Page 23 of Bedeviled

That’s it, Empress, sit on my face and let me make you feel good.

I’m helpless to do otherwise. This sort of pleasure feels entirely indecent, and it’s relentless, one wave of sensation cresting upon the last. Memnon’s magic joins in, slipping between my folds and stroking my pussy from the inside out.

Goddess above.

He continues to suck on my clit until I am right on the edge. My fingers dig into the blanket when, suddenly, Memnon lifts my hips, then uses his magic to roll us.

I find myself with my back on the blanket, Memnon’s torso cradled between my thighs. The skirts of my wedding dress are indecently hiked up to my hips, and the cold evening air hits my now-exposed flesh.

All the while, sensation ebbs away.

Edging me is his favorite thing to do.

Almost my favorite.

I’m still breathing heavily when Memnon runs a hand down the silk bodice of my dress. At my back I feel the zipper draw down, parting the line of decorative buttons one by one. Another plume of his power peels away the bodice, exposing my breasts, then my rib cage and waist.

“Wife, wife, wife,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to the soft skin between my breasts, the ends of his hair tickling my flesh. His kisses are just a touch damp, and I realize that’s because he’s wearing me on his face.

Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

Awww, is my Empress embarrassed?

I shake my head, even as blood continues to heat my cheeks.

Liar, he says fondly.

Whatever embarrassment I feel is fleeting. I lie there beneath him, my dress indecently hanging around my midsection, shivering with cold and anticipation. Who knew wedding night sex would make me feel eager and vulnerable all at once?

“Let not the cold touch her skin,” he incants in Sarmatian.

His indigo magic rushes over me, and with it the chill seems to blow away.

My magic comes out then as well, crawling down the length of his body, tugging his shoes off, then his socks. It undoes the button and zipper of his pants and drags them down his legs. My power tugs off the rest of his clothes then, casting them aside just as the final rays of sunset sink beneath the horizon.

I can feel the heavy, rigid length of his cock trapped between us. I arch against him, searching for more sensation.

He groans, resting his head against mine for a moment before clasping the side of my face in one of his hands. “Wait, est amage. Wait.”

“I can’t.” I’m not even trying for demureness.

He laughs, then groans, taking my lips in a carnal kiss.

“There is one thing you need to know,” he says, his eyes flicking to me. “I’m not going to just fuck you. That’s not what we’re going to do.”

I study him a little skeptically, unsure where he’s going with this.

“This is going to be sweet. We’re going to have all the eye contact. I’m going to move in you slowly, and it will be intimate in all the ways that scare you.”

I tense, not liking the sound of this. I assumed that the hard push Memnon made toward emotional intimacy was simply to get me to fall in love with him and then marry him. I hadn’t anticipated that it would continue.

“Or we can stop here, wife. But I vow to you that the next orgasm you get from me will come with feelings attached to it.”

I lick my lips, wanting another glass of champagne. I can’t even fathom stopping. “So you want me to…look at you?”

“Among other things.”

Ooh, I don’t like that vague sentence either.