Chapter Text
“How do you know Oberyn and Ellaria Martell?”
Jorah looked up from his newspaper, setting down his coffee cup. “I’ve knew him before he was married. Oberyn used to be in the financial world before he left to start his own company. His wife I've only met a few times actually.”
“I can't believe you know them!” She sat down on the sofa beside him, looking astonished. “His products are fantastic and women clamor for her fashion designs.”
“What does he make?”
“You don’t know?” She arched an eyebrow at him when he shook his head. “Seriously?! I thought you guys were friends.”
“We are, but I haven't actually seen or spoken to him in quite some time. He became a bit of a recluse.”
“Well, I have one of his products in my nightstand drawer.”
Jorah's eyes went comically wide a moment before he broke into laughter. He stopped with a sigh, “Oh, why am I not surprised?” Daenerys was staring at him nonplussed. “Oberyn was always one to indulge in the pleasures of life...and love.” Jorah only then noticed the large matte black envelope in her hands, the lettering embossed in gold leaf. “What's that?”
“An invitation to an exclusive party at his villa in Spain called The Sunspear.”
“When is it?”
She read over the details. “Two Saturdays from now.”
Jorah smiled. “That's perfect timing. We're going to be in Seville the preceding Wednesday.”
“Oh, that's right, the business trip.”
“What else does it say?”
She started reading out loud, “‘A masquerade party where every fantasy can become a reality and no desire is too risqué. No rules. No inhibitions. Just pleasure.’”
That certainly sounded like Oberyn. But a masquerade? Jorah didn't know how he felt about wearing something covering part of his face all night, but he could already tell Daenerys was excited by the prospect. Ah, why not, he reasoned, if it makes her happy, I'll deal with it. It's only a few hours.
“I know just the style of mask for you, my bear.”
A smile slowly curled his lips, catching her drift. “And I know just the one for you too, my little dragon.”
***
Saturday arrived faster than Jorah had expected, and from his seat alone in the back of the limousine, regrettably caused by a business call that couldn’t wait, he surveyed the venue for this evening's fete. His friend called it 'home', but it was really more like a miniature palace. Terraced white-washed stone walls, arched colonnades dripping with bougainvillea, honeysuckle, and night-blooming jasmine, not to mention, numerous gurgling fountains. Exiting the car and adjusting his mask, he noted from his high vantage point the little bungalows spaced generously apart through the trees and shrubbery below, certainly enough distance between them so a couple's nightly activities would not be heard. Theirs bordered the massive infinity pool, the last one, and he realized, the furthest away from any building. He had to smile a little at that, Oberyn certainly understood what it meant to be head-over-heels in love with your wife.
Following the curved slate stone steps to the open front door, Jorah only managed to get a peek inside before an enthusiastic voice greeted him, “Mi amigo!”
Jorah turned, “Oberyn.”
The leopard-masked man pulled him into a hug, “It has been too long.”
“Indeed it has,” he answered, embracing him back.
His friend was a very touchy type, something Jorah had learned very early on, as it challenged his somewhat reserved manner.
“Daenerys is already inside.” He clapped Jorah on the shoulder and winked, “You are a very lucky man.”
Jorah smiled. “I am.” And I thank the gods every day.
Stepping into the dimly lit foyer, Jorah marveled at the stained-glass atrium, gleaming black marble flooring, and lavish tapestries. Blown glass sculptures sat on carved mahogany tables and vases full of exotic flowers bordered golden candelabras, their flickering golden light playing games with the figures in the paintings. The furnishings were opulent, but not ostentatious. Padded velvet settees and brocade fainting couches lined the walls leading into a massive room with one of the highest ceilings he had ever seen. Gauzy opaque fabric hung in wide ribbons from the exposed beams, and that, paired with the soft lighting, gave the dancing couples just the right amount of privacy. Waiters clad in all black and carrying silver trays moved about, silently offering small bites to the guests. It was far less crowded than Jorah had anticipated, he counted maybe eight people. He preferred that for this sort of gathering, it enhanced the mood considerably.
Tracking the room, he spotted Daenerys at last, the air catching in his throat. Alone, she stood admiring a massive stone sculpture of a ballet dancer on pointe. A goddess amongst mere mortals, Daenerys’ antique gilded mask looped in an infinity symbol, the ruby-eyed dragon catching its own tail. His eyes followed the gentle, sweeping lines of her form, perfectly highlighted by her clingy dress. He could tell the sleeveless floor-length gown was silk, the faintly shimmering golden fabric cut a deep V down her back, baring her entire spine. His mind instantly filled with the most lustful thoughts, a familiar stirring in his trousers only intensifying his need to touch her.
