tilted his head back, his eyes shutting slowly as she repeated the gesture. His hands did not stop roaming her body, but now they pulled her closer. “Yes. Touch me, my little empath.”
She ran her hands under the edge of his coat, and she silently urged him to take it off. He obeyed, shrugging out of it, then his vest, tie, and his shirt. She watched and followed his hands with her own as he worked to bare his chest to her. When it was done, she let out a breath.
He was a marvel. A sculpture of a man. Perfect and pale, like he should be in a gallery. A few scars ran over his chest, some large, some small. Some looked to have come from claws, some from weapons. But they didn’t detract from his elegance in any way.
She went to touch him, her hands hovering over him. She wasn’t sure what to do. Or how to do it. Or that she should. But oh, how she wanted to. And how he clearly wanted her to do it.
He bent to kiss at her fingers where they hovered over him. He nipped at her playfully. “Go on.”
Finally, she gave in. She let her palms run over his body. And there was plenty of him to explore. He was like stone covered in velvet—the barest softness over the muscles beneath. She let out a shuddering breath. She had never touched anyone like this—never in her life. It was overwhelming, and she needed more.
When her hand ghosted over his abdomen, the muscles rippled as if she had triggered something. He growled, and he pulled her head to his, kissing her deeply. It emboldened her. She slid her hand lower, skin transitioning to the smooth fabric of his pants.
And finally, she worked up the nerve to touch what lay there in between his legs, begging to be freed. She should have the presence of mind to be terrified of his body. At the enormity of it. Certainly, he couldn’t mean to make it all fit inside her. But her fear did not stop her from continuing her shy exploration. She had denied herself this basic human act for so very long, and suddenly she was starving for it.
He growled thickly, turning his head to flick his tongue over her lips, asking once more for entry. She granted it, and he invaded her mouth, claiming it. He twitched beneath her hand, and she wondered if he wanted more.
Her answer was given to her when he undid the buckle of his belt and pulled the black leather strap from his pants. He undid his fly and, taking her hand in his, guided it to the entrance. She pulled from his lips, watching him, uncertain and fascinated as she ran her fingers into his trousers to find the object of her curiosity and desire.
He moaned low, leaning back to give her more room, his own hands holding on to her hips. She wrapped her fingers around his length, feeling its throbbing heat. She stroked him, or what she could manage. It was rather frustrating to not be able to explore him fully. With a hand on his shoulder, she gently pushed him back, hoping he understood what she did not quite fathom herself.
It seemed he did. With an amused smile, he obeyed. He let go of her to remove the rest of his clothes, letting out a small, relieved sigh as he was freed of their confines. He lay back on the bed. If she wanted to enjoy him, he would allow it.
By the old gods, he was gorgeous. He might as well be a god himself, she realized. He was lying there, watching her as she took in his form, and she knew there was no backing away now. Not after seeing him. Not after knowing what she could have.
He was a temptation—and one she had no ability to refuse.
God or devil. Man or monster. It didn’t matter. She wanted him.
She leaned over him, propping her weight up on one hand, and kissed his chest. He shuddered beneath her, growling in his throat. His hand drifted up her arm and rested there, not stopping her, but not pressuring her to continue.
He was letting her become comfortable with him. She appreciated it beyond words. She kissed his chest again, trailing along his body, down his abdomen. He was stoic but not immovable. He reacted to her touch, to her kisses, he shuddered or moaned quietly in