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I felt his chuckle of appreciation, reverberating between the layers of tender flesh. Slowly, I started to move atop him, letting my hips rock back and forth. His tongue responded immediately, finding different repetitive rhythms, shifting as the tones of my cries did.

When he flicked his tongue over my clit a hundred times in rapid succession, I nearly exploded. But then it stopped, replaced by grand, sweeping ovals like he was trying to taste every crevice.

I glanced down and had to grab the headboard for support. My thighs quivered terribly as I saw his wet face. Wet, with my juices. Fuck.

I stilled, determined to get ahold of myself. But Arran’s hands came back to hips, urging them to resume those gentle thrusts. A few seconds, and they weren’t gentle anymore. I was grinding my pussy against his face, desperate for his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, dragging me even further down.

I clung to the headboard, my nails surely digging dents into the carved wood. I was so fucking close. His teeth scraped over my clit again and again while his tongue burrowed inside of me, fucking me as I rode his face.

“I…I…”

“Yes, Veyka.”

“I… can’t,” I whimpered. I was going to die. I was going to take Arran with me. We were going to dissolve into nothing but pleasure.

“Yes you can,” Arran said, his dark voice muffled against my pussy. “Come right now,” he commanded.

My body obeyed him without consulting my mind.

Orgasm stole the breath from my chest, the thoughts from my mind. Reality shifted, distorting around me as I struggled to find a pinpoint of reality. Then I found it—Arran. His scent, mixing with my own. His voice, heaping words of praise as he gently licked my tortured flesh.

I eased back so I was sitting on his chest, my weight balanced partially on my knees, my forehead resting against the headboard. I took in huge gasping breaths, but I doubted I would ever really catch my breath. Not after that.

Sure enough, before my heartbeat could steady, I felt the gentle nips and licks of Arran’s mouth on my inner thigh.

“Oh no you don’t,” I said, easing myself back and sliding down his body. “You’ll kill us both.”

He sat up on his elbows, dark hair a mess around his shoulders, the unforgiving line of his jaw stretching into an animalistic smile. “Then I will die a happy, sated male.”

My hips encountered his cock at the same time the word sated dropped from those wicked, beautiful lips of his. Reminding me that though my body was still quivering, he was very much not sated yet.

But I intended to make him pay for every tremor in my body.

I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips that almost bordered on chaste. But I knew the smile I gave him was anything but.

“There’s that wicked smile of yours,” Arran breathed, lifting one fingertip to trace the outline of my lips. I caught it between my teeth, nipping, then sucking hard until his eyes started to glaze over again.

I released it, my cunt clenching at the little ‘pop’ sound it made. Arran dragged his wet fingertip down the side of my face, into my hair, tangling it in the length of my braid. He lifted his thick, dark eyebrows in challenge.

Oh, yes, I’d make him pay.

I tore away his clothes. The two of us would keep the palace seamstresses busy, it seemed. But I didn’t think about that. I needed to see that sculpted chest beneath me.

He was huge, I thought as I gazed down at him.

I was not a small female, not by any means. Not even a regular sized female. I was tall, wide, with a soft belly and an ass that wobbled when I walked, breasts that swung and enticed. I’d looked at more than one male, potential bedmate, and worried I might be too much.

But not for Arran. Never for Arran.

I was tall, he was taller. My breasts were wide, but his shoulders were broader. And while my powerful muscles were disguised by layers of soft flesh, his were on display for everyone to see.

Not everyone.

Me.

Mine.