Throne of Truth

His words touched me, but his hands didn’t. They remained in his pockets as if the moment he pulled them free, he’d reach for me, and this precious memory would shatter into passion.

I needed to see him. I wanted to run my fingers along his chest and assure myself he was here. That this wasn’t some incredible fantasy.

Deleting the final step between us, I pressed my fingertips to his belly, relishing his sharp inhale.

Beneath my touch lived muscle and sinew—bone of the man I’d given my heart to and hoped he’d keep forever.

Tugging on his shirt, I slowly pulled it from his waistband, letting it hang roguishly undone and handsome, curling around his hands still wedged deep in his slacks.

He stopped breathing as I undid the bottom button then another, slowly working my way up his body, allowing the cotton to stay close together until I reached the top.

The courts didn’t give him a tie, and the second the last button was undone, I invaded his warmth. Inserting my hands, I washed them over his smooth chest, his pecs, up his shoulders, and down his back until the shirt rippled down his arms to hang where his hands still remained wedged at his thighs.

The white against black looked as if I’d cut off angel wings. As if I’d corrupted a god and made him trade a celestial existent for lowly all because I wanted him.

My mouth watered to suck his skin.

So I did.

Leaning forward, I pressed the softest kisses over his breastbone, working my way to his nipple. As my mouth latched over him, he grunted, bowing backward, sacrificing himself to whatever pleasure I wanted to give him.

He trembled, his toes gripping the floor until they turned white as my tongue circled his nipple and my hands trailed down his belly.

His erection tented his slacks, but I didn’t reach for it. Not yet.

Undoing the cheap synthetic belt, a ball of lust replaced my heart as he shuddered so hard—part from keeping himself in check and not reaching for me, but mostly, from what I did to him.

From my touch. My lips. My methodical way of stripping him of everything that’d happened.

I didn’t just remove his clothes.

I removed his past.

I tore off the months of imprisonment.

I slipped off his lies and half-truths.

Piece by piece, I revealed the man I’d always known existed.

Someone kind but ruthless. Supportive but possessive. Intelligent but quick tempered.

He was an angel and monster in one.

Just human with perfections and imperfections.

“Elle...” he breathed as I undid the button of his slacks then slowly pulled his zipper down. With my bare feet, I moved my skirt and jacket to wedge in front of me then kneeled on the soft padding before him.

“Christ...” He sucked in a gasp as I left his slacks open, circling my fingers around his wrists. His hands remained locked tight in his pockets, but with a soft tug, he allowed me to lift his right one, giving me utmost control.

Never saying a word, I undid the cuff button so his shirt could fall then pressed a kiss onto his palm.

He shivered as I let go, moving toward his left hand.

Once again, he willingly gave me control as I pulled it gently from his pocket. His slacks fell around his ankles, leaving him in tight white boxer-briefs that only highlighted how hard and thick he was.

My mouth went dry as I undid his final button, undoing the cuff around his left hand. The moment it was free, the shirt fell, joining the rest of discarded clothing.

Only one piece left on him. It was a piece I savored as I pressed a kiss, blowing hot air on his shaft through the soft cotton.

He jerked, his hands (now with nothing to use as imprisonment) landed in my hair. “Shit, Elle...what are you doing to me?” His voice was faraway, in a land where nothing bad—no nights alone, no days unsafe, no cold or fear or hunger could find him.

He was mine now.

Tomorrow, I could cook him breakfast like I’d always wanted. I could keep him close, protect him for protecting me.

My hands wrapped around his hipbones, skating fingers over the tight elastic of his boxer-briefs. With my heart lodged in my throat at how turned on I was—how wet, how hot, how heavy and ready—I pulled his underwear down.

His quads clenched until delicious muscle rippled beneath perfect hair-sparse skin. His head fell back with a tattered groan as my hands stayed with his boxers, landing around his ankles but my mouth...that went on its own quest.

I opened and found his crown. I moaned at the taste, at how warm he was, how hard, how satin sheathed steel.

His legs buckled, his fingers digging harder onto my head—not to take control but to support himself, so he didn’t collapse.

“Holy Christ,” he groaned as I sat taller on my knees and swallowed him deep. My fingers came up, left hand cupping his balls, right hand gripping his girth.

I lapped over the thick veins coursing down his length. I sucked with long pulls, wanting to drive him to the pinnacle within seconds.

Penn turned mute, soundless. His fingernails scraped my scalp as he held himself back, his self-control fraying with every second.

Pumping his base, I licked with a feathering tongue. My tummy coiled tight, taking pleasure from giving pleasure.

His spine locked as a ripple of bliss worked up his shaft, coating my mouth with pre-cum. I wanted him to come. I wanted him to let go and relax.

But he captured my chin, bringing my eyes to his. His heartbreakingly gorgeous face was savage with self-control. “I’m not coming in your mouth, Elle.”

I unsheathed my teeth and bit softly.