Page 48 of Veiled Flames
“Really?” Astonished, I look into his eyes. “Was tonightyourfirst time, too?” He seemed so skilled.
“No, ma chérie.” Grinning, he strokes my bottom, squeezing it gently.
“How many times have you done this before?” I ask. It’s not the first thing I want to know about him, but it’s something.
His fingers slip through my damp and sensitive folds. “Too many times to count.”
I nod, unsurprised. Now that I’ve done this once, I want to do it many, many more times. “And… And with how many women?”
He looks directly into my eyes. “Also, too many to count.”
I blink.
“Does that bother you, ma chérie?”
“I…I don’t know.” And I’m confused by what he said earlier. “With all those women… You said you’ve never felt anything likemebefore? Is there somethingwrongwith me?”
“Quite the opposite, ma chérie.” He brushes a finger down my nose, and a soft smile brushes his lips. “For me, you are utter perfection.”
Nineteen
Saxon
Rosomon astounds me in every possible way.
Even now, as she rests over my body, spent from rutting inside her, my rod stirs, as if it might soon be ready for more.
But my interest in Rosomon goes far beyond my sexual attraction. From the first moment we met in that forest, she has beguiled me like no woman before her. And instead of easing her spell, bedding her drew me further into her enchantment, so deep I fear I’ll never escape.
She’s so young, having six and ten years fewer than I do. And, as a princess who’s lived a sheltered life, she’s inexperienced in so many ways. Yet she contains great depths—layers I’m certain will build as she gains new experiences.
I brush a strand of her shorn hair off her face and look deeply into her lavender eyes, finding such wonder and adoration housed there.Adoration for me.
My chest swells, but I can’t get ahead of myself. Her idolization isn’t love, it’s only because I’m her first. It’s only because I introduced her to sexual pleasure and unleashed her desires. And even if there’s a chance that her feelings could grow into something deeper, something real, I can’t offer her what she deserves from a man. I can’t offer her anything.
“In what ways am I different from your previous lovers,” she asks softly.
I smile. If she were any other woman—whether lady or wench—I’d assume her question was digging for compliments, asking me to lavish praise on her beauty and tight cunt. But Rosomon genuinely wants to know the answer.
Yet, words can’t begin to scratch the surface of what I truly meant. I’m not sure I fully understand it myself. And saying too much will only give her cause to believe I can offer her things I cannot.
“Ah, ma chérie.” I brush my finger down the line of her cute nose, loving how it wrinkles when she’s curious, or trying to understand something new. “It’s difficult for me to find words to explain the ways you’ve beguiled me. Or how much pleasure you’ve given me tonight.”
Her smile further brightens her face. “You gave me great pleasure, too.” Her teeth peek out to scrape her lower lip, as if she’s recalling some of that pleasure.
My cock twitches, fighting to prove it’s ready and willing to enter her again.
“The act of love…” I pause, angry at myself for using that word.
“Do you mean copulation?” She brings things back to reality. “Sex?”
I nod. “Yes. Sex. The act, it often—mostoften sex feels very good.”
A heated grin burns in her eyes and brushes her lips, and I lean in to take a quick taste of her smile.
“But sometimes the act can feel bland, or empty,” I tell her.
“Really?” She’s clearly astonished, but then her eyes fill with something darker. “Like when the King of Khotor ordered his footman to drill that piss wench?”
