“This feels like something I would greatly enjoy breaking, Selene,” he admits.
Despite his words, his other hand comes up, and after a few probing touches, he deftly unhooks the bra. He slides the thing off and casts it aside.
“These breasts…” He bends and takes one into his mouth.
I gasp at the intense and unexpected contact, my fingers delving into his hair. Memnon sucks on my nipple, the sensation going right to my core. I gasp again, my grip on his hair tightening as the rest of me goes boneless.
Memnon cradles my back, holding me in place. “Sweet woman, you feel better than memory serves.” His lips move away from my nipple, trailing kisses along my skin until he gets to the other breast, which he then promptly takes into his mouth.
“Goddess,” I breathe, holding him like I’ll fall if I let go.
He rolls my nipple between his teeth before releasing it. “Don’t praise your goddess—praise me, your king,” he says, his breath fanning against my skin.
“You want me to call you my king?” I mean, I really could get into this role-playing.
“Yes,” he breathes.
Using the fingers threaded through his hair, I turn his head and lean in to his ear. “Would you like me to say it in English or Sarmatian, est xsaya?” My king.
A shudder works its way through his body.
He shakes his head and flashes me an intense look. “You don’t know what that does to me, hearing you say those words in our language.” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on my skin.
And then his mouth is back on my flesh, and he’s kissing down, down, down my torso.
I grab the back of his shirt, tugging it up. Memnon, after all, is not the only one who wants a glimpse of bare flesh.
The sorcerer pauses. “Does my queen want me to remove my shirt?” he asks in Sarmatian.
Before I even have a chance to answer, he pulls the garment off, then tosses it aside.
I get a sick little thrill at the thought of his clothes casually littering my room. I find I want them to decorate my space just as much as my Post-it notes do.
The sight of his exposed torso has me drawing in a sharp breath. I already knew his body is a work of art, but seeing it up close is an entire experience.
I reach out and run my hands over his thick coiled muscles. Beneath my touch, Memnon’s skin pebbles. I can feel those smoky-brown eyes of his watching me as I explore him.
There are lines of scars all over the place, mapping out the violence this man was once exposed to. My hands stop roving when I get to his tattoos.
“Will you tell me what these mean at some point?” I ask. He’s already said a little about them, but I’m curious about the rest.
Memnon cups my face, and the look he’s giving me makes me feel beloved. I like it far, far too much for my own good.
“At some point, I won’t need to,” he says cryptically.
He releases me but only so his hands can move to the seam of my pants. In a couple of deft movements, he undoes the top button and zipper.
“Lie back, little witch,” Memnon commands.
My pulse is racing, but there’s something about this sorcerer that also makes me feel so very…safe.
Maybe it’s simply the fact he actually did save my life.
I lower myself back to the bed just as Memnon’s hands hook over the top of my pants and my underwear. He pulls them down, his eyes fixed to my flesh.
The sorcerer tugs them off and then skims his palm up my calf and smooths over my thigh. His gaze scours my body, drinking it in for so long that a little bit of nervous magic sifts from my palms.
Memnon’s eyes slowly drift up to mine. “You hold me in your thrall, little witch,” he says, his voice husky. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you this way.”
Role-playing—we’re just role-playing.
“Does my king like what he sees?” I ask in Sarmatian. It’s supposed to be an easy, playful response. Only after it leaves my lips do I realize I’ve opened myself up for rejection.
A wry smile graces his mouth at the endearment. “Every inch of you is sheer perfection, my queen. Api fashioned the most flawless woman when he made you.”
I swallow, unsure how to respond to that. It isn’t a rejection, but it feels equally hard to accept, for some reason.
Memnon lowers himself between my thighs. “Now, soul mate, let’s see this pretty pussy of yours.”
Soul mate?
Oh no, no, no.
I press my fingers to Memnon’s lips and shake my head. “You can call me your queen and your empress and your witch, but—not that.”