He crossed the room, completely entranced by her, ignoring everyone and everything else around him. A throbbing, sultry R&B track filled the air, matching the cadence of his steps. Her posture changed the closer he got, sensing his approach. He didn’t give her a chance to turn, his arms enfolding her from behind. “Hello, my little dragon.”
His purr sent a tremor through her, melting her into his embrace. She luxuriated for a moment, then turned, a slow smile curling her lips, “I see a gorgeous, golden bear has come to devour me.” Her finger traced the nose of his mask, then the fullness of his lips, over his bearded chin, and down the edge of his black tie, her eyes following. They continued on, noting the bulge below his black leather belt. “A rather large golden bear,” she finished with a smirk.
His chuckle rumbled through his chest and into hers. “Never devour, love,” he pulled her closer, his hand drifting down her back to the swell of her bottom to draw her tight to his burgeoning member, “only ravish until you beg me to stop.”
Heat filled her torso and pooled in her belly; Jorah was definitely getting into the spirit of the evening. No rules, no inhibitions, just pleasure.
“As always, you are stunning, love.” His finger followed one curve of her mask, “My tempting golden goddess.”
The skin on either side of her nose went softly pink, her dimples dotting her cheeks. “Flatterer.”
“It isn’t flattery if it’s true.”
A man carrying a tray of champagne flutes was getting closer, “A drink?”
He nodded and took two per her request, handing her one and sipping from his own. Her hand flew to her nose after she took her own hearty drink, “Those bubbles always do that!”
A recognizable brightness lit her eyes, Daenerys was tipsy. Jorah smirked, “Already had a glass, Sweetheart?”
“I was thirsty.” Her smile fell, “I just realized I haven't eaten yet.”
“Daenerys,” he admonished gently, “let's get you some food.”
Jorah stopped every waiter on their way to the open French doors, gathering a plate loaded with morsels. The terrace was expansive, extending out to either side and around both corners. Large stone pots overflowing with massive ferns were set at regular intervals, tiny fairy lights twinkling amongst the green. Low fire braziers tried to chase away the crisp evening air, but Daenerys still hugged herself. Jorah shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her bare shoulders, to which she offered him a smile.
Jorah was beyond gorgeous that evening. Sexy as fuck was more like it, she mentally corrected herself. Clad in all black, he cut an impressive figure. His dress shirt might as well have been made just for him, the buttons straining slightly on his broad chest every time he drew a breath. His slacks, well, she had to bite her lip at how they clung to his taut arse, making her want to grab two handfuls of the muscled swells. The swirling gilded lines of his mask wove through what seemed like nearly every shade of brown, the pale yellow around the eye openings making the blue behind them pop. He truly was every inch his nickname that evening.
“Mmm, delicious,” she mumbled around a mouthful of toasted brie on a baguette crostino, topped with a dollop of fig jam. Jorah sampled it himself and hummed in agreement. She reached for the next morsel, a seared scallop wrapped in applewood smoked bacon, and gobbled it down. Daenerys followed it up with a grilled half of a strawberry drizzled with something dark and equal parts sweet and sour.
“Your friend is very handsy,” she remarked, swiping a bit of balsamic glaze from the corner of her mouth.
“What did he do?” Jorah stood to his full height, glancing back toward the house, “Did he make you uncomfortable?”
She loved his protectiveness. “Oh, no, Jorah, I think he's just a tactile person.”
“Well, perhaps he should be tactile with his own wife.”
She brushed her fingers down his arm to his hand where she twined them with his. “Hmm, someone's a possessive bear tonight.”
Jorah gave her little growl and leaned closer, “Where did he touch you?”
“My upper arm.”
He pulled his jacket to the side and pressed his lips to her skin there, making her jaw fall slack. “Where else?”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “The middle of my back.”
He stepped behind her and braced his palms on the stone balustrade, effectively caging her. She reveled in the heat that poured from his tall, broad frame. Being surrounded by him like this never made her feel trapped or overwhelmed, only protected. Loved.
And right now...desired.
