I jerked (to no avail) in his arms, and screamed, “Stop calling me that! ”
His fingers curled in, fisting the material at my belly, bunching it up and when he had it all up, his hand moved down.
I froze.
“Kah Dahksahna,” he whispered against my neck.
“Fuck you! I’m not your queen!” I snapped, my hips finally moving to avoid the path of his hand.
“Kah rahna Dahksahna,” he murmured and his hand slid into my panties.
My hips stopped moving.
“God,” I whispered on a jerk of my arms that did nothing to loosen his hold, “I freaking hate you. ”
His fingers glided between my legs.
And that was when it hit me his touch wasn’t clinical. It wasn’t removed. He wasn’t shoving me face first into the bed and taking me from behind like I was nothing but a warm vessel to receive his seed.
His touch was gentle, light, soft.
Oh shit.
His finger glided light as a whisper over my clit.
Oh shit!
“Lahn,” I whispered.
“Lahn,” he repeated, pushing his hips into my back as his finger started to circle in what was very clearly a caress. And dear God, I
couldn’t believe it but it was a nice one. It was a sweet one. And my body, damn it all, recognized it as such.
What on earth was happening?
“Please.” I kept whispering.
“Please,” he repeated after me again, still circling his finger with a gentle touch.
“Don’t,” I begged.
“Don’t,” he repeated and my eyes closed slowly.
God, was this happening to me? After all he’d done, was this really happening to me?
His finger asserted just a wee bit more pressure.
My head automatically fell back to his shoulder as a tiny spiral of pleasure unfurled in my belly.
Yep, this was happening to me.
I jerked my hands again, whispering, “I won’t.”
“I won’t,” he whispered back and his deep, rumbling whisper spiraled through me too.
His finger started circling faster, a little harder, a lot better.
God.
I turned my head, his lifted and I pressed my forehead into his neck and I fought against that spiral of pleasure that was unfurling.
But I didn’t win. It unfurled, then it grew, then it spread.
“Lahn,” I breathed as the continued workings of his fingers forced the last bits of tension from my body.
“Lahn,” he murmured and circled faster.
Oh, that felt nice.
“Circe,” I whispered.
His hand at my wrists tightened, pulling them into me as his finger pressed deeper.
“Circe,” he whispered and my hips bucked.
Yes. I liked that.
“Circe,” I said again and he pressed his hardness into my back and circled even faster.
