Page 7 of Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

But then Rian is rolling me, pinning me to the bed, my knees bent up to his shoulders, and thrusting into me. I’m still coming. The pleasure is almost painful as I cling to him, heedlessly scratching his shoulders and back with my filed nails.

His hips stutter. He smothers his groan in my neck, thrusting once more deeply, then just holding himself there, muscles rigid under my fingers.

My heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. I can’t catch my breath.

Then Rian is shifting off me and onto one arm.

I cry out again, this time at the loss of him between my legs, buried so deeply within me.

Chuckling into my neck, he slides his fingers between us, easily finding my clit and gently, ever so gently circling it .

His gaze tracks over my face as he coaxes the embers of my last orgasm into another full simmer. “Your eyes are glowing,” he murmurs.

“They don’t … usually … do that …” But before I can assess what my eyes glowing might mean when I’m not actually channeling any essence, pleasure sweeps through me, forcing me to press my head back to the bed and arch my neck and upper chest as much as my pinned position allows.

Gasping, all needy and panting, I tumble over the edge. Again.

Rian smiles, obviously satisfied with himself, as my second orgasm curls up from the soles of my feet, streaks up my legs, and explodes through my nether regions.

He kisses me as I come.

His tongue slips into my mouth, meeting my own.

Then I’m the one tongue-fucking him as I shudder, then shudder more, under his deft fingers.

He finally cups my pussy firmly, letting me sink into the bed. Still gazing at me with that smug but playful smile.

“Arrogant,” I mutter without heat.

He shrugs. “You needed a quick release the first time.”

First time? That was my second orgasm. Or does he mean …

Before I can clarify, he’s tugging me to the edge of the bed by my thighs, then flipping me facedown. Moving with shifter swiftness, he wraps the used condom in tissue and tosses it in an open and hopefully empty box. Then he pulls the duvet onto the floor for my knees.

I shove my hair out of my face, trying to shift to my forearms on the bed, but he presses my chest down so my hips and ass arch. “Let me take care of you.”

This is another vulnerable position that I don’t normally like. But even as he pauses to slide on another condom, and even though I know the view he now has of my wide ass and stretched pussy, I allow myself to sink into the sheets and press my face to the bed.

He thrusts into me from behind without further prep or preamble, as if my second orgasm was all the recovery time he needed.

As if he needs me just as much, though he’s already come once.

Another first for me. My lovers never come back for seconds. Possibly because it takes me so long to orgasm.

Well … because it usually takes me so long to orgasm. And usually only the one time.

Rian stretches himself over my back, bracing his elbows on the mattress and threading his fingers through mine. The bed isn’t more than a third of a meter off the ground, so he has me entirely surrounded.

Painstakingly slowly this time, he just fucks me.

I’m sensitized from the two orgasms, and not remotely accustomed to having sex in the first place, but I don’t fight the sensations. I just breathe and enjoy the thickness and hardness of him sinking into every wet and plump part of me.

He shifts to run his hands gently up my thighs, across my ass, then up my spine.

His hands are deliciously calloused, and I moan quietly.

He grips my hips hard, groaning himself, then pumping into me hard and fast for a few strokes.

Then he does it again, all gentle caresses alternating with hard thrusts, as if he’s struggling to pace himself.

I don’t think I’m going to come again. It feels incredible, but the angle definitely isn’t right for that.

But the next time his grip tightens on my hips and he speeds up, his breathing starts to rasp like it did before he came the first time.

He curls over me again, wedging his hand between me and the bed, pressing his fingers against my clit.

Then, with each stroke, he grinds me into him — from two directions.

Garbled pleas start falling out of my mouth, my hands scrambling for handholds in the sheets. He’s talking as well, but I’m fairly certain he’s fallen back into Old Gaelic.

“Are you with me, Highness?” he rasps out in English.

“Yes, please,” I manage to articulate. “Yes, please.”

“I need you to come now. If you’re going to, because I can’t —”

He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence before he’s losing rhythm, pounding me into the bed and shuddering out his own release. He somehow manages to keep pressure on my clit, though.

An orgasm flutters through me — almost as if in answer to his own climax. It’s intense enough that I actually clench around his cock, wringing another shouted “Fuck!” from him.

He collapses over me, pressing his face into my neck.

