was what she’d wanted forever—a power of her own, something completely unrelated to her position as a princess.
She ran her fingers over him, marveling at the bead of clear fluid that had appeared, then bent and flicked her tongue experimentally against him. He tasted clean and bright, like the sea. His hips bucked and he nearly arched off the seat.
“Hands on the chair,” she reminded him sternly, thoroughly enjoying her position of mastery.
He shuddered. “Again. Do it again. Please.”
She was happy to oblige. She licked him, tiny laps of the tongue, gratified by his response. Growing bolder, she opened her mouth over him.
“Fuuuuuck!”
He thumped his booted heels on the floor, and she suppressed a little smile of feminine triumph. She, Anya Denisova, did this to him! He, who was no stranger to women, was finding pleasure in her touch. She licked him again, and he moaned.
“That’s so good. Don’t stop.”
He tilted his hips and pushed himself a little farther into her mouth. “Stroke your hand up and down,” he instructed hoarsely. “Tighter. Grip tighter. Close—God, I’m so close. You should—I can’t—”
She didn’t stop. She wanted to see him lose control, wanted to be the one to push him to the peak of pleasure.
“Anya, I’m going to—”
She lifted her head and stroked him as his entire body went rigid. He pushed himself hard into her hand, every muscle straining and shaking. Spurts of viscous white liquid jetted over her fingers, his stomach, cooling rapidly in the air.
Anya felt almost dizzy, her heart filled to bursting. She took her hand away and rested it on his thigh, savoring the feel of the corded muscles twitching beneath the fine cloth. “You can release the chair now, Mr. Wolff,” she croaked.
He was panting, his chest rising and falling in great gusts as if he’d been running. His member lay against his stomach in the open fall of his breeches, only marginally smaller now that he’d found release. He gave a deep, contented sigh and stretched his arms out in front of him, then brushed her hair back from her face with a tender caress. He used his shirt to clean her hand and his stomach, then rebuttoned the fall of breeches.
Anya rose shakily to her feet. He opened his arms to her.
“Come here.”
He drew her down onto his lap and buried his face in her neck. “Thank you. That was incredible. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”
She nestled her head into his shoulder, suddenly shy, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
So that was the male climax in all its glory. She’d been surprised, certainly, but not disgusted. He’d obviously received great pleasure, and she’d enjoyed giving it to him. Her entire body was filled with a thrumming, restless energy.
He pulled back to look at her and gave her a smile that heated her blood even more. “Now it’s your turn.”
Chapter 25.
What the hell had just happened?
Seb felt as if he’d been taken apart and put back together in a completely different configuration. Never had he allowed himself to be so vulnerable during a sexual act, so completely at the mercy of another. Usually it was him taking charge, issuing commands to direct his bed partner with cool, practiced assurance.
Not this time. He’d never realized how sexy it would be to cede control. He’d liked it. No, more than liked it. He’d loved it.
Anya’s hands and mouth had been gently questing. Instead of firm competence, she’d been sweetly tentative, and it had been the most erotic experience of his life.
He’d meant to put her at ease, to give her the power to explore him after her admission of a prior bad experience, but he’d been the one to receive the gift. The fact that she’d placed her trust in him was profoundly gratifying; he felt honored that she’d chosen him to help her past her misgivings.
Having a woman finish him with her hand or her mouth was usually something he did to take the edge off before engaging in full sex, but on several previous occasions, he’d caught himself looking out of the window, thinking of something else, as if he weren’t fully present in the room.
That certainly hadn’t been the case this time. His attention hadn’t wavered for a moment. He’d never forgotten who was with him. Anya. An extraordinary, infuriating enigma. A puzzle he would solve … as soon as he returned the favor.
* * *
Sebastien—it seemed ridiculous to call him Wolff after what they’d just done—helped her to