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His other hand falls against my other inner thigh, and he spreads them, almost obscenely. Only then does he tear his gaze from my face. His eyes seem to feast on my exposed flesh.

Heat floods my cheeks.“Memnon.”

I’m mortified; I’m turned on. I don’t know what to do, but I’m pretty sure I’m too curious for this to stop.

Memnon flashes me another wolfish grin. “Say my name again like that, little witch.” His eyes flick back to mine. “I like hearing your voice tremble.”

I swallow, and he must notice the action, because his attention dips to my throat.

“Memnon,” I repeat, and it sounds like a plea. For what, I’m not entirely sure.

He tightens his hands on my thighs. “Good, love,” he praises me. “Very good.”

The man leans toward my body again, as though he means to kiss me. This time, however, his mouth is headed for a very different set of lips.

I only have a moment to be alarmed.

“Memn—” I gasp as his mouth kisses my core, his lips hot against my sensitive flesh.

My hands find his head, my fingers threading through his coarse black hair. I try to push his face away even as I moan.

This should be illegal, it feels so good. I don’t understand why exactly this is happening, and I think I should stop it, even though I don’t want to stop it.

My head is a mess.

I try to push him away again, and Memnon does stop kissing me—but only so he can laugh lightly against me, his breath hot on my flesh.

“Turning away my kisses, wife?” he says. “How very unlike you.”

My chest is rising and falling as I stare down my body at him. “I’m not…” I mean to say,I’m not your wife. But my body is aching, and there’s still that confusion, like maybe I am? That can’t be right though, can it?

So, instead, I say, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have missed you, and I want to reacquaint myself. Do you truly want me to stop?”

In the wake of his words, a silence stretches. I gaze at him, the firelight making that scar on his face particularly apparent.

Before I can help myself, I give my head a soft shake.

“Good, Roxi,” he praises again.

I tense at the name he uses. It’s not mine. Is it?

When I feel the lush press of his lips on my core once more, I stop thinking about other people’s names and Memnon’s motives and every other thing tugging at my mind. I stop thinking about everything except how goddess-damned good this feels.

Memnon’s hands move from my inner thighs, sliding under my legs so he can cradle me by my pelvis.

I thread my fingers into his hair once more, moaning at the sensations he’s awakening within me.

Memnon’s kisses turn carnal, his mouth moving around my opening. And then he slips his tongue inside me.

I cry out, writhing beneath him.

Memnon makes a noise low in his throat as he tightens his hold on me. “You taste so fucking good, little witch. Never want to leave.”

“Never, ever have to,” I breathe, my words half nonsensical.

He eats me out with unrestrained ferocity, the muscles of his arms bunching and his tattoos rippling as he cups me by the ass. I wantonly grind against his face, and he makes an approving noise, like he really fucking enjoys how dirty I’m being.