I’m so relaxed that he manages to pull out of me and get me turned around on the bed without any protest on my part.

He’s still caressing me with those long strokes of his hands, from my knee to my hip to my shoulder, then gliding down my back and cupping my ass.

As if he adores the feel of my skin against his.

As if he can’t get enough of touching me.

“You need to go to the bathroom,” Rian murmurs. It feels like only a few moments later, but the music is off, and he’s pulled the shutters closed, so I must have dozed.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I mutter like a complete brat, speaking into a pillow I don’t remember laying my head on.

He laughs quietly. “You’ll get a bladder infection.”

“That’s a myth perpetuated by male doctors who are flummoxed by female genitalia and who don’t understand how hormones work.”

That response momentarily confounds my pushy lover. He falls silent a moment, then turns the command into a question. “We need to sleep now for a few hours. Are you sure you don’t need to go to the bathroom?”

I roll off the bed before he finishes the sentence, all huffy and pouty and completely fucking relaxed. Settled, even. For the first time since Armin died.

Rian follows me into the dark bathroom, but even though I stumble around looking for the toilet, he politely doesn’t turn on the light.

I quash the urge to banish him from the bathroom while I pee. He runs the tap, checking the temperature before he pours a glass of water.

Thankfully, there’s a bidet installed. But before I take even two steps away from the toilet, Rian presses the glass of water into my hands, then kneels before me, slipping his hand between my legs again.

I’m still half asleep, but I’m not going to say no if he wants a third round. I’m not certain I’m capable of saying no to him, even if it means I’ll be seriously sore in the morning.

But he’s … his fingers are coated in a lubricant, and he’s moisturizing my pussy, and … I struggle not to cry because he’s … taking care … of me.

“I should have used this before,” he murmurs.

Even in the low light and with his head tilted away from me, I can see he’s a little ashamed, chagrined.

No … I can feel that energy radiating off him.

With my own essence barely a contented simmer, I really shouldn’t be able to feel that emotion from him so clearly.

I wrap my hand around his wrist. “You didn’t hurt me. ”

He nods, but I know he’s doubtful. I can feel it.

“It … it had been a while for you, then?” Rian asks quietly, squeezing a little more lubricant onto his fingers.

“That’s a complicated question,” I say just as quietly. Understanding that he wants to have this conversation, but not wanting it to intrude on the warmth still lingering between us. “You’re worried I was …”

“Tight,” he offers. “And, ah, I could have warmed you up more.”

I laugh a little. “I’ve never been so warm in my life.”

Rian glances up at me then. The concern in his gaze melts away under whatever he picks up from my own expression.

Then his smug, satisfied grin returns.

I huff, downing the entire glass of water.

He takes the empty glass from me, refills it, then guides me back to the bed, setting the glass within reach on the floor.

He doesn’t formally request that I stay the night. He just asks, “Right side or left?” Then he bundles me against his chest with my head on his shoulder when I choose right.

I’ve never slept on top of anyone before. I’ve honestly never really slept, not overnight, with a lover. My life is a complicated network of family, guards, and duties that have prevented that —

No. I expect my current whereabouts have already been logged into the security network so that my private detail knows where I am if needed. But even as tracked and sheltered as I am, if I had wanted to stay overnight with a lover, I could have. But I didn’t.

I’m already slipping back into a light doze when Rian says, “I’ve never done this before.”

“What?” I say teasingly, and just a little doubtfully. “Had a one-night stand? ”

He goes really quiet and really still. Then he speaks, all gruff and stilted. “This isn’t a one-night stand.”

I look up at him, surprised. He angles his head slightly back so he can meet my gaze.

“No?” I ask.

“No,” he states.

“You want me … again.”

“I’ll have you again,” he says, not a hint of arrogance in the assertion. “Over and over again. As many times as you’ll have me.”

“I’m … things are complicated right now.”

“I imagine they always are.”

I can’t refute that. I want him just as much as he wants me, so there really is no other argument to have. “What did you mean, then? That you’ve never done this before?”

“Never slept with someone … taken care of them.” He pauses. But before I can tease him again, he adds, “I’ve never fucked someone twice in a row like I’d die if I didn’t get back inside them. Even when I’d just fucking come so hard, I thought I was going to explode.”