Oh, gods, we’re going to be so close.
If I scoot back far enough, my bottom will press against his hardness.
I remind myself that he’s fully dressed and there will be a thick cover between us. Also, he’s an honorable male. At least when it comes to me. He won’t hurt me. He won’t try to take advantage.
Frantic need sweeps through me, and another whimper leaves my throat. I draw in a shaky breath and climb on the bed. With his help, I take position between his spread legs, and I lean back against his chest.
Just as expected, and secretly hoped, the telltale hardness of his male appendage pokes at me, though rather than nudging at my bottom, it pushes against my lower back. My pulse races and my palms break into a sweat.
Pressure coils in my center, and a moan builds in my throat, though I somehow manage to keep quiet. The idea of becoming so wanton that I can’t control the noises I’m making leaves me flushed with embarrassment. But I don’t want to stop.
Even if I lose control, I want to keep going.
I want to see this experience through to the very end.
I’m aware that my nightdress is rather sheer, and Tristan can probably see the outlines of my nipples, but it can’t be helped. Speaking of my nipples, why are they so hard, and why do my breasts feel heavy? I yearn for him to touch me there, to cup my bosom and knead the peaked mounds, but I would never dare make such a wanton request.
“Is this a good position?” I ask.
“Yes, sweet human. This is perfect.” He leans close, and his cheek brushes mine. His hair also tickles my face, and his fragrant summer scent washes over me. Pleasurable sensations prickle along my flesh everywhere he touches, and my breath keeps catching in my throat.
He settles his arms on either side of him, and I sense his reluctance to become overly involved in my self-pleasure. He doesn’t want to scare me by touching me too familiarly. Toointimately. Gods, is it wrong that I want him to? Is it wrong that I want it to be his fingers that are stroking me to a blissful climax?
“Are you wearing any undergarments beneath the nightdress, Amelia?” His warm breath dances along my earlobe, inciting goosebumps and causing my nipples to harden further.
“No, I’m not wearing anything beneath the nightdress.” I’m trembling with need, and even his body heat and summer warmth can’t calm the constant tremors. I don’t feel cold, however, not really, even though I can see the goosebumps rising on my arms.
“Well, that will certainly make things easier.” More warmth dances along my earlobe, and I can’t help but lean my face closer to his. His stubble brushes along my cheek. “Hike your nightdress up a bit and reach your hand underneath to touch your pussy.”
“O-okay.” I draw the fabric of my nightdress higher, until it rests midthigh, then I slowly reach for my pussy. But as I aim for my nether area, the nightdress hikes up even higher, revealing more of my thigh than I intended.
Tristan’s cock lurches against my back, and I whimper as I wonder just how large he is. I suppose, being a highborn fae—and a huge one at that—he’s probably quite well-endowed.
At the Sorsston castle, I saw more naked fae males than I would’ve liked walking around in the midst of their nightly revelries, and even the regular soldiers had intimidatingly massive appendages.
I push away thoughts of the Sorsston castle and those dark days, and I return my focus to the present, to Tristan and the intimate experience we’re about to share.
“Very good,” he says in a praising tone. “Now drag a digit between your nether lips and feel just how wet you are. Do it slowly, up and down a few times.”
“Okay.” I start to draw one finger through my folds, up and down just as he instructed. Whenever I reach the top, I touch a pulsating part of me that’s extra sensitive, and I gasp and my hips lurch in response. I pause with my finger pressed hard on this location and savor the sensations.
“There it is. I believe you’ve found your clit, sweet human.” His voice still holds a note of praise, and he briefly caresses my arm, which causes my finger to resume moving up and down through my slit.
The moan that’s been building in my throat finally releases, and my face grows hotter. I commence gyrating my center against my stroking digit, eager for the times I brush over my clit.
“Good, good little female. Keep going just like that. It’s important for you to keep spreading your moisture over your clit. Later, I’m going to instruct you to circle your clit and apply a bit of pressure, but for now, I just want you to keep getting it nice and slick.”
His words cause fresh spasms of heat in my center, and I feel as though I’m burning up. Perspiration trickles down my temple, and I suddenly wish I could tear the nightdress off.
As I continue rubbing myself, taking care to spread moisture over my pulsing clit with each upward stroke, Tristan occasionally runs a hand through my hair or touches my arm to better help guide my movements.
The scent of what I think is my arousal finally reaches me, and I gasp because it’s a sweet, pungent aroma.
As though reading my mind, Tristan rubs his stubbled cheek against mine and says, “You smell delicious to me, Amelia. I pray to the gods that one day, you’ll agree to let me taste your sweetness, you’ll agree to let me feast on your slick, aching pussy.”
A series of whimpers emanate from me, followed by another deep moan. At some point, I added a second finger as I stroked without realizing it.
My fingers glide through my folds with ease because I’m so thoroughly wet. So thoroughly aroused.
