“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.”
I’m only willing to role-play so far.
Memnon arches a brow. Gently, he pries my hand away from his mouth, pausing to give each fingertip a kiss. It’s oddly…affectionate.
“All right…Selene,” he agrees.
He returns his attention to my core. The way he’s looking at it makes me want to shift. Memnon moves first one of my legs, then the other, over his shoulder.
Then he spreads my outer lips apart and stares at my vagina like he’s trying to divine the future from it.
“How I have missed this too.”
Memnon leans in and peppers kisses along those outer lips. His mouth is so light and reverent, I jolt a little when his tongue finally strokes up my seam, the touch so much bolder than what came before it.
He groans. “Ah, the taste of you, Empress!” His hold on me tightens. “All the liquor in the world cannot intoxicate me the way you can.”
I shift under him, digging my heels into his back as my nerves ratchet up.
His fingers knead a little into my hips. “I can feel how tense you are,” he says. “Relax, I’m going to take care of you.”
I hadn’t realized I tensed up, but I am fairly rigid. I force my muscles to loosen.
“That’s it,” he coaxes. “Beautiful Empress, you have nothing to worry about in my arms. I have longed to have you right here.”
He begins kissing my pussy again, scraping his teeth against the soft folds of skin. He takes various sections of flesh into his mouth, laving them with his tongue. My hips move of their own accord, finding a rhythm to Memnon’s attentions.
As soon as the sorcerer’s lips find my clit, I cry out, “Est xsaya!” My king!
I…didn’t actually mean to say that.
Memnon stills, and it’s as though he knows it too.
I feel his grin against my flesh, and his hands tighten where they grip my hips.
I like how your pretty voice makes those words sound. Memnon speaks directly into my mind. The stroke of his mouth turns fevered, demanding. He sucks on my clit, earning moan after moan from me.
This feels light-years better than anything that’s come before Memnon. Like comparing water to wine.
I dig my heels into the sorcerer’s back again, and that only seems to spur him on more. Memnon moves lower, toward my core. Once he gets there, he slips his tongue inside me, and I cry out once more, tightening my grip on his hair as I press myself into his face.
“Feels so good, Memnon,” I murmur. “So, so good.”
Grind against me more, est amage. He’s still speaking in my mind. I want you to coat my face by the time I’m done with you.
I’m too far gone to be shocked by his words.
One of Memnon’s fingers slips inside me, and I gasp a little at the sensation.
“Call me your king again,” he says against my flesh, “and I’ll add another.”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head and smile. “Est xsaya, uvut vakosgub sanpuvusavak pes I’navkap.”
My king, I may die if you don’t.
He laughs lightly against me. “It is you who will be the death of me.”
Another finger joins the first, spreading me wider.
I make a small breathy sound at the sensation. I can hear the wet noises of those digits as he works me.
Memnon’s mouth returns to my clit, and now he does something to it with his tongue, something that makes my hips jerk and a cry rip from my throat.
I release his hair so I can prop myself up and stare at him wide-eyed. “What was that?”