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“Take the order back, and I won’t horrify your delicate senses.”

“I take it back! You can say lewd things all you want.”

“Thank you, mate.”

And then he leans in and kisses my pussy anyway.

I’m about to screech like an owl when he pulls away, laughing. “All right, fine, keep me away from your pussy.” He rests his head on my pubic bone. “But I do want to meet my future wife’s parents.”

I groan and cover my eyes with my hand. “Please never again bring my parents up when you’re about to eat me out.”

Down our bond, I can feel his pleasure, and I’m pretty sure it’s because I didn’t fight him on the issue of marriage.

He knows you’re crumbling.

“Does this mean I get to feast on you after all?” he says.

“Memnon,” I groan.

“Never mind.” He moves up my body, draping himself over me. “When do I get to meet them?” he asks, brushing my hair away from my face.

I’m too distracted by the new yet familiar feel of his weight on me to answer. Despite our size difference, we fit together like puzzle pieces.

He brushes a finger over my lower lip, then leans in and kisses me. “When?” he presses.

My parents. Right. “They’re away at the moment, playing tourist around Europe, but once they return home, maybe…” I trail off, unsure what exactly I want to say—unsure of exactly what I want.

“Yes,” Memnon says, and I hear the eagerness in his response. “I would like that.”

Warmth blossoms at his response. I feel incandescent with it.

The sorcerer shifts against me, and I feel his hardening length brush against my leg.

Where in the Goddess’s name do you get this stamina?

Magic and two millennia of yearning,he says.

He begins kissing my upper arm and shoulder, his hand moving to cup my sex. “Now open those thighs, my pretty mate. We have a long night ahead of us.”

He doesn’t give me much peace.

If his cock isn’t in me, then it’s his mouth or his fingers, and none of my earlier squeamishness does much to change that. The only breaks are when he uses his magic to float our dinner into the room and feed it to me or the brief spurts of sleep we have between rounds.

When we had sex on Samhain, I assumed our fervor was driven by the witch’s brew. But there’s a feverishness in us both that drives us to come together again and again throughout the night.

At some point before dawn, I feel Memnon’s fingers trail over my cheek, and then the soft brush of his lips.

“My heart is filled to bursting,” he murmurs.

I reach for him, though I am tired and sore. Rather than letting me reel him in, he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.

“I have to go, but I will be back as soon as possible. Be well and sleep deeply, my queen.”

His hand slides from mine, and then he’s gone.

I wake some time later, the sun low in the sky. There’s a warm body pressed against my back.

Immediately, my heart begins to hammer, and I flip over, excited and nervous to see Memnon. But it’s not Memnon taking up space on the bed. It’s Nero.