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His amber eyes drop, watching as his long, deft fingers screw the cap back onto the ointment. “Show me.”

I blink at him. “Show you?” I suppose the pillow is around here somewhere. Probably the one wedged under my elbow. Only then I meet his gaze, and it clicks. Lex doesn’t want to see the pillow. He wants to see the evidence. “Oh,” I say, shifting awkwardly. “An exam, you mean.”

His response is to begin peeling the sheets back, rising to his feet. “Come to the edge,” he commands in his even, toneless voice. Knowing the drill, I rearrange myself, but when my thighs fall open, he reaches forward to hook his hands below them, yanking me with such casual power that a gasp pours from my lips.

It’s distinctly different from the way it is in the stirrups, his warm palm landing on the inside of my thigh and parting it wider for his gaze. But I still swallow as he crouches, shirtless, with those amber eyes as intent as lasers as they take me in.

Maybe it’s the instinct that’s been built over weeks being on his med table, the sharp scent of antiseptic enhancing it. Maybe it’s the memory of the way he felt last night. Maybe it’s just that I’ve got a sexy guy between my legs and he’s not being an ass about it.

Whatever it is, I’m suddenly horny as hell.

“Any pain?” he asks. My eyes track his forearms, strong and muscular. “Soreness?”

I take a deep breath, knowing that he can probably see my building wetness. “Maybe a little. Nothing serious.”

There’s a long beat where he just looks, and aside from a twitch of the tendon in his neck, he’s as still as a statue.

And then he slides a finger into me.

The sound I make is a touch too breathy, and I bite it off with a hiss.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Looking for tears.”

But my body doesn’t feel like he’s looking for tears. It feels like he’s sliding his finger in and out, and when he glances up, holding my gaze, my belly clenches with want.

It doesn’t get any better when he pitches forward, lips parting as he swipes out with his tongue, licking the peak of my clit.

I freeze, a whimper trapped in my throat. “What are you doing?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Performing cunnilingus,” and latches his lips around my clit.

The move makes my whole body jolt, thighs falling open wider, and it’s like a flood gate opens. My jaw drops on a long, agonized cry, and the sound seems to spur him on, a rough sound escaping his throat as he edges closer, tongue sliding wetly through my folds.

“Oh, god,” I gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

His hair is just as soft as I know it’ll be when I knit my fingers through it, holding him close. Last night, Lex was a man possessed, but now I’m the mindless animal, rutting up into his mouth as his fingers fuck me.

I can’t be blamed. Lex’s tongue is just as deft as his fingers, its firm point pressing in against the side of my clit, looping around it but avoiding the sensitive center. He works me like a marionette, slick and sure, and the more I pull on his hair, the more focused his ministrations become, narrowing in on where I want him.

But it’s only when I pry my eyes open to stare into his hooded eyes that he finally flattens his tongue against me, his shoulder shifting as his fingers curl.

I yell when I come.

I’ve never done that before, mouth hanging open as a shrill cry erupts, my fingers clenching hard in Lex’s hair. My toes curl, my body quakes, and it feels like I’m being split wide open and filled to the brim with liquid warmth.

I’m still whimpering when Lex stands, swiping a wrist over his glistening mouth. “Sperm can live in your reproductive tract for up to five days,” he says, coolly adjusting his glasses.

“What?” I ask, panting. I don’t even realize I’ve pushed the heel of my palm between my legs until his amber eyes track the movement.

He reaches down to adjust his cock, which I’m just now realizing is half hard. As I’m gaping at it, he explains, “The orgasm. It’ll help promote insemination.”

“Promote…” When it finally hits me, my knees snap closed. “Oh.”

“The syringe deposits will continue–be prepared for one later today–but my brothers will want me to do this again.”

“For extra deposits.” He nods, the unspoken directive hanging in the air:To create is to reign.That’s all this is about, and I remember my prayer from the night before. I rise up on my elbows, my heart still fluttering from the orgasm. “I can handle it.”

His eyes skirt over me, landing on the bandaged wound on my breast. “I know you can.”