He took the garment off her and slung it over the railing, his hand coming up to splay just below her breasts, his thumb notched between them. Bending slightly, he brushed his lips to the center of her spine, his gruff setting off a cascade of tiny bumps across her skin. He hummed his approval, “Did he touch you elsewhere?”
His gravelly words dampened her ear, her chest arching. “No,” she breathed, turning her head, “nowhere else.” She sighed into his mouth, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “But I want you to touch me.”
He didn’t waste any time, his hand molding to her breast, making her mewl as its largeness engulfed the soft flesh, his thumb lightly teasing her rapidly hardening nipple through her dress. He stole a kiss, one that was sure to mess up her lipstick, but he didn't care. The mere idea of Oberyn with his hands anywhere on his wife made him want to stake his claim. Not that Daenerys was his property or any other antiquated idea like that, he simply didn't want her to feel sullied.
It appeared Daenerys didn’t want that either, she was like a live flame in his arms, twisting and arching, setting his nerves alight with her passion. He broke the kiss, much to Daenerys' disappointment, but that was short-lived.
“Yes...,” she begged as his hand dipped under her dress to fondle her breast unimpeded. He bit and licked at the back of her neck, her hand reaching back and snaking between their bodies to palm his hardness. He thrust against her with a carnal grunt, one she felt and heard all the way to her sex.
The sound of footfalls approaching had him withdrawing his hand, but not disengaging completely, otherwise, he'd embarrass himself, what with the massive hard-on he was sporting in his trousers. To any passerby, they appeared to be gazing out over the expansive back garden, enjoying the view. A man stopped beside them; a black velvet-lined basket filled with deckled edge scrolls in his hand.
“Choose one,” he offered and Daenerys reached inside, plucking the one from the top. He bowed and left them alone once more.
She undid the black ribbon and unrolled the parchment, reading, "Tonight, a deeply held fantasy will be fulfilled."
“And what would that be, love,” he whispered, nuzzling the tender place behind her ear, making her shiver.
She turned in his arms, “It doesn't specify that it has to be mine.” Crossing her wrists behind his neck, she put the ball in his court, “What about yours?”
“You are my fantasy come true.”
“Jorah,” she blushed, “that's not what they mean.”
The line from the invitation had him exhaling slowly, Here goes nothing. “I want to leave my mark on you. Somewhere only I can see, so that when I look at you, only I'll know it's there.”
Daenerys bit her lip seductively, “You are my possessive bear tonight. I love it. As for mine, I want what the invite promised: 'no rules, no inhibitions.’”
“Just pleasure,” they finished together. “And that is what you shall have, Sweetheart,” he added, his eyes locking with hers, his voice husky with desire.
“Dance with me for a while first,” a naughty gleam twinkling in her eyes.
He grabbed his jacket and took her hand, walking back into the makeshift ballroom. A waiter took the garment from him before they found a section of the dance floor cut off almost entirely from the rest, the wide swaths of opaque fabric shielding them from wandering eyes. Jorah spun Daenerys out, then drew her back into his orbit. Skimming his palm down the outside of her thigh, he found the slit in her dress, something he hadn't noted before. He groaned his approval and reached inside, holding her just below the curve of her bottom as he fitted their lower halves together, his thigh slipping between hers to press against her center. They were like matching puzzle pieces, their bodies made for one another. Daenerys gripped his shoulders, needing his strength as he started to move, slow and sensual, undulating his hips, a rhythm she easily matched. His hardness, insistent and aching, fed on the soft mewls and broken whimpers falling from her lips.
“We've never danced like this.”
“I wish we had.” Jorah's eyes, like the brightest, hottest blue flame, set her being on fire.
So this is the man I love unrestrained. It had taken some coaxing, but she had managed to get Jorah to give in now and again in the bedroom. Tonight, he was completely letting go, baring the magnetic eroticism she always knew was there and had only glimpsed before.
So she let go too.
Tipping her head back, she bared her throat in silent invitation, one he gladly accepted. He nipped at the corded tendons and laved her racing pulse, pinking her skin with his scruff. She writhed in his arms, riding his thigh in search of some relief from the tension coiled in her abdomen. With one hand between her shoulder blades and the other holding a cheek of her bottom prisoner, he took control of their dirty dance, giving her what she needed.
A sudden gasp escaped her lips, her body beginning to quiver, her brow tensing, “Gods...Jorah...please."
