He laughed low in his throat, and kissed my neck. "I will be good, dulceaţă." Before I could say that that was what was worrying me, he dragged that heavy weight along the full length of my sex, not penetrating, but coming teasingly close. I was wet and aching for him, and I didn't think it was funny. I decided that a little repayment was in order.
I slipped a hand between our bodies and grabbed him. He was thick enough that my grip could not close, but it definitely got his attention. I squeezed, marveling at how incredibly soft his skin was, and his eyes rolled back in his head. It felt odd to hold him, so hot and so velvety to the touch, and it made me feel powerful. I remembered what the woman in my vision had done to Louis-César's body and tried my best to imitate it. A few strokes and the mighty Mircea gave a small, half-strangled scream and trembled against me. I thought for a second that I had hurt him, but if anything he only grew bigger in my hand. I grinned into his startled face and, remembering what it had done to the Frenchman's body, ran a finger across the little slit on the head. He screamed for real this time and stared at me with wide eyes.
"Cassie, where" — he stopped and licked his lips—"where did you learn to do that?"
I laughed. This had possibilities. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I pushed at his shoulder. "Lie down."
He rolled over without question and I followed, keeping my grip but careful not to hurt him, recalling how sensitive this flesh was. I let my hand explore him as his tongue had done to me, and found his body fascinating. I'd seen many men nude, but this was my first chance to touch one so intimately, and the fact that it was Mircea was sending my blood pressure skyrocketing.
I found that the skin on his balls was the softest yet, and ran my fingers gently over it until he was groaning and thrashing beneath me. I liked doing this to him, seeing him this defenseless, his usually perfect hair tangling as sweat began to mold it to his head. It was exciting to make him spread his legs wider, exposing him to whatever I might decide to do. His helplessness was intoxicating, and it made me daring. My repertoire wasn't exactly extensive, but I have a good memory, and the Frenchwoman had been about to try something with Louis-César that sounded interesting.
I crawled between Mircea's legs, running my hands along the taut muscles. He reached for me but I pushed his hands away. "Stop it."
He subsided, but the surprise in his eyes told me that he wasn't used to being ordered around. I grabbed the length of him again as it bobbed about enticingly in front of me. He closed his eyes once more at my touch, a raw, vulnerable expression stealing over his face. I stroked him slowly, not understanding the look of pain since I knew I wasn't hurting him. "Cassie…" His voice broke and I shushed him. I moved closer and slowly, carefully, licked the straining shaft. It tasted good, slightly salty with an underlying smoky flavor. I liked his scent, too, which was stronger here and faintly musky. The combined sensory overload was heady. I didn't have any experience to guide me, but I decided to start at the tip and work my way down. It sounded like a good plan, but my tongue had barely touched him when Mircea bucked hard, causing me to lose my grip.
"Cassie, don't! I can't control myself if you—"
"I said be quiet," I told him crossly. I needed to focus and it would help if he stayed still and shut up. I told him as much and watched his face fill with astonishment.
"I was assured you had not done this before," he began, struggling up onto his elbows.
I gave him a warning look. "I haven't. So if you don't stay still, don't blame me if you get hurt."
He collapsed back on the bed and flung an arm over his face. He muttered something in Romanian and I ignored him. He knew I didn't speak it, and was just being difficult. If I hadn't been enjoying his body so much, I might have complained. As it was, I returned to the enthralling study of what made him moan. When I slid my lips and tongue along him this time, he stayed much quieter, except for a slight shudder that he might not have been able to help. I found that I liked licking the tip most, although the taste there was a little bitter. But it was worth it to see him struggle not to move or cry out under my touch, his hands balling into fists at his sides. I decided to see what it would take for the great Mircea to completely lose control.
I accidentally grazed his skin with my teeth when I took more of him into my mouth, and the sensation wrung a startled cry from him. After figuring out that it had been a sound of approval, I started interspersing regular nips between the licks, and he was soon whimpering faintly, as if he wasn't even aware he was doing it. A few minutes later, I found his true weakness when I moved lower to lick the downy skin over his balls. He must have been extra sensitive there, or maybe the pressure had been building for a while. Before I realized what was happening, he had grabbed my hips and positioned me above him, so that he was once more pressed against my entrance. It felt so incredibly good, so very right, that I almost let our bodies meld together. But some part of my brain spoke up, reminding me of the price, and I pulled back.
I moved too quickly and ended up falling awkwardly off the bed. A second later, Mircea's flushed face peered over the edge of the mattress, looking at me in bewilderment as I sprawled on the rug. I grabbed at my robe, and his eyes darkened. "I will personally shred that offensive garment so it will never hide your beauty again."
His voice was hoarse and the look in his eyes was wild. I didn't waste the time needed to put the robe on but wrapped it around me like a blanket. It was a poor substitute for the warmth of his skin, but it was a lot easier to think with some clothes on. My breathing wasn't too steady and I almost felt dizzy with need for him, but I backed away until the window stopped me. "We had a deal, Mircea," I told him shakily.
He sat up, which was a serious distraction considering that his arousal had not flagged in the slightest. He winced but kept his burning eyes on mine. They were more cinnamon than amber now, a blazing, beautiful reddish light. It was almost as dark as the color that had practically made Pritkin faint; it made me want to run back and throw myself at him. I gripped the window ledge behind me for support and felt its wards sizzle. They were cool compared to the heat of my skin at the moment.
Mircea ran a hand over his face, and it was shaking. He looked up at me with desperate eyes. "Cassie, please do not do this. I have explained the situation—you know what is at stake. I want to make this pleasurable for you, not to have you hate me because of it. But this must be done. You are not like that ridiculous mage who understands nothing of us. Please do not make this complicated. It could be beautiful."
"And if I say no?" Mircea was suddenly very still. The room shimmered with barely controlled power, the way heat waves do over desert sand. "You wouldn't force me?"
Mircea swallowed and looked very intensely at the rug for a full minute. When he finally looked up, his eyes had returned to their usual rich brown. "Let there be total honesty between us, dulceaţă. I could invade your mind, use tricks to overcome your reason, and force you to give yourself to me as I know you wish to do. But if I did this, you would never trust me again. I know you too well; I know how you view disloyalty. It is the one thing you cannot forgive, and I do not want you to see me as an enemy."
"Then I can leave?" I knew the answer but needed him to explain my options.
"You know better than that." Mircea sighed and his face suddenly looked tired. "If we do not do this, the Consul will simply appoint another. I know you have feelings of some kind for Tomas, but I also know how upset you are with him. He betrayed your trust, and although it was done under orders he could not disobey, I do not think you have forgiven him for that."