Page 112 of Fate's Wicked Oath

I tipped my head back, laughing at the compliment and the giddy rush of lust it sent spinning through me. “You should give yourself more credit.”

Faren’s smirk turned genuine as he settled his weight beside me and drew the blanket up to our waists. “What can I do for you now?”

My magic resumed its hot hum. This was a lot of sensation at once: the worn fabric of the sheets, the weight of the blanket atop me, Faren’s body heat beside me. Needing to center my overstimulation, I grasped his wrist again, guiding his hand down my neck, between my breasts, along my belly, and back up, awakening and focusing my senses.

“Keep doing that,” I whispered, arching up to kiss him.

He touched me as if there was nothing else to do but this: the steady reverence of his hands traversing my body up and down, and the languid glide of his tongue against mine. Soothed by his slow caress, the frenetic feeling in my skin subsided. I became grounded, rather than dizzy. Relaxed, rather than tense.

And then suddenly I craved more.

“Kiss my chest,” I said, and he did, licking streaks of heat across my breasts and sucking on their peaks until they ached with pleasure. “Yes,” I breathed, and he answered with a groan and a bite that had my head spinning. “More,” I panted.

He rolled halfway on top of me, the hair on his chest scraping my skin. Rather than feeling overwhelmed, I welcomed the sensation of his nearness. My magic led my curious hands over the rugged lines of his back, the smooth column of his neck, his rough jaw. He felt so good beneath my palms—virile yet controlled—and I gripped his biceps, his shoulders, losing sense of time within the steady rhythm of our breathing.

“Feel how wet I am,” I whispered.

There was a slight hitch in his movements, the faintest pause. The candles in the room had reduced to faint flickers, and I couldn’t read his face in the dimness—not, except, for the slow reveal of his teeth. “Now who has the dirty mouth?”

With delicious pressure, he smoothed his hand over my belly and down between my legs. His fingers found what they sought but avoided my most sensitive place.

“You’re soaked,” he remarked, sliding one digit inside. The pad of his finger stroked my inner wall as he gradually withdrew it. “Still good?”

I let out a rough sigh. “Again.”

He dipped in again, curling his finger in a way that made my magic sing. “Are you ready for more?”

“Please.”

“Fuck, I don’t think you’ve ever said that to me before.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I said.

He drew his finger up, sliding it across my clit. It was like a strike of flint, making my body jerk.

“Was that too—”

“Please.”

He laughed into the side of my neck, kissing the tender place behind my ear as he began to rub consistent circles.

It felt transcendent—divine—until suddenly it didn’t. My magic flared too hot, too sensitive.

“Stop,” I panted.

He stopped at once, withdrawing his hand and resting it innocently on my inner leg. He stared down at me in question, and his patience, his kindness, his dirty words—I was immediately, horribly furious with my magic for ruining this.

With a frustrated growl, I covered my face with my hands. “I’m sorry,” I said. “My magic—Ifeeltoo much.”

There was a puff of breath on my forehead. Then the gentle coaxing of my hands away from my cheeks. “Look at me,” Faren said, meeting my gaze with intensity in the dark. “You feel exactly the right amount.”

“But—”

“No debate,” he said. “You might feel like your magic as a curse at times, Mariana, but don’t think like that when you’re in bed with me. Your magic is a gift.This”—he squeezed my thigh—“is a fucking gift. We have all the time in the world.”

I frowned and cupped his stubbly cheek. “You’re a very good man, you know that?”

“I’m not so sure.” He sucked on my bottom lip, making my toes curl. “Butyouare a very devious woman.”