“Come for me, love. Come on my thigh. Let everyone hear you.”
Ecstasy bloomed in her eyes just before they fluttered shut, a throaty moan rising to meld with the music. He supported her easily, letting her body ride the waves of pleasure buffeting her. He hummed in satisfaction, knowing it was the pulses of her sex that made her hips jerk against his leg. She was loose in his embrace, warm and tingly, but her desire was nowhere near sated. Blinking up at him, she smiled lazily, the apples of her cheeks flushed beautifully pink.
“That's one, Sweetheart,” he told her, gently kissing her, “there will be many more before the night is through.”
And with those words, her yearning for him returned with a vengeance. Using his shoulders, she pulled herself up and turned, her back meeting his chest.
Now it was her turn to entice him.
Not that he needed it. Jorah was more than ready. Continuing what she had started earlier, she reached between them and unzipped his trousers, snaking her hand inside to find him sans boxer briefs. She smiled to herself, what a resourceful bear. Her fingers teased the velvety shaft and spread the silky beads of moisture over the wide head.
“Fuck, love,” he growled, his own hand snaking through the slit in her dress, his knee pressing against the inside of her own in order to make her leg move. They were barely dancing anymore as she leaned back, safe that he would keep her upright even in the midst of their lusty fondling.
He inhaled sharply when his fingertips encountered the slick on her inner thigh. It shifted to a groan when they moved a bit higher, “No panties.” Without warning, he slipped two fingers into her heat, making her back arch and her grip on his shaft tighten. “Do you want me to make you come again?”
“Yes,” she mewled, “but not here.”
“I was hoping you'd say that.”
He had his fingers out from between her legs, had zipped up his fly, and had grabbed her hand before she knew it. Her copious wetness made holding hands interesting, but she held firm. They practically raced from the room, but no one noticed, too involved in their own seductions to care.
Their bungalow lay at the end of a long, flagstone pathway, lit romantically by lanterns hanging from the overarching branches. She felt like a giddy, lovestruck, not to mention, horny teenager, and Jorah seemed to feel the same. He kept glancing back at her, lust bright in his eyes and a wicked grin on his face.
There was no door to their bungalow, only tall plantation shutters, and Jorah whipped them open, then closed them after. Daenerys' gasp drew his gaze up, the golden glow from numerous candles sent flickering shadows across the walls. The bed, covered in dove grey linens, took up nearly the entire center of the room, certainly larger than any they'd ever seen. Impatient to make love to her, Jorah's fingers found the pins holding up Daenerys’ hair, pulling them free to send it tumbling down. Her dress followed suit, pooling at her feet. She started to bend to remove her heels, but the husky edge in his voice stopped her, “Leave them on.”
It took only one stride for him to stand before her, then suddenly she was in his arms as he moved to the bed, laying her down. She spread her legs, showing him what his attentions had done and where she needed him now. But Jorah needed no direction, his eyes moving over her as sure as his touch. “I am going to claim every inch of your body.”
A flash of heat so searing tore through her, making her walls clench at the hungry emptiness she wanted him to fill. Never before had Jorah been so possessive, so…feral. It thrilled her, this new, exciting facet of her husband. He dropped to his knees, planting open-mouthed kisses on a path up her right thigh until he reached her curls. There, just beside them, he sucked at her skin, the pleasure-pain of tiny capillaries giving way made her breath catch. He let go with a soft pop, admiring his creation with a look and sound of satisfied pride. His fantasy now fulfilled, his palms found their home on either side of her sex, his thumbs opening her to him. He stared at the glistening, rosy treasure before him, his nostrils flaring at the involuntary pulse his scrutiny caused. He met her eyes over the beautiful expanse of her body, “And I'm going to start here.”
The first kiss, so deep, but agonizingly slow, sent her trembling thighs up against the sides of his head and her hands flying into his curls.
He pulled back, making her whine. “No, love…open yourself to me.”
He hummed appreciatively when her legs fell open once more, her hands dipping down to part her lips and draw back the little hood sheltering her pearl. “I want your fingers inside me too.”
“You'll have them,” he promised, lowering his head to seal his mouth around her now exposed little nub. It was a clear message: she wanted her peak now. No more waiting.
