Page 87 of Touch

Reaching behind her shoulder, Love retrieves an arrow from her quiver, flipping it between her digits and then stalling the tip at his zipper. Using the weapon’s blade, she sketches the fabric concealing his cock. At this juncture, any other mortal male would be afraid, but Andrew’s pupils enlarge as swiftly as his erection.

He has no idea how much Love appreciates this penchant. What a titillating creature he’s turned out to be.

Andrew does not inquire about conception since she has already made it clear—during their first talk in the cottage—that deities cannot conceive. Blessedly, this will not be a problem for them.

When she cuts through the belt loops, a gritty noise rises from Andrew’s chest. The accessory falls, adding to the pile of garments in the snow.

“Off,” she instructs.

His mouth crooks. “Help.”

She just did. Yet there’s that sexy word again. Help.

Andrew kicks off the unlaced boots. Without looking away, he swipes her arrow and chucks it aside, daring her to reprimand him for this transgression. Instead, her eager fingers go to work, caressing the silhouette of his phallus, dragging down the zipper—helping.

The panels spread. Love’s exhalations quicken, her hands trembling so that it becomes difficult to continue. Andrew takes over, sliding the pants from his waist while she watches. The material slumps from his hips, the bridge of his cock springing free.

Love’s mouth waters. Her pulse accelerates, to say nothing of what the vision does to her equilibrium. Nor how it wets her cunt.

His cock is glorious. The solid flesh stands high, its length shaped to perfection, the veins slender and the bloated head flushed. It’s pale like marble, apart from the crown, where the blood flows. A thin line cuts through the top, a drop of cum rising from the slit like a delicacy that beckons her tongue. As for the sac, it’s heavy between Andrew’s thighs, likely emitting heat that Love wishes she could feel.

It’s a thrill to discover he’s naked under the pants. Like her, Andrew has omitted any extra layers, as in the manner of deities.

He strips, divesting himself of the garment and dropping it to the ground. Love’s eyes touch each thick inch of his cock, then memorizes the curve of his ass and the steep V of his hips.

A primitive sound grates from Andrew. Her eyes scroll upward to find him staring at her as if she’ll disappear, as if he wants to eat her alive, consume her before she gets the chance to vanish.

Her hands tingle, itching for contact. Her pussy drips, yearning for that cock.

While he towers nude before her, Love steps around Andrew, circling like a huntress and prompting him to twist with her. Once she has coerced the mortal to switch positions, Love narrows her eyes. Then she plants her hands on his torso and shoves him onto the protrusion.

A grunt rumbles from Andrew’s throat as he lands, muscles jumping with the motion, clouds of frost vacating his lungs. Lifting one leg and propping a booted foot on the rim beside his ass, she leans in and commands, “Be an obedient mortal and do not move.”

White locks drape across his forehead. “Or?”

She quirks her eyebrow. The hem of her dress flaps like bait, and she accentuates the movements of her hips for good measure while sidling onto his lap. The tormented, masculinegroan that follows elicits a smirk from Love, and she splays her thighs around his waist.

Astride him, Love’s bare cunt grazes the smooth pome of his cock. The friction tears a low whimper from her lips, an undercurrent streaking up her limbs. Stars almighty, the sensation is extraordinary.

Andrew’s eyes darken like black stars, and his fists crush the back of her skirt, using the leverage to heave Love closer. Their stunted breaths blast together. Seated on him, her soaked folds rest against his erection, her arousal combining with his, the effect painful yet sublime.

“Oh, Fates,” she pants. “This feeling cannot be real.”

“Then make it real,” Andrew seethes. “Make it yours.”

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

Mine.

Wanting more, she pivots her waist. The seam of her pussy gyrates up and down his cock, more fluid pooling from her body and lathering him. The prow of Andrew’s cock twitches, widening in girth, expanding farther. With each languid pass, her nerve-endings scatter, the result staggering.

Chasing after the sensation, she slowly grinds herself on his lap. Short sobs gust from her lungs, her body taking on a life of its own.

While she rolls her waist, Andrew swoops his lips to her throat, sucking on her pulse until it hurts. So good. So much. His insolent mouth scours down her flesh, along her clavicle to her breasts. With a free hand, he tugs down the bodice, one nipple peeking into view.

“Fuck,” he growls before latching his mouth around the bud.

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