Page 82 of Bedeviled

I assume he’s asking me to wait, but then his thrusts grow more forceful, his thick cock driving deep into me. And it registers then that I really should hold on to him tighter.

Sounds are leaving my throat—part gasps, part moans as the sorcerer moves at a pace that surely will send him over the edge at any moment. The pace, however, is my weakness, and Memnon knows it. He’s playing me like a fiddle.

I clutch Memnon’s slick back as he sinks in again and again, his balls slapping me, each punishing drive of his hips pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

Our bodies move together and our mouths collide. He is everywhere. I want him everywhere.

I can sense how close you are, he says across our connection.

That is never, ever a good thing with Memnon when the man has an agenda. In fact, I think he might’ve fucked me at this pace solely to push me to the edge as quickly as possible. Damn him.

Memnon ends the kiss. “Beg for me to come inside you,” he commands.

And there’s the agenda.

“No.”

The man grins like a devil and continues to fuck me with exquisite intensity.

Oh Goddess. There’s an impatient throbbing between my legs, and I am quivering with coiled need.

My orgasm is building, building⁠—

Memnon halts his movements, his cock sliding almost completely out of me.

I’m breathing heavily as I stare at him, his brown skin slightly flushed, his pupils blown wide.

Without the rhythmic sensation of his thrusts, that fast approaching climax now ebbs away.

“Beg me,” he commands.

I shake my head, and that terrifying, challenging grin reappears.

“Come here, est amage,” Memnon says, sinking back into me. He peppers kisses along my cheeks, my nose, my lips.

The sweetness is all an illusion, one I fall for anyway. I melt against him as he lightly thrusts against me.

“Love the way your pussy clenches around me,” he murmurs. “You feel like heaven, little witch.”

For a few minutes, he’s all gentle movements. Any hope I had that sex with him would be fast dissolves away.

But gradually, his pace picks up until, once more, ridiculous, wanton sounds are leaving my throat.

“You like it like this, don’t you, my queen,” he murmurs, slipping back into Sarmatian.

Yes. Sweat slickens our bodies and beads at my brow. It feels feral. The sort of sex that’s uncomplicated—or rather, it would be uncomplicated if Memnon would give me my fucking orgasm.

But the moment it once again rises in me, Memnon says again, “Beg me.”

I let out a frustrated whine, even as my back rhythmically hits the wall. I’m getting concerningly close to climaxing. I want it badly.

“Memnon, please!” I say.

“Please what, Empress?” He has the audacity to act confused.

“Please let me come.”

“Absolutely, once you tell me what else you want.”