Page 50 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

It was amazing before, but there was no doubt that using mouths for pleasure was at the top of the list of what she preferred. There was something captivating about his new position, something undeniably best . And she had soared from building pleasure to almost there in seconds.

And then he used his hand to rock her hips back and forth.

And that was all the encouragement she needed.

Using the slow undulating motions she knew her body craved, Miranda chased her release on Devin’s face.

The power and pleasure shot lightning through her body.

Every muted note of his pleasure vibrated against her core and thrust her higher, closer, speeding toward ecstasy.

And it took no time at all for her to come crashing down, catching herself on her hands to avoid crushing him as wave after wave liquefied her limbs.

And, once he’d untangled himself from her wobbly legs, it was clear in his eyes they were far from done.

Desire was persuasive as fuck. Devin had fully intended to end things here. Miranda haloed in blissful canary yellow and sprawled out on his bed where the scent of sweat and arousal nearly overpowered the traces of lilacs. But something snapped.

And he was not entirely himself when he maneuvered on the bed, kissing up the slope of her shoulder until he reached her neck. Gods, her neck. She must have used some sort of perfume there because that delicious floral scent was stronger.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, and he didn’t know if he’d ever seen anything as beautiful as her warm, tawny skin basking in the glow of release, and the long, blonde waves of her hair cascading over his sheets.

She turned so that she was on her back, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. Perhaps he should stop here.

She bit her lip. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

And in the realm of possibilities, Miranda asking if he planned to fuck her while sprawled out on his bed after riding his face to orgasm should not have been anywhere close to possible.

He closed his eyes and spoke very, very carefully. “Not if you wish to stop.”

Her fingers tapped at his cheek and he tentatively opened his eyes. “But you want to?” It was a challenge, a tease. She was goading him. Taunting him. Tormenting him.

“You have no idea,” he replied with barely restrained control. “But what I want is irrelevant…”

Her head tilted, eyes narrowed. “Can’t you read what I want in my aura?”

He breathed through his nose, because yes he could intuit what she wanted from her aura, he had been reading the very clear take-me amaranth for the better part of this conversation and it was driving him absolutely insane , but it wasn’t enough. Those were emotions, unfiltered and fickle.

“I can.”

“And what do you see?” she purred.

She was toying with him. His eyes were pure intent as he leaned down, pressing her into the bed. “I still need to hear you say it,” he said.

“I thought I did.”

His smile was dark, menacing. A burst of fuck yes ruby indicating she liked it.

He said, “No. You asked if I planned to fuck you. I need to hear you say you want me to.”

Her breathing grew heavy, her breasts crushed beneath his chest. Now who was doing the tormenting?

In a move he had no time to block, no presence of mind to counter, she had pinned him beneath her once again.

“Fine,” she said, angling her hips so that when she rocked, her still very wet center glided up the length of him, “I want you,” another jerk of her hips, “Devin,” he was choking, dying, “to fuck me,” she ended as she eased the barest inch of his cock into her and then he truly was gone.

Saying the words had worked some kind of magic. At first, as she lay on Devin’s bed, body still humming with a sweet sense of contentment, she thought it wouldn’t be easy to find that place again.

She had been very wrong.

Her crude, sensual declaration had not just worked for him. She had felt each wicked word with such heightened intensity that she was already reaching for a second release.

She had moved carefully, easing herself into the unfamiliar. Each time she rolled her hips she felt him press that much further into her. And it should have been so many things, but what it felt like was right and then the same rhythm she had chased before wasn’t even close to enough.

Back arching until there wasn’t a whisper of space between them, Miranda rolled her hips faster.

Harder. The pace wasn’t even or controlled, but the sensations rippling through her took a breakneck pace and she had no idea how long she had been moving—it could have been minutes or hours—but she was coming down again, riding out the blissful friction until she couldn’t move anymore.

And with some uttered word she couldn’t hear, Devin squeezed her to him. Buried his face in her skin as she felt him shudder. She ran her fingers through his hair, hoping he’d felt as good as she had.

