Page 92 of The Seeker
“Very sure.”
She smiled and spread her legs as Rhys slid off the edge of the bed, still in his boxers but sporting a very impressive tent. He knelt at the edge and tugged her toward him.
“While I’m down here,” he said, “I need you to tell me about these scrolls of magical congress you were talking about.”
She gasped as he nibbled the inside of one knee. “The scrolls?”
“Yes.” He licked slowly up to the juncture of her thighs. “For research purposes, I’m going to need you to be very, very specific.”
Heaven above, the man’s mouth was magic.
“The first—ah!—scroll was written around… uh… four hundred Common Era by…” She gasped and lost her train of thought when his tongue teased the tip of her clitoris.
Rhys raised his head and Meera tried not to cry in disappointment. “Written by…?”
“The scribe Jargrav. He wrote it as an ode of joy to his mate, Kashvi.”
Rhys went back to work, kissing the top of Meera’s pubis as his hands massaged her breasts. “Please continue.”
“The scroll describes their mating ritual in… ah, some detail.”
“Details?” His tongue dipped down, then drew up with aching languor. “I’m going to need more than that.”
Yes, so am I.“Um… Jargrav was a warrior as well as a poet, and he ahhhhh—”
Rhys picked his head up again, his lips red and wet, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. “He what?”
Meera blinked and tried to focus. “I just remember a lot of sword metaphors. Are you going to ask me to summarize all the scrolls?”
“How many are there?”
“Forty-seven.”
He bent his head. “Research like this can’t be rushed. Please continue.”
Hours later,he was kissing her slowly as he ran his fingers lightly over every inch of her skin. Meera had lost count of how many times he’d brought her to climax—with his mouth, his fingers—but she wanted more. She wantedhim.
“Rhys.”
“Yes.” His eyes were closed. He had to be exhausted, but he wouldn’t stop kissing her.
“Make love to me.”
His tongue licked up the side of her neck. “I am.”
She reached her hand down and grasped his erection as it pressed against her hip. He arched into her touch and groaned but made no other move.
“You know what I mean.” She squeezed him lightly, and he released a hard breath against her neck. “I want you.”
“I want to wait.”
“Empirical evidence suggests otherwise.”
He laughed against her skin. “There’s the bold woman I met in Jackson Square. I was wondering where she’d run off to.” He nipped her skin with his teeth. “I want to wait.”
“Why?”
He took her mouth in another breath-stealing kiss. Brushing her hand away, he rolled on top of her, giving her the full weight of his frame. The pressure was delicious. Meera felt like she’d been enveloped in a full-body hug. Her skin was ultrasensitive; goose bumps rose over her legs and arms.
