Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Knees. I truly am gone for this woman.
It’s a nice robe. But having her naked will be even nicer. I lean forward, bracing myself on one hand above her, and trail a single finger over the robe. It takes concentration to ensure ramp up the fire to the point of burning, to demolish her robe, inch by inch, revealing her pink nipples, her soft stomach, her perfect pussy. All the better, she’s shaking and panting by the time I’m done.
I tease my fire over her nipples, pulsing it softly until she moans. It can be as solid as I need, but for now, I want the suggestion of touch more than actual touch. Silly to be jealous of a fire that’s my construction, but I have Belladonna naked and panting for the pleasure I intend to give her. I don’t want to miss a moment.
Her nipples are warm and sweet against my tongue, her moans in response even sweeter. I tease one nipple to a tight point, then the other. All the while, I watch her face, read her desires. Both scream more, so more is what I give her. I keep my flames playing at her breasts and give them a little more weight to lift and stroke and tease as I shift down her body. Her skin is decadently soft and breaks out in goose bumps in the wake of my tongue. Gods, she’s perfect, from her little moans to the stretch marks decorating her hips and stomach.
As if in response to my thought, her eyes fly open and she shifts. I pause, my breath ghosting over the skin below her belly button, and wait. “Problem?”
“No. Yes. I don’t . . .” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “I’m self-conscious. I don’t want you to think less of me for how I look.”
I’m glad she has her eyes shut so she can’t see the murderous urge rising in me again. It would put a damper on the mood. I have to bank it and bank it hard. “Would you like me to tell you what I see?”
“I don’t know.” She still has her eyes closed. “I might die of embarrassment if you do.”
“Will you start disassociating if I don’t?”
Belladonna finally looks at me. “You’re too smart. It’s uncomfortable to be seen like this.”
I laugh even though my chest is tight. People are people, and we all have our little fracture points. Some are more pronounced than others, but all are worthy of care. “Do you want to stop?”
“No. Absolutely not.” She shakes her head sharply. “You can . . .” She sucks in a harsh breath. “You can tell me what you see. I’ll try not to hate it.”
My laugh is a little too dry, but I can do this for her. I can make it good for her. And I’ll be damned if she’s not going to enjoy hearing it. I dip down and drag my tongue through her folds, earning a yip of surprise. That yip turns into a moan when I press a single finger into her warm, wet heat. “Gods, you are perfect.”
“Rusalka . . .Please. You don’t have to—”
I pump slowly, exploring her even as I keep a close eye on her face. “I mean it. You look at your body, at your soul, and see all the imperfections, not realizing that those imperfections add up to you, to Belladonna.” I curl my finger against her inner wall and am rewarded by a sweet moan. Good. She’s still fighting not to hear, even as she submits, her arms still stretched above her head, encircled by my fire. I kiss her lightly and work another finger into her. “Would you like to know a secret, little one?”
“Y-yes.” She lifts her hips to guide my fingers deeper as her mouth seeks mine. “Please. Tell me.”
Good girl. The trust she puts in me to take care of her, both physically and emotionally, is staggering. I’ve been taking care of my entire territory for most of my adult life, and yet this feels different. I would never call being a leader a burden—or not just a burden, because there is joy in seeing my people prosper and knowing it’s, in part, because of my choices. But this? Belladonna? She’s a damned gift. Battered and bruised and still striving forward without hesitation. Those bastards she calls family didn’t break her. They didn’t even get close.
I nip her bottom lip. “What your world calls perfection is boring. It’s the so-called flaws that make us who we are.” I press the heel of my hand to her clit even as I keep working that lovely little spot inside her. “It’s the flaws and the bumps and bruises that make you perfect, little one. You’re stronger for them, and that is true perfection.”