new decadence she was not accustomed to. Having something just because it felt good. Just because it made her happy.
When he was finished, he sent it the same way as his tie, his muscles bunching and shifting with the motion. Her mouth dried, her heart pounding hard against her breastbone, echoing in her head.
“Now your pants.”
He arched a dark brow, his hands going to his belt, working it through the buckle slowly. She stared, transfixed. Everything about him was impossibly sexy. His chest, his stomach, arms, hands. She bit her lip thinking about what he was about to reveal. She was very excited about that too.
“You can go a little faster than this.”
She was sure she wasn’t imagining that, as soon as she spoke the words, he slowed his movements. “Can I? Feeling impatient?”
Yes, yes, she was. “Not particularly.”
“Are you sure I haven’t already seduced you?”
“Keep trying, I say.”
He smiled again. A genuine smile. She was keeping count of how many she had earned.
He rolled his shoulders back, the motion creating movement throughout the rest of his body. Movement she could not ignore. He was beautiful. No wonder women lost their heads over him. In truth, she imagined all he had to do was smile and he could have any woman thoroughly seduced with the beauty of his physical form. She would be more surprised if anyone ever resisted.
She certainly did not plan to resist.
He undid the closure on his pants, pushing them down his muscular thighs before straightening, revealing the full scope of his arousal. Hard and thick, and just for her.
“Sit down,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she had a chance to process them.
He said nothing, but his expression asked a very clear question.
“Do not argue with me,” she said, affecting her most imperious tone.
He took a couple of steps backward before sinking down onto the couch, his posture easy. He looked very much like a Roman emperor awaiting tribute. Well, as it so happened, she had a fitting tribute in mind.
She started to walk toward him slowly, conscious of the way her high heels made her hips sway as she walked, conscious of the way his eyes followed the motion. She stopped in front of him, taking a moment to simply admire his beauty. His square jaw, sensual mouth. Broad, muscular chest, and the dark hair that lightly covered his skin.
Then she slowly sank down to her knees, placing her palms on his thighs, her lips close to that most masculine part of him. She could only assume that as he had done this for her, and she had found it immeasurably pleasurable, the return would be just as successful.
She leaned in, examining him, her heart thundering. She ached for him already, her breasts feeling hypersensitive, needy for his touch. But she would have to wait. She would have to be patient. He had done what she’d asked. Exactly what she’d asked. And now she felt the need to demonstrate her appreciation.
She wasn’t completely sure where to start, so she figured following instinct was the best way to go. She tilted her head, sliding the flat of her tongue along the hardened length of his shaft. She was startled by the forceful feeling of his fingers in her hair, holding her suddenly, tightly. “Zara,” he said, his voice rough.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
She was held immobile by his strong grip, unable to look at his face. Which was probably for the best. He had so much experience, it was very likely that her efforts were laughable, and she would have no idea. But he would. He would be well aware.
“No. But you don’t have to...”
“I want to.”
He groaned, and though he didn’t release his hold, he loosened it. She leaned in again, returning to her original plan, taking a long, leisurely taste of him. She heard air hiss through his teeth, and she chose to take it as a positive sign, continuing in her exploration of his body. She shifted positions, wrapping her hand around the base of him, holding him steady as she took him into her mouth. He was soft, and smooth, but very hard. Hot. Not at all like what she’d imagined.
The desperation returned. The desire to know every bit of him. Every part of him.
She took him in deeper, relishing the breathy, uncontrolled sound of pleasure that he made. Paying close attention to the way his thigh muscles began to shake beneath her hand. She could feel his tension, running through every line of his body. Feel it echoing within her.
And suddenly, this wasn’t enough. She needed more of him. All of him. She slowly rose to her feet, unhooking her bra and casting it to the floor before gripping the sides of her panties and drawing them down her legs, kicking them to the side. She decided to leave the shoes on, if only because it felt like a strange, illicit novelty.
She approached the couch, bending at the waist and gripping the back of it, just behind his shoulders, before lifting one knee and planting it beside his thigh, then doing the same with the other.
He growled, wrapping one arm around her waist, the other pressed against her shoulder blades, his hand buried in her hair. He pulled her down so that her mouth met his, his kiss fierce, uncontrolled.
Incredible.
He slid the hand that was resting on her back down to cup her bottom, then down farther between her thighs, stroking her slick flesh, teasing her entrance. She shivered, her legs growing weak, her stomach tight with need.
He pushed one finger inside her as he lowered his head and sucked a nipple deep into his mouth. The burst of pleasure exploded a pop of stars behind her eyes. It was so intense, so incredibly perfect. She wanted to ask him where he’d learned to do that, how he knew. But also, she didn’t want to know.
And she wouldn’t have been able to speak right now anyway.
He withdrew his finger, gripping her hips tight and positioning her over his arousal. “Now, Princess,” he said, his teeth clenched tightly together.
She lowered herself slowly onto him, relishing the feel of him filling her inch by beautiful inch. And once she was seated fully onto him, she simply stopped, relishing the feel. Relishing the sensation of being connected to another person. As close as they could be.
She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes, meeting his. Oh, she wasn’t just connected to anyone. She was connected to Andres. Her throat felt swollen, tight. And everything inside her felt right.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as though she was at home. There had been the palace in Tirimia, but she couldn’t even think of it without feeling fear. Grief. Sadness. And the camp, with the clan, it had never been home. They had never been family. Protectors. Valued. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t this.
And it wasn’t Petras, or the palace here, and it certainly wasn’t this penthouse with the Peeping Tom floors.
It was him. Andres. Home was the place you always wanted to return to. He was where she wanted to return to. Always. No matter where he was, whether it was in a castle or
