Still, he didn’t move.
I softened my mouth against him, this time in a slower, longer lick—still gentle, gentle enough that I knew it would be torturous.
This time, his exhale had a hint of a groan to it.
“You’re vicious,” he murmured.
He had lifted his head just enough to watch me, his gaze predatory, like he’d rather die than blink.
An intense wave of familiarity passed over me at this—me leaning over him, him watching me, and that look of such barely restrained lust.
Should I make you beg? I had asked him then.
I swept my tongue over him again, slow, and he let out another hitched exhale.
“You told me once you would beg for me,” I murmured.
Another brush of my lips.
“So do it.”
I didn’t break eye contact. His sparkled with vicious delight.
“Let me touch you,” he rasped. And Goddess, yes, he was begging, every word desperate. “Let me feel you. Even though I don’t deserve you. Please.”
I slowly crawled over his body, until my hips were aligned with his. My dress was hiked up, silk pooling at my upper thighs—I knew we were both so agonizingly conscious of how close we were, as I let my hips lower just enough that his length brushed my folds. I bit down hard on my own moan at even that momentary, barely-there touch.
I wouldn’t let him see how much I wanted it.
I lowered myself to my elbows, leaving us inches apart.
“And?” I said.
His gaze glinted with pleasure, like a cat enjoying a game of chase. And yet, beneath that feral delight, something deeper lingered. His fingertips raised to my cheek. Not quite brushing it. Still obeying.
“Let me make you the queen that you are. Let me guard your body, your soul, your heart. Let me spend the rest of my fucking pathetic life at your mercy. If I need to die, then let me do it by your hand. Please.”
My chest ached, nearly as fiercely as my desire did.
My hips shifted, and I felt him twitch again, that tiny movement making my breath tremble.
“And?” I whispered.
He loosened a shaky exhale, the smirk twisting his lips. “And for fuck’s sake, princess, I’m begging you, let me go to my knees for you.”
We lingered like that, our bodies so close to total intertwinement, and yet not touching at all.
And then I whispered, “Fine.”
The thread of self-control snapped. If Raihn’s injuries slowed him down, he didn’t show it. His mouth crashed against mine, rolling over and pushing me down to the bed, his hand running up my body as if the last minutes of not touching me had been torturous.
And then, just as quickly, his weight was gone. Instead, he was off the bed, grabbing my legs and sliding me down.
And just as he promised, he went to his knees.
I couldn’t help but watch him, transfixed, as he gently pushed the silk of my skirt up around my hips, pushing open my thighs. In the presence of gods, he had not looked so reverent.
His gaze slowly raised to meet mine.
“Is this acceptable, princess?”
My brow twitched. “Princess?”
He laughed, low and rough. “Queen.”
He started at my inner thigh, his kisses so gentle they almost tickled, lifting my leg and placing it over his shoulder.
“My queen,” he whispered again, the words pressed to my skin with each kiss, trailing farther up the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs.
Mother help me. My thighs opened, making more room for him, my body conscious of nothing but the anticipation of his touch, his kiss.
When it came, right where I wanted it, he was gentle at first, pulling aside my delicate lace underwear and planting soft kisses along my slit.
So light. So gentle. And yet the shock of pleasure wrung my body tight, my back arching.
He hummed his approval against my skin, the vibration echoing through my core.
“Better,” he murmured. “Better than I remember. Better than your blood.”
Another touch of his tongue, this one a little firmer, ending it in a long, lingering kiss.
I clenched my jaw against the whimper of pleasure, my hands clutching the bedspread. Mother, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not yet. Even if it killed me.
Another touch, another gasp, another shock of pleasure.
Keeping my moans quiet now took herculean will, my teeth so tight I distantly thought they might crack.
More. The word was on the tip of my tongue. But I wasn’t asking Raihn for anything now.
“Let me worship you, Oraya,” he whispered, and something about the vibration of my name on his lips against the most sensitive parts of me made me shiver. It was wrought with such utter desperation. I had told him to beg. He was begging. “And let me taste you when you come. Please.”