I gasp. “Memnon.”
He repeats it again. And again. And again.
I’m writhing against him as he plays me like an instrument, dragging me closer and closer to that precarious edge.
I can feel you getting close, he whispers in my head, never stopping his ministrations.
I don’t bother responding. He’s right after all.
Call me your soul mate, he continues, and I’ll let you come.
I’m sorry, what?
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
I thought we went over this. I thought he agreed to drop the term.
And if I don’t? I say silently to him.
Memnon stops kissing me, stops fingering me; he goes utterly still.
“Then I won’t give you your release,” he says, staring up my body.
I meet his gaze. “You bastard.”
His fingers begin moving again.
“Close,” he says, “but that’s still the wrong word. Try again, soul mate.”
I grimace at that word, but then Memnon’s mouth is on my pussy, doing that same damn thing with his mouth. He’s not even being creative at this point. He knows it’s what does it for me. And damn it, it’s enough for me to get sucked under all over again.
“Feels so good, Memnon,” I admit. I’m panting, moving my hips against him.
Still not the right word, little witch, he chastises.
I moan instead of replying, my body tightening in anticipation of—
The sorcerer backs off my clit, moving to a far-less-stimulating area near my outer lips.
I cry out in frustration.
Say it, he commands.
I don’t. But if I thought my resistance would make him stop eating me out altogether, I thought wrong. No, Memnon seems happy enough to continue running his lips and his teeth and his tongue over other sensitive portions of my pussy. He even eventually returns to my clit, working me into a frenzy once more.
But just as I’m again about to tip over the edge, he backs off.
“Memnon.” I practically growl his name.
I can do this all day, Empress, he says in my head.
I blow out an agitated breath. I’m being edged by a fucking monster who knows exactly what he’s doing to my body.
Say it. Now it’s him who’s pleading with me.
Apparently, promised orgasms make me weak because I silently say to him, It won’t mean anything.
Perhaps not to you, he responds. But it will mean something to him.
He begins working me again, and I let out another annoyed sound because it feels so terribly, exquisitely good, but I know it’s going to stop the moment I get close to climaxing.
I could just say it.
It’s only a single word. What’s a bit more role-playing? It really won’t mean anything.
Decision made, I draw a fortifying breath.
“Make me come…soul mate,” I say.
Memnon smiles against me.
And then he does.
He sucks on my clit for mere seconds before the wave of my orgasm crashes through me.
“Memnon!” I cry, digging my heels into him as the pleasure stretches on and on. And still Memnon teases me with his hand and his lips, only letting up once the vestiges of my climax have ebbed away.
I’m left breathless, staring at the ceiling as Memnon’s fingers slip out of me. He props himself up on his forearms in front of my pussy, then licks those fingers clean, making a satisfied noise, as though I taste like candy and not, you know, a woman.
“I missed the way you taste,” he admits. “I fantasized about it many, many times over the centuries. My mind is a mighty thing, but even it forgot just how sweet your pussy really is.”
“Memnon.” I press a hand to my temple. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”
He presses a kiss to one of my inner thighs. “Why not?” he says, moving to give the other thigh equal treatment. “It is the truth, whether you believe it or not.”
I decide to let the whole thing go. Memnon gave me the most explosive orgasm, and I want the rest of this day with him to be easy, fun.
I reach for him, and he seems all too eager to pull himself up my body and into my arms. I can feel his cock straining against his pants, but he pays it no mind. Instead, his hands come to cradle my face.
“Est amage,” he murmurs, stroking my skin with his thumb. “Est amage, est amage, est amage.” My queen, my queen, my queen. His gaze searches my face, a pleased smile curving the corners of his lips. “You make me excited about the future.”
“Est xsaya,” I say, just to see the way Memnon’s eyes spark at the term, “has anyone told you that you are really fucking intense?”