He happily drowned in her. The moment her body relaxed, he flicked his tongue over her bud again, his fingers working her relentlessly. He adored the sound of her climaxing again.
By the time he’d brought her to another orgasm, his cock was as hard as if he hadn’t had release in months, not minutes.
“Noel,” she commanded hoarsely.
“You want my cock in you?”
“Now.”
He climbed fully onto the bed and lay back, tugging on her hands. “Ride me, my lady.”
Her whole body was flushed and pink and wonderfully supple as she clambered atop him. She straddled his hips, and he guided his cock to her entrance. With her gaze holding his, she sank down onto him, impaling herself. She moaned. “Oh, God.”
He gripped her hips as she held tightly to his shoulders, then she did as he’d asked. She rode him. Hard. Her hips slammed against his, and he surged up to meet her. It was rough and relentless. He watched his cock disappear into her, then dragged his gaze up to her face. She had her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her mouth open as she mewled with each stroke.
Her fingers gripped him, her body tensing as she gasped another climax.
As the last waves seemed to leave her, he moved quickly, arranging their bodies so that she was on her hands and knees as he knelt behind her. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she rasped.
He drove into her in a single thrust. She pushed back into each pump of his hips, and he was lost. Being inside her was the greatest pleasure he’d ever known, and he wanted it to last forever. It would not be long, though, before he had to spill.
He brought one of his hands around her hips. His fingers found her clitoris, circling it, rubbing against her sensitive flesh as he fucked her steadily.
“Oh, God,” she gasped. “I—” She let out a long, full-throated moan of release.
A moment later, he pulled out. He grunted as his entire being was suffused with pleasure, and his seed shot from him.
She collapsed onto the bed. He grabbed a cloth from the washstand and cleaned her, before setting the fabric aside. He lowered down beside her, and then, sated, exhausted, exhilarated, he gathered her up in his arms. She snuggled against him, her breath soft and warm against his chest.
“How?” he murmured. “How does it keep getting better and better?”
“No idea,” she said drowsily. “But it does.”
Time slipped away and he couldn’t stop it. He had power over so many things in life, but not that. Having her in his arms now, he could not imagine the nights ahead where his arms held only his memories of her. He needed her as he needed sunshine. Existing in permanent grayness was possible—but she would bring brightness and joy.
“You should see this place in the winter,” he murmured. “Sometimes it snows—not abundantly, but enough to cover everything with sparkling diamonds.”
“How marvelous.”
“It is, rather.” He rubbed his lips over the crown of her head. “My friends, the Union—this is a place for us. When we were younger, wilder—”
“This is a tamer version of you?” She shot him a wry look.
“Quiet, madam, or I will hold you down and fuck you with my mouth until you scream yourself hoarse.”
“I fail to see how that’s supposed to deter me.”
He nipped at her shoulder. “As I was saying before a saucy minx interrupted me, I bring my close friends here, but no one else.”
“Yet you opened your doors to the Bazaar.”
“I opened my doors to you,” he amended. “They happened to come along. That happens often—crowds gather around me. Always more and more people.”
Leaning on her elbow, she propped her head on her hand. “You’re a popular man. Everyone wants to bask in your radiance.”
He lay on his back to stare at the canopy. “Everyone wants something from me. They’ve told me whatever I wanted to hear, stuffed me with falsehoods and pretty fabrications, all to advance themselves. It’s been that way since . . .” He mulled it over. “Since always.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Sometimes.” He turned his head to look at her. “I’ve got Rowe and Curtis and McCameron and Holloway—you haven’t met him yet. They’re genuine. In twenty years, they’ve never once fed me beautiful lies.” He snorted. “Can’t dine forever on untruths. You feel full, but you wind up starving to death.”
“It’s an empty diet,” she said softly.
“That’s why I don’t stomach it anymore. I used to, but the older I became, the less acceptance I had for it.