She keened and arched as he set a swift pace with his tongue, lashing it with tight, hard flicks. A curse floated from her lips like a breeze, his name following after on a moan that made his manhood twitch in his trousers. His mask must have made him look every bit like his animal pet name, what with his golden head nestled at her center, gorging himself on honey only he knew how to coax from her.
The pad of his thumb teased the rim of her entrance, the slick increasing as the seconds passed. “Gimme--your--thick--fingers,” she huffed between breaths.
Jorah was only too happy to obey. Two slipped in easily, then he added a third, her sex clutching at them in greeting. He pumped them in time with his tongue, her body surging into an arc, a broken string of ‘don’t stop, right there’ filling his ears.
When her sex swelled, he doubled his pace, desperate for the glorious sight and sound of her climax. And she didn’t disappoint. Her body quivered, her sweet moan shaky and drawn-out, just like the fluttering caressing his slowing fingers. His tongue didn't though, he knew he could make her come again.
“Jorah,” she exclaimed, wide-eyed, her body trying to pull away. “I ca--oh Gods.”
Her head fell back when the tips of his fingers pushed up, her hands taking up residence in his curls as she surrendered to the onslaught of his tongue. She could feel the wave of bliss recede briefly, only to crash over her once more, this time sharp, short, and so intense she could barely catch her breath or make a sound.
When she finally opened her eyes, she found him looking at her, an untamed glint in his eyes.
She would willingly be his prey tonight.
Turning onto her stomach, she rose to her hands and knees, arching like a lithe feline. Jorah wasted no time freeing himself from the fly of his trousers, stroking once with a tight fist. The sight made her ache, she needed that thick length buried inside her, filling her as only Jorah could.
“Daenerys,” he groaned, his hands caressing the supple roundness of her bottom, “you know what this position does to me.”
She glanced back at him, her eyebrow arched, “I know...my bear.” She pushed back against him, her wetness slicking the head of his cock. “Let’s mate like they do.”
With a growl, he lined himself up with her entrance and thrust home, grunting at the feel of her tight, slick heat surrounding him. He took her without reservation, without restraint, pounding into her, her bottom jiggling with each powerful plunge. And she encouraged him, begging for it ‘harder...faster’. He held her hips firmly, drawing her to him as much as she pushed back. Each time their bodies met, he couldn’t hold back a grunt, which only seemed to arouse Daenerys more. Their actions were the very definition of one of her favorite words: rutting. But even as he was giving Daenerys his wild bear side, he still wanted her to fall apart one more time before he let go, needing to feel her pleasure rippling around his cock.
“Touch yourself,” he gritted out.
He kept his rhythm, but tilted her hips in the way he knew she needed it as she caressed herself. Her head fell back on her shoulders with a soft cry, her walls beginning to flutter.
Looking down, he watched his girth part her tender flesh and saw how her orgasm coated his shaft in a rush of shiny nectar that created a glittering stain on the wool of his trousers.
“Fuck,” he growled, feeling his release gathering at the base of his cock. It only took three more deep, hard plunges before he was pulsing in long spurts into her still throbbing depths, his shallow thrusts matching the jerking of his cock. Large pearlescent beads of their combined release escaped from the sides of her entrance, slipping down his shaft to drip onto the backs of her thighs and his trousers.
His orgasm left him shaking and breathless, falling forward to catch himself at the last moment on weak arms so he wouldn't crush her. He showered her neck and upper back in lingering kisses, whispered sweet endearments, and listening to her sigh happily.
He let his length soften and slip from her, only then did he leave her side, disappearing into the ensuite to fetch a washcloth. He returned with two, one warm and wet to gently clean her, the other to dry. He stripped out of his clothes and mask, took off Daenerys’ as well, before drawing her under the covers with him, enfolding her in a warm, tender embrace. The languid brush of his fingers along her shoulder and down her arm soothed her.
“You gave me just what I wanted,” she whispered, nuzzling her face into the space between his pectorals, breathing in his scent mixed with a hint of dried salt. When he didn't answer, she added, “I know what you're thinking, my bear.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes, “But don't.”
It took a moment for his brow to soften, a smile curling his lips, “It does feel good to let go sometimes.”
“Very good,” she teased, making him chuckle. “And I want more,” she added against his lips, her hand disappearing under the sheet to find his manhood half-hard. “It would appear you do too.”