Miranda caught her breath, still wrapped in hazy satisfaction as they fell onto the bed fully, together. Maybe there was more to say, but Miranda couldn’t keep her eyes open a second longer. In no time she had given in to the sweet pull of sleep.

Devin woke sometime after dawn. He knew because the sun was peeking through the curtains and giving him a piercing headache. The last thing he wanted in the world was to leave Miranda, who still slept soundly beside him, but that sliver of light had to go.

Waking up with a woman was not something he’d ever done intentionally before and, usually, came with a panicked hunt for his clothes and a quick retreat out a window. But as he drew a finger along her shoulder, the only word to describe how he felt was: happy.

Desperately in need of a bath, Devin called for Haversham and had one prepared. He planned to be quick so there would be time to set up clean water for Miranda. He also ordered food. Lots of food.

The room had an adjoining dressing room, with a tub set up for privacy.

There was a door that would, hopefully, keep him from waking Miranda.

In the main room, aside from the large poster bed with heavy drapes, was a fireplace and some furniture.

A chaise lounge sat at the foot of the bed in lush velvets and awful oversaturated pink.

Once clean and dressed in fresh clothes—he’d had a collection of his things stored here, mostly for when he’d spilled too much drink while half-asleep, but this was an undeniable improvement—he settled in one of the fine armchairs near a small bookcase.

The food was wheeled in on a cart and Devin thanked the servant as they shut the door and the room returned to a peaceful silence. A moment. A quiet moment.

Devin devoured the first plate of pastries. He wasn’t a morning person, certainly, and once his basic needs had been met he’d waited for Miranda to wake.

He had intended to allow himself the moment to think, but he ended up drifting into a heavy sleep upright in the armchair.

The sound of Miranda waking, her body stirring and her breathing altered, had his head jolting out of an impossible angle against the plush backing.

He checked the clock, it was approaching evening and his… everything hurt.

He stretched and rotated his arms to ease out the kinks in his muscles.

While Miranda rolled to look for him, her hand reaching out among the sea of sheets, he quickly rang on the bell to signal he was ready for fresh food and warm water in the bath.

He thought he’d never get used to having others serve him, but he couldn’t deny that right now, it was immensely convenient. It meant he didn’t have to leave her.

His movement drew her attention and she sighed, like she had expected him to cut and run on her. Then her eyes landed on the table.

“Is that food?”

“Yes, but I’ve sent for fresh—”

She leapt from the bed, completely bare, the blankets fluttering forgotten in her wake. She bit into a scone. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

He raised an eyebrow, because there was no way a half stale, cold scone was that delicious. But she scarfed it down and was already on to the next.

“I’ve got to start remembering to eat,” she groaned, crumbs littering the table like the carnage of battle. “How long have you been up? You’re already dressed and smell good.”

“There’s a bath waiting for you, too.”

She squealed in a delighted, girly pitch and raced for the adjoining chamber.

Devin did consider following her, but he hesitated.

She deserved a relaxing bath after everything and if he went in there, he’d start touching her, and then kissing her, and shit, he was already hard at the idea of stripping down and joining her.

Instead, he closed his eyes. He could hear her slipping into the water, the contented sigh, the gentle lap of water as she adjusted her limbs.

He closed the adjoining door, but his hearing was no longer inhibited by drink and he couldn’t trick his lust into thinking an unlocked door was an adequate barrier.

That wasn’t going to work either.

The only way Miranda would be able to bathe in peace was if he left temptation entirely. Devin intended to take a brisk walk down the stairs and back up. Twice.

Only, the door was already wide open. A servant would have closed it and the tray was still full of half-eaten food.

A gut feeling of warning was the only thing that saved him from being speared from behind. A blade sank into the armchair instead.

Devin whirled around and cold, Divine fear rooted him in place.

Yarrow Graves loomed as if he were another fixture of the room, positioned between Devin and the adjoining room with Miranda. He did not dare glance at the adjoining door and risk drawing Graves’s attention, but reaching it first was his only priority.