Page 67 of Owned By the Fae
He sits up a little and unlaces my dress with his other hand, the one between my legs still drawing circles between my legs. He pulls it down so he can see the tops of my breasts.
‘Take them out,’ he murmurs.
I do as he says, pulling out my tits and letting his eyes take them in.
‘Play with them,’ he instructs.
My brow knits together, but I knead them lightly, and he reaches up to take one of my nipples between his fingers. He rolls it gently, and my hips buck into his hand.
He looks surprised and does it again, smiling a little when the same thing happens.
‘What do you want?’
I look at him with uncertainty. What does he want me to say? Does he want me to want him, or will that disgust him?
He rolls my nipple again and pinches it hard just as his fingers do the same to the bud he’s playing with.
I buck under him. ‘You!’ I cry. ‘Please!’
‘Good girl,’ he coos, and I sigh.
‘Do you like it when I praise you?’
I nod a little hesitantly.
‘And when the others do it?’
‘I think so.’
His fingers move to my entrance, and he probes shallowly with just one. He cocks a brow, looking equal parts proud and surprised when he finds the evidence of my arousal. For him.
‘Very good,’ he murmurs with a small smirk.
I hold his gaze as he slides it into me slowly, and his face searches mine … for evidence of pain, perhaps.
He pumps one finger in and out of me as his thumb finds the bud again and circles it gently.
‘How does that feel?’
‘Nice,’ I murmur, and I make an inarticulate sound as he adds another.
His movements are slow, and his gaze doesn’t leave me. Unlike last time, I feel safe, almost cared for, even though I know the latter isn’t true. He’s doing this for himself, for his conscience. Not for me.
I look away, almost feeling like crying, my heart aching for something I can’t put words to because I don’t understand.
I’m pitiful. Rikoth’s words come back to haunt me, and I wish Dane would get this over with and stop trying to pretend it’s something it isn’t.
He frowns, noticing the change in my demeanor, and his movements slow.
‘What is it?’
I shake my head, not enjoying this anymore. It’s too intimate. Too pretend.
‘I’m ready,’ I whisper. ‘Please, could you … do it?’
His lips thin, but he nods.
‘Do you want me to … turn over?’
