Page 41 of Remmen

I kissed her until she was breathing hard and fisting a hand in my hair to keep my mouth where she wanted it, and then I got an arm under her and stood up out of the bench with her held against my chest.

She yelped and grabbed on. My side gave a dull complaint and I ignored it entirely. I carried her back through the house to my room, where the sun came through the thin curtains I’d hung over the glass. I’d hung them weeks ago. Not for the morning light. So a small human woman could lie in my bed in broad daylight and no one out on the street would ever see her there.

The light came through them soft and gold and filled the whole room, and we were still a secret inside it, and I laid her down in the middle of the bed.

I took her clothes off slowly, because I wanted to and because it made her squirm, which I wanted even more. Her shirt first, up over her head, her hair coming loose. Her breasts came free and my mouth went dry, small and soft and already tipped with tight pink nipples that begged for my tongue.

Then the band of her trousers, easing them down her legs, my knuckles dragging over her thighs the whole way. She let me. She lay back on my sheets and let her knees fall open, and I looked my fill.

Flushed pink down her throat and across her chest, and lower, where the soft curls between her legs were already slick, where she was swollen and open and glistening for me before I’d laid a hand there. The scent of her arousal hit the back of my throat and my cock throbbed.

I laid my palm flat on her belly just to feel her breathe under it, and made myself hold still instead of falling on her. I could have looked at her the rest of the day. She had other plans.

“Take those bloody clothes off,” Anne commanded with a flick of her wrist.

I would obey any command she gave.

I stood up off the bed where she could see the whole of me and took my time about it. My shirt was already half gone. I dragged it up over my horns and let it drop.

Her eyes went down my chest and lower and stayed there while I unfastened my trousers and shoved them down, and my cock sprang free, thick and heavy and already wet at the tip. I jerked under nothing but the weight of her looking. I made no move to cover any of it.

I wrapped my fist around the base of my cock and stroked once, slow, root to tip, dragging the slick from the head down the shaft so it caught the light, because she was watching me do it and her mouth had fallen open.

“Oh,” was all she got out. Then, gathering herself, “Well. Don’t stop on my account.”

I fisted my cock again while she watched from my bed, propped on her elbows, her thighs pressing and shifting, unable to hold still. The flush went all the way down her.

She dragged her eyes down me and back up, greedy, snagging on my cock every time, and licked her lips, hungry for it. My cock jerked in my fist and a fresh bead of slick slid down over my knuckles. I could have come just from the look on her face.

“Show me how you touch yourself.” The words were so husky I almost didn’t recognize my own voice.

She didn’t move right away. Her hand had stopped high on her thigh. The flush on her throat had changed, climbed higher and stayed. She looked at me, and for a woman who always had a word ready she didn’t reach for one, and she didn’t look away either.

I didn’t rush her. I kept my fist moving slow on my cock and let her see plain how much I wanted this, and I stayed where I was, and I waited.

Then she let her knees fall open, slow, and reached down. She wet two fingers in her mouth first, watching me watch her, then dragged them through herself and circled her clit. Her hips tilted up into her own hand.

She was soaked. I could see it shine on her fingers, see her swollen and open and empty, and when she pushed one finger inside herself the sound she made was small and helpless and went straight down my spine into my cock.

She fucked her own hand and watched me fist myself, and I thought I might lose my mind before I got inside her.

I couldn’t stand there and watch a second longer.

I climbed onto the bed and she rolled to her side and made room, and I fit myself in behind her, her back against my chest, her head tucked under my jaw, both of us on our sides in the gold light.

I ran my hand down over her breast, caught one tight nipple and rolled it until she gasped, then lower, over her belly, and covered her own hand between her legs with mine. I didn’t take over. I followed her.

I let her show me the rhythm she’d found, then slid one thick finger down alongside hers, through all that slick, and pressed where she was pressing. She was drenched, and my finger dwarfed hers. Together we worked her clit until I felt her swell and clench and go slicker still, and she turned her face into my arm and moaned.

“There,” I told her, low, my mouth against her ear. “Show me. Just like that.”

When she was shaking, when her hips had gone frantic against our hands, I hooked her top leg up over mine, opening her, and dragged the head of my cock through her slick from behind. She was so wet I slid easy against her, notching at her entrance, and she stopped moving.

I went slow. She was small and I was not, and I never forgot it, not even out of my mind with wanting her. I pushed the first thick inch into her and stopped, and felt her stretch to take me, felt her clench and flutter around the head of me, and the sound she made was pure want.

I gave her another inch. Another. She was so tight and so hot around me that I had to grit my teeth to keep from driving home.

“Easy,” I said, though I was the one who needed telling.