21. Paris

Every one of my breaths rasped against the pillow, a wet spot beneath my mouth where I'd whimpered and cried out into the cotton. Gods, the fabric in Nemeda was so fine, so carefully woven, soft against my bare, overheated skin. I wanted to stretch out and feel everything, and I wanted to stay right there, still forever, with Brett's cock buried in my ass and the warm, languid feeling his tongue had given me still working through my muscles.

It was plenty warm now, trapped under the covers with him. Sure, it would've been a nightmare to get up, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, but the fire was roaring bright and there was no reason for either of us to get up any time soon.

I promised myself that I wouldn't let him go cold. I'd take care of Brett and make sure he had no reason to regret coming out here for the widow Laurence or—or staying with me.

Still, I fell asleep there in his arms, tangled together and happy.

I did manage to get up once in the night to stoke the fire, to many protesting grumblings from Brett. When I slipped back underneath the covers, he hissed at my cold toes but pulled me close.

I looked up at him, at his golden skin and his gleaming lashes and the perfect bow of his lips. Then, I shivered.

Nobody had ever tasted me like that before, and it felt so, so fucking good. Not just his tongue, which was quick and clever, but also just—just knowing that he didn't flinch away from any part of me.

Little as I wanted to compare him to Tybalt, I hardly had another frame of reference.

Tybalt was demanding. He preferred to tell me exactly what he wanted and leave me to execute his vision, but there was something... inorganic in it. It was more like a, well, a subject being ordered around by his prince than two people who genuinely felt something for one another.

Getting off was getting off, of course, and I'd never really thought much of it. I'd even convinced myself it was nice to have Tybalt tell me what he wanted, because then I didn't have to try and figure it out.

Only, it wasn't about that—wasn't about communicating or making me feel desired. He'd simply wanted his needs met, and he hadn't been nearly as interested in my own.

Now, I didn't doubt that Brett had wanted me, that he'd thought about making me feel good. Gods, I'd hardly had a thought to spare for him by the time he was finished with me, but he'd come all the same.

So, maybe I needed to see if I was just getting confused and swept up in the moment, or if there was something really special about the way that Brett reached for me. I wasn't sure what it'd mean if it was really different, but for the time being, I was stuck in Nemeda. Perhaps I'd be there forever.

I wanted more.

So the next morning, when I stoked the fire, I tiptoed to the pantry to see if Esmerelda had any kind of oil we could use. Yes, yes, perhaps I could use Brett's tongue again, but I didn't want to assume, and I wanted him inside me. Mostly, I didn't want to have to wait.

When I crawled back into bed, I wiggled into his arms. And the first thing he did was reach up and press the back of his hand to my forehead.

"Is something the matter?" he asked. His brow furrowed like he was terrified something was wrong.

Well, I supposed I could understand that, given how much he hated the cold.

"Not at all. It's still snowing, so I thought we could stay in bed this morning." I leaned in and stole a quick kiss, then reached for the bottle of oil I'd found, lifting it where he could see. "One more time?" I whispered. "Please."

In this, I wasn't above begging. Brett was?—

He'd—

Well, he'd held me like he loved me. He'd kissed even the most private parts of me. He hadn't flinched back, hadn't told me what he'd wanted, hadn't demanded a single thing. He'd simply given and given until I was mindless, driven mad by such plenty.

Brett was staring up at me, and there was something in his eyes—wariness? I didn't know.

Maybe he thought I was easily turned, that I'd seduced the prince of Urial and now meant to seduce him, turning into the arms of the most powerful available man with little thought to feelings or propriety.

Perhaps he thought I meant to use this to take advantage of him in our negotiations, if I'd not all but admitted that King Albany had very little interest in seeing any real treaty come through.

"Please," I whispered again, my breath hitching and my cheeks flushing at the embarrassment of it. "Just... while we're here. I swear I won't bring it up again once we leave. Your—your people never have to know."

Brett scoffed, and the sound of it had me shrinking into my shoulders.

Then, he made a frustrated sound and reached for my cheek. "I'm not worried about my people finding out, Paris."

