Page 14 of The Naiad's Wish

Fixing my gaze on his, I turned onto my stomach and then lifted up onto my knees. I gathered my hair into a long rope and drew it over one shoulder, shivering when the weight of it whispered over my skin, which was already sensitised and thrumming with energy.

Every part of my being craved sensation. I yearned for the hard push of dense muscle and the rasp of his hair-roughened skin over mine. For Erik, though, I could stave off the desperation—just a little longer.

“What did I do, in your daydream?” I asked him.

“Many things.” Erik’s voice was deep and soft. “Things that made you feel good. That made me feel good, watching you.”

I flattened a hand at the base of my collarbone and held it there for a moment, spreading my fingers wide. I tilted my chin to arch my throat a little, looking at Erik under my lashes, and dragged my hand down my chest. I brought my other hand up to join it and briefly stroked my pectoral muscles, digging my fingers in hard enough that he’d see the skin turn white around my fingertips. I hissed out a sharp breath between my teeth at the pressure.

I coasted my hands down my torso, lingering over every ridge and line of muscle until I held my shaft in one and cupped my balls in the other. Slowly, slowly, not looking away from him for a moment, I sank down from the high kneeling position to sit on my calves, all the while working myself gently. I was trying to hide it, but the muscles deep at my core were trembling, sending out little shocks and pulses of arousal.

I could do this, I affirmed to myself, and stiffened when Erik said in a husky voice, “Turn around.”

I hesitated before I complied, turning on my knees until my back was to him.

“Kneel up again,” he said.

I did, and shook out my hair so it cascaded down my back.

“No,” Erik said. “Move it away. I want to see.”

Oh. I pulled my hair over my shoulder, exposing the length of my back, my arse and my thighs to him. I slid my hands down my sides and around to hold my buttocks, lifting them gently.

Erik let out a shattered breath. “Yes,” he said. “Like that.”

I hummed and massaged my buttocks slowly, wishing Erik’s were the hands lifting and separating my cheeks, sliding a teasing finger in between, drifting down to grip my thighs.

I peeked over my shoulder. Erik’s eyes were fixed on my arse. I released it to take hold of my shaft, and pushed my hips into my fist and back, in and back, moving as fluidly as if I was in the water.

With Erik’s attention on me, the familiar sensation was tripled in intensity.

I fell forwards and caught myself on a hand. I didn’t stop moving into my fist, and then, suddenly, Erik was there, kneeling behind me.

I shuffled my knees apart to make room for him. I was shocked at how vulnerable it made me feel to have him there.

Excited by it.

His warmth soaked into me and the skin on my buttocks and thighs brushed his as I rocked and rocked. He laid a hand at the very base of my spine, pressing lightly and encouraging me to deepen the arch. Fingers tangled with mine as I stroked myself, increasing the pressure and slowing the speed.

I softened and dropped to an elbow as he took control.

Erik leaned over me, giving me his weight. I shivered at the feel of his shaft slotting between my cheeks.

I had done this thousands of times. I had positioned many lovers on hands and knees, or if they preferred it, with their face in the grass and arse to the sky. I had never, not once, been in this position myself.

I’d always been the one behind.

My mind was confused but my body wasn’t—I continued to do as he guided me, rolling languidly into our joined hands, rubbing back against him, my breathing turning slow and deep.

Erik was rolling too, his hips moving, pushing into the resilient bounce of my buttocks. His hand abruptly left my shaftand his heat abruptly left my back as he straightened his upper body to grip my hips—another position I was intimately familiar with from the other side.

I moaned quietly and sank down to both elbows. At Erik’s urging, I eased all the way down until I was lying on my front. I smiled giddily as he settled on top and continued to thrust against me.

He wasn’t hard, wasn’t soft. He dragged over my arse as he opened his mouth over the nape of my neck, grazing his teeth lightly back and forth before kissing me there.

Braced with my arms either side of my face, I worked my hips, dragging the front of my body over the rug. I was going to make a mess of it and the coarse fibres would soon begin to abrade the skin of my groin, but I couldn’t stop.

This would, I thought, be better on the bed.

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