“It would be a hundred times more if I stayed inside you.” He eased us onto our sides. “It would drive you mad.”
I might have already been a little mad as he stayed with me, petting the curve of my hip, my thigh, and the swell of my ass. He stayed with me as every small, delicate muscle inside me spasmed, and I held on, my grip on his hand never slipping. His hold on mine never waning. Not even when I finally went limp, exhausted and sated. Our hands remained sealed.
And my mind remained quiet.
“No,” I protested halfheartedly.
Thorne grinned from where he was nestled between my thighs. “Yes,” he murmured, parting my swollen flesh with a swipe of his wicked tongue.
The low moan that rattled from my chest was only one of many I’d made since we left the gardens.
The Prince of Vytrus was insatiable when it came to giving pleasure.
I didn’t remember much of our return to the manor, but from the moment we reached his quarters, time had become a sensual blur. We’d bathed— or more accurately, he’d bathed me, washing the dirt and blades of grass from my body as I’d washed away the blood from his skin once before. He made me come then, with his fingers, and when we made it to his bed, our bodies still damp, he’d started a slow exploration of my body, kissing a path along the curve of my jaw, down my throat, and over my breasts. His tongue had been wicked there too, swirling over my nipples just like his tongue now swirled inside me.
Thorne feasted.
My fingers balled into the sheets as his tongue dipped in and out. I hadn’t thought I’d have the energy in me to move, but I’d been wrong. I lifted my hips to his thrusts, and his answering growl of approval inflamed me. A faint golden glow edged his bare shoulders as he shifted, working a finger inside me. I groaned.
Thick lashes lifted. Eyes a brilliant shade of blue dotted with silvery stars met and held mine. “Don’t look away,” he ordered. “I want to see your eyes when you come.”
I shuddered, trembling all over.
“I want to see your eyes when you come, screaming my name.” His finger curled deep inside me. “Understand?”
“Yes,” I panted. “Your Grace.”
He nipped at my flesh, drawing a ragged moan from me. There was a flash of a grin along his damp lips and then his mouth closed over my clit. My back bowed and my hips lifted from the bed. I didn’t look away. Our gazes remained locked, and I did scream when I came, his name spilling from my lips as I quivered.
I was boneless as he crawled up the length of my body, dropping a quick kiss on my navel, at my rib cage, the swell of my breast. As he settled beside me, his lips pressed against my temple.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmured. He’d asked that when we’d been in the gardens, when the aftershocks had finally begun to ease. The question had caught me off guard then. It still did now. “Are you?”
Thorne chuckled. “I am.”
I turned my head toward his. Our mouths were scant inches apart as I lifted my hand to his chest. I splayed my fingers across his chest. “But you didn’t . . .”
“I don’t have to find release to feel pleasure.” The hand resting on my stomach glided up, folding over the swell of my breast. “The most exquisite kind of pleasure is derived from bestowing it upon another.”
“You . . . you really aren’t a mortal man then,” I said.