His incomparable sub was a multi-tasker. Even as she was doing that, she was plotting her next move. Recovering the chain attached to the pole, the one he’d used to tether her there earlier, she pressed flush against him to wrap it around his wrists by touch alone. He still was clasping the pole, but with her touching him, it was hard not to try and tangle with her fingers, but he resisted the urge as she tucked the end of the chain in to hold it in place. He could easily get free, but he wouldn’t. Not when she was overwhelming his senses, becoming the provocateur.
Her lush lower lip caught in a distracting way beneath her teeth, she slid her hands back down his chest, along his arms, his sides. Her fingers dipped into the low riding, unlaced waistband of the trousers again. She loosened the laces further, so the pants cradled his cock and balls in an open nest of fabric. Lifting her chin to gaze into his face, she rubbed the tips of her breasts against his chest, a light brush of contact. Her other hand went back to his biceps, nails biting into the flesh, hard. The heated flicker of her gaze registered the flex of muscle as he tested the thin chains.
“Savannah,” he said, a threat.
“My lord?” She murmured it as she reached down to stroke his cock with featherlike fingertips. Her lips parted. “All mine,” she whispered, heat in her eyes. “All for me. I can have and take whatever I want.”
She shot his blood pressure up so fast he got lightheaded. She tugged the trousers down, had him step out of the pants so he was naked, while she remained in the robe.
“Take it off,” he ordered, his jaw tight.
“Soon. It’s intriguing, a slave binding her Master.” Sliding her arms around him, she pressed herself fully against his body once more, his cock against silk and the heated woman beneath.
“What would my lord have felt, if he’d found out male slaves had bathed me, to prepare me to enjoy my captive?” she purred.
“There would be three dead men joining my enemies on the pyre tonight.”
Savannah shivered, responding to the genuine threat in his tone. Keeping her eyes on his, she slid down his body, pressing kisses to his abdomen, stroking his stomach, descending. She’d been on her knees to him many times as a sub to serve him. With his arms bound back and her hands roving over him, his blood was on fire with the need to break free and take. But he restrained himself, again for her. For the obvious pleasure she was taking in being both sub and captor.
Fucking God above, her mouth was as sweet as it ever could be, heated and moist, sucking him, tasting him. She’d said it was a fleeting fantasy. He hoped she was telling the truth, because when her nails dug into his upper thighs—his fierce queen—his control broke.
He snapped the chains with a jerk, bent and lifted her by the waist. Moving them over to the table, he cleared the surface of maps and battle markers with one sweep of his arm and laid her down. No seduction this time. She’d already done that part of things. Untying the robe, he yanked it off her shoulders, gripping it at her elbows to restrict her arms and give him an anchor point as he sheathed himself in her cunt in one strong thrust.
She cried out at the force, her body arching. Her reaching hands caught a couple sheets of parchment that had been left at the table’s edge and crumpled them. He locked his gaze on her face, taking in the needy parting of her lips, the victorious light of her eyes, the way the climax built in her expression, in the wild movements of her body. She reached up, clutched his forearms to bring him down to her further. That wasn’t close enough. Her hands found his ass, pulling him closer, deeper, with desperate but relentless strength. His queen wanted what she wanted.
One day they’d be too old to do this, multiple climaxes in one night, having sex on a table, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d enjoy her at every age, in whatever manner the gods allowed, even if it was just gazing at her in her rocking chair and loving the silver in her hair and the lines on her face that time had earned. As long as they were together, it wouldn’t matter.
But right now, he’d fucking fully enjoy the benefits that being strong, flexible and young enough gave them. He was ready to release, as if even her brief interlude of considering him her captive required his Dominant nature to reassert itself in the most primitive way possible. And she accepted that, thrived on it, his lovely submissive. She clutched him tighter, and her voice broke over the request.
“Please…Master…”
“You can come for me.”
She did, clutching him with the muscles he’d praised earlier. Her hold took him along on the same ride, the two of them rocking the table as she cried out her pleasure and he groaned through his release, thrusting even deeper. As they moved together, he released his hold on her arms so she could let the robe slide free and lift herself up from the table. As she put her mouth to his throat, he banded his arm around her waist, his palm on her hip and buttock, while her legs were clamped over his hips. It gave them a new angle, and their groans and cries reflected the pleasure of the new peak.
It seemed both forever and too soon before they slowed to a halt, hearts pounding together. He pressed a kiss into her hair and closed his eyes. She ran her hands down his back, a light caress, over and over. He could have said something like he would have slave girls bathe him more often, if it resulted in this reaction, but he knew a far better way to say that.
“I love you,” he said.
“Endlessly and foolishly,” she whispered against his chest. “Thank God.” She paused, and he felt her lips curve against him. “It’s like a board room table, isn’t it?”
He glanced down at the oaken oblong circle. He smiled. “Yeah. A bit smaller than ours, but it can serve the same purpose.”
Lifting her from it, he carried her back to the bed and laid them both down. “You’ve carried me a lot tonight,” she observed.
“I like carrying you. Ever since the first time, when I carried you down the stairs.”
It had been at her father’s funeral, but he didn’t want to take her down that road. Instead, he curled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her chest and waist as he spooned his larger body around her, cloaking her protectively. It was how they slept together almost every night. She slept best if he held her like this.
If he had to travel on business, she could sleep, though she did it cocooned in his scent in the bed linens and whichever of his shirts she decided to wear to bed.
He was glad she liked him to sleep coiled around her, because he needed to hold her when he slept. Maybe even more than she needed to be held.
He told her that now, and she pressed her cheek to his forearm, pillowed beneath her head. “I’m glad. I would be worried if you thought I was overly needy, Matt Kensington.”
He chuckled. “Needy is the last thing you are, Savannah Kensington.” Then his arms tightened over her. “But no matter how much you think you need me, I can promise you – I need you more.”