pussy with a growl against my neck. I let out a sigh at the feel of his hand right where I need it.
“Gods, your queynte, is drenched, Sybilla.”
My body jerks from his word, one that I’ve never heard before, but I can guess his meaning as he grinds his palm against my clit. Shifting my hips, I rub against him, needing more. He hisses, just as he slips a finger inside of me.
Magical.
Clenching his hair in my grasp, I lick my lips as I continue to look into his eyes, riding his hand unabashedly. His lips tip right before his hand tugs my neck back farther, my back arching and my eyes looking across the room, upside down, at the stone wall behind us.
“What a sight it would be that you would ride my cock so expertly,” he rasped, his breaths coming out in uneven pants.
“I want that,” I say, unsure of why I’ve just told him this.
He releases his hand from between my legs, the loss of his touch almost too much for my body to bear. He almost violently straightens me, still gripping my hair before he tugs me against his chest. He’s still clothed, the rough fabric of his tunic rubbing deliciously against my aching breasts, teasing my nipples.
“You wish to ride me, witch?”
Letting out a trembling breath, I look into his now deep indigo eyes. “Stop calling me a witch, that’s not what I am,” I whisper.
He shakes his head once. “My witch, remember? That’s what you are and that is what you’ll continue to be until I’ve figured out what you want from me or until I’ve grown tired of taking your body.”
I should detest him, just for those words alone, but my body craves him, his touch, his promise of release so much that I can do nothing but nod without speaking.
“Disrobe me,” he gently demands.
I have no clue how his clothes work, but I reach for his belt first. Nimbly, I unbuckle the fastening before I let it fall to the floor with a loud clamor. Grasping the hem of his tunic, I drag it up his body, exposing his black tights and tight long-sleeve shirt.
Once his tunic is over his head, I drop it to the floor to join his belt. His brown hair is now messy from the action, he looks younger, his scar is still redder than it was earlier, but it isn’t off-putting, in fact, it’s sexy.
Elias releases my hair before he reaches for the hem of his shirt. I watch as he slips it up his torso, exposing his bare chest to me. My mouth goes dry at the sight, right before it waters.
Shifting forward, I can’t deny myself the taste another second longer. I touch my mouth to a scar at the top of his pec, then another inches below that one. In fact, his entire chest is littered with scars, some larger than others, but there are several dozen.
“Not just a king,” I murmur against his stomach. His muscles clench as I reach for the ties at the side of his pants.
“No,” he grunts, his hand wrapping around my ponytail.
“A warrior,” I breathe, tugging his tights down his legs.
“Sybilla,” he warns as his cock springs free.
Reaching for him, I wrap my hand around his impressive length. He’s not just long, he’s thick, too. He’s perfection. His body is tanned and toned, his skin tastes like sweat and leather mixed with cedarwood.
Touching my tongue to the tip of his dick has Elias cursing his gods before he tugs my head away, his dark indigo eyes turning black.
“You do this?” he asks, his tone almost lethal sounding instead of turned on.
Biting the corner of my lip, I can think of nothing but having him inside of me, filling me, fucking me, taking me to the edge and pushing me over. In that, I want to make him happy too, and every woman knows that every man loves a good blow job.
“You don’t like it…”
He shakes his head once. “Like has naught to do with it. Ladies do not do this, Sybilla. Not in this world. Only whores take a man in their mouth.”
Blinking, I pull back in surprise. Then, my lips turn up into a small smile. “It seems that we are indeed in different worlds then, Elias, because where I’m from, ladies do this. Especially when they want to give their man something extra in the bedroom, or maybe just because they want to make their partner