"Oh . . . " I stared at him. That was hard to imagine.

Even if Brett was known to take men to his bed, I was there as a diplomat. Surely, his people would think I was taking advantage of him.

I'd never slept a full night in Tybalt's bed because he hadn't wanted us to get caught. Sure, it'd been obvious, but there was still distance.

Maybe Brett was lying to me now, but it wouldn't be the worst lie a man had told me, so I wasn't going to press him.

With his hand curled around the nape of my neck, he drew me down. His lips were soft, our breaths mingling between us. When I lifted my leg so I could straddle his hips, he didn't push me away. No, he reached down with his free hand to cup my ass and drag me forward, the friction of my cock against his skin enough to make my blood rush.

"Then... fuck me?" I rasped against his mouth. When Brett opened his eyes, I'd swear there were gleaming gold swirls swimming through those pools of green.

He nodded, reaching down to drag his fingers over the cleft in my ass, pushing a finger into me just to the first knuckle.

I poured some of the oil I'd found into my hand and gripped his cock. Oh?—

It was larger than I'd expected. Sure, the night before, I'd touched him, felt the stretch and strain when he'd pushed into my body, but I'd wanted him too desperately to care, and I'd dismissed it as simply the result of foregoing sex for so long.

Now, it was something of a wonder that I'd taken all this inside me.

Brett's smile tilted as I stroked him, and I was caught there in his gaze.

"Everything all right?" he asked, dipping his finger deeper. It had me flexing my ass, pressing closer to him.

"I like the way you feel," I whispered, swirling my slick thumb across the flushed red head of his cock.

Brett's throat clicked when he swallowed. "You feel good too."

He said it so simply, but even that made heat flow under my skin like the most outrageous erotic poetry.

I let him take his turn with the oil, the wet sound of his fingers squelching inside me doing something to the pattern of my thoughts, blowing them apart until all I cared about was getting more and more of him.

With a sharp sound, I lifted my hips and Brett's fingers slid out of me. Reading the shift of my hips, he steadied his cock, full and firm, beneath me.

Whimpering softly, I sank over him, working back and forth in little thrusts as I took him inside. Like—like this, I could hold his eyes. I could enjoy his hands gripping my legs, and the way his full mouth parted as he watched me.

It was glorious, knowing he was there, knowing that he held himself taut even as I took him deeper, my breath shaking, each gasp only filling the space around him—around that point where our bodies joined.

My eyes fluttered shut when he was fully inside, my ass press flat against his strong thighs, the insides of my legs spread over his hip bones.

"Skies above, you're perfect," he breathed, and I stared down at him, a fresh whimper in my throat.

Did he really think so? Impossible, if he'd ever seen himself, seen the feathers twisted so beautifully in his golden hair.

I rocked my hips, and Brett thrust up to meet the movement. The blunt head of him swept over my insides, across that spot that sparked pleasure and made my dick twitch against his belly.

Gods, I liked that—how when I rode his cock, my balls brushed his skin, my cock bounced and smeared a line of pearly white across his bellybutton. He was so fucking pretty. Just—just wonderful and?—

"Oh fuck," I whined, jerking forward, riding him faster. His hands gripped my thighs, driving me forward, urging me on.

He wanted this. Wanted me.

With a shattered sound, I gripped his chest and came, grinding on top of him like I could fit Brett all the way inside me, keep him there forever.

Even when my strength failed me, I circled my hips. Brett arched his lower back, then slammed his hips up. Pleasure sparked through me, too much and not enough all at once.

He fucked hard, and when he came a few moments later, I cried out with him, feeling him press up and up and up, like he wanted to bury in me too, and we could become one being.

I collapsed, panting, against his chest.

"All right?" Brett asked once he'd caught his breath, his fingers ever so gentle as he traced the shape of my shoulder blade.

"Mmhmm," I mumbled, nuzzling into his chest. "Just... maybe one time more."

I felt Brett nod. "As long as you feel like it," he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "As many times as you want."

I laughed, the sound breathy and trapped against his chest. "Promises, promises."