The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 416: Duchess is demanding - 2

He went, falling back onto the soft mattress, and she followed, straddling his hips with the confidence of a queen mounting her throne. The thin silk of her chemise was a maddening barrier. She leaned over him, her black hair falling around their faces like a curtain, her breasts swaying tantalizingly close to his mouth.

"You said you were tired," she murmured, lowering herself so her lips were again at his ear.

"So don’t move. Let me do all the work."

And then she proceeded to make good on her promise.

Her mouth was everywhere—trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck; across his collarbones; lapping his nipples until he gasped; and mapping a path down his torso. Her hands followed, kneading, stroking, exploring every inch of him with a focused intensity that left him trembling.

When she reached the waistband of his trousers, she made quick work of the laces, freeing his erection into the cool air of the room.

She didn’t hesitate.

A low, appreciative hum vibrated from her throat as she took him in hand, her grip firm and knowing.

"Mmmh... impressive," she purred, looking up at him through her lashes.

"A fitting weapon for a man of your talents."

Then she bent her head and took him into her mouth.

Jolthar’s back arched off the bed, a choked groan tearing from his throat. Her mouth was hot, wet, and devastatingly skilled. She used her tongue in wicked, swirling motions, her lips creating a perfect, tight seal as she took him deep, then pulled back to lavish attention on the sensitive head. Her free hand cupped and rolled his balls, applying just the right amount of pressure.

It was an assault on his senses, a deliberate campaign to shatter his control. He tangled his hands in her hair, not to guide her, but to anchor himself as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, when he was teetering on the very edge, she released him with a soft, wet pop and crawled back up his body. Her chemise was gone, discarded somewhere on the floor.

She was gloriously, fully naked now, her skin flushed, her breasts heaving.

"Now," she breathed, her voice thick with her own need. She positioned herself above him, one hand guiding him to her entrance. She was soaking wet; he could feel the slick heat of her.

"Now, Jolthar."

She sank down onto him in one slow, inexorable slide, her head falling back as she took him fully inside her. A guttural moan escaped her lips— "Aaahhh, yesss..." —the sound raw and real, utterly unlike the polished tones she used in court.

For a moment, she remained still, impaled on him, letting them both adjust to the shock of connection. Her inner muscles clenched around him rhythmically, a delicious, involuntary pulse. Then she began to move.

Her rhythm was not frantic, but powerful, deep, and relentless. She rode him with the same confident authority she wielded in a salon, setting a pace that built friction and pleasure with every rise and fall. Her breasts bounced enticingly, and Jolthar reached up to capture them, his thumbs circling her nipples, earning him another broken cry.

"Look at me," she demanded, her eyes flying open to lock with his. He obeyed, drowning in the dark hunger he saw there. This was more than sex; it was a consummation of their pact, a physical manifestation of the alliance they had just forged. Every roll of her hips was a promise, every gasp a shared secret.

He let her set the pace, letting her use him for her pleasure, and in doing so, found his own magnified tenfold. The coiled tension of the day—the fear, the anger, the constant vigilance—began to unravel, transmuted into pure, animal sensation. He gripped her hips, helping her, meeting her thrusts as she increased her tempo, the slap of skin on skin becoming a frantic drumbeat in the quiet room.

Jazmin’s control began to fray.

Her moans grew louder, less structured, a litany of "Oh, gods... yes, right there... don’t stop..." Her movements became more erratic, chasing her climax. Jolthar felt the telltale tightening deep within her, the fluttering around his length. He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around her and flipping them over in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath him on the mattress without ever breaking their connection.

She cried out in surprise and approval, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back. "Yes! Like that!"

Now he drove into her, the angle deeper and more punishing. He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her cries. The sight of her beneath him—powerful, cunning Jazmin Akupa, undone, her hair fanning across the pillows, her body arching to meet his every thrust—was the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever known.

Her climax hit her suddenly. Her entire body stiffened, her back bowing off the bed as a ragged, screaming sob was torn from her throat.

"JOLTHAR!!"

Her inner walls clamped around him in a series of violent, milking spasms that tipped him over the edge instantly.

His own release roared through him, white-hot and obliterating. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, groaning her name into her sweat-slick skin as he emptied himself into her, each pulse wringing an aftershock tremor from her body.

For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the cooling sweat on their skin, the slow, reluctant softening of their joined bodies. Jolthar finally collapsed beside her, spent, his mind blissfully and utterly blank.

Jazmin turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand. She looked down at him, her expression soft, satiated, and deeply satisfied. She traced the line of his jaw again, her touch now languid and affectionate.

"See?" she whispered, a smug smile playing on her swollen lips.

"No thinking required."

Jolthar could only manage a weak, breathless laugh.

She curled against him, her head on his chest, one leg thrown possessively over his.

"Sleep," she murmured.

"I’ll be gone before dawn. No one will know I was here."

As his eyes drifted shut, the last thing he felt was the press of her lips against his shoulder, a brand of ownership and partnership.