He groaned as she began stroking him, using the clear beads oozing from the slit to aid her fondling. Their kiss was heady, her tongue teasing with his in a preview of what she had planned for his cock. Jorah grumbled when she unsealed their lips, but when she tossed back the sheet and positioned herself between his spread legs, he really couldn't complain any further. Cupping his sac, she gently rolled it, knowing it was sensitive. He rewarded her with a subtle upward jerk of his hips.
“He's beautiful,” she said, taking him in a firm grasp, her thumb circling the broad head, spreading the slick salty liquid before she gathered it hungrily with her tongue. “I love the way you taste.”
She noticed how torn he was, his eyes darting from hers to her mouth poised so close to the head of his cock. Kissing the tip, she smirked, “I want you to watch me.”
Jorah swallowed roughly, reaching to the side to grab an extra pillow to prop against the metal headboard. Once his back was resting on it, she resumed her previous activity. Following the prominent vein along Jorah’s abdomen with her tongue, she moved to the base of his proud length, licking it all the way up to the crown, where she traced the spongy ridge, drawing gasps from Jorah. One morphed into her name as the warm wetness of her mouth slowly engulfed the head. She took him in until he brushed the back of her throat, the muscles in his thighs twitching with restraint. His fists clenched at his sides as she started to bob her head, the tip of her tongue dancing along the sensitive underside. What didn't fit in her mouth, she stroked in a corkscrew motion, her other hand working his sac.
“Oh fuck--Daenerys...”
She loved when he lost all sense of propriety and let those naughty words fall from those gorgeous lips of his. It meant that he was in the moment, totally surrendered to the sensations she elicited from him. Occasionally, her eyes would lift and find him watching, just like she had asked. It excited her, knowing he was seeing what her mouth was doing to him. The memory of the first time she'd asked him that flashed in her mind: her on her knees under his desk at the office, treating him to an 'afternoon delight', as she had phrased it in a text only an hour before. Jorah, ever the giving partner, had reciprocated later: her sprawled on his desktop, thong panties dangling from one ankle, his face buried between her legs. Thankfully, everyone had gone home or else they would have been treated to a very loud 'Gods...Jorah!'.
Now, with her thoughts and actions combining, her body reacted as it always did. Her arousal seeped from her entrance and trickled down her inner thigh, her legs drawing together in an attempt to ease the renewed ache throbbing in her pearl.
Jorah gently gathered her hair over one shoulder, a gesture that simultaneously made her heart swell and her sex throb. It was equal parts gentlemanly and voyeuristic, a way of keeping it out of her way, but also unblocking his view of her cheeks hollowing with each suck. His fingers settled in her tresses, not pushing or pulling or trying to control her pace. That was never Jorah's way, he let her have all the power in this act.
It was clearly becoming apparent, however, that her current tempo was merely torturing him. His rate of breathing had increased, his brow tense, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. “Please...love...”
How could she continue to let him suffer? A little prolonging was fine, but she wasn't one to draw things out for too long. Her hand swirled effortlessly up and down his shaft as she stroked him faster, her lips tightening, her tongue focusing on that sensitized bundle of nerves just below the head. His hips lifted each time she retreated, desperate to be back inside the heaven created by her mouth. Their eyes met, hers letting him know she wanted him to unleash a bit of the bear again. Make love to my mouth, her expression seemed to say.
They were erotically in sync, their bodies humming with primal instinct, giving and taking. Daenerys was hungry for his flavor on her tongue, Jorah so close to the bliss she freely offered. His heels dug into the coverlet, his buttocks tensing with each shallow upward thrust, even in his haze, he was still mindful of her comfort. Warmth spread through his groin, a guttural moan rising from his chest. Hard as steel beneath hot velvety flesh, his sac a tight globe between his trembling thighs.
His fingers tightened slightly in her hair, his voice a husky rumble, “G--gonna come.”
A primal grunt accompanied the first searing burst of his thick release into her mouth, each pulse after had him gasping a jumbled mixture of her name, Gods, and fuck.
She eagerly swallowed all he offered, she hadn't been kidding about loving the way he tasted. Her strokes and licks slowed and softened as she eased him down, gazing up to find his jaw slack, his glistening chest heaving, his half-lidded eyes looking back at her. The well-pleasured expression suited him perfectly.
With a parting kiss, she sat back with a sultry smile, her thumb gathering the essence that had managed to escape the corner of her mouth before tucking it between her lips to suck it clean with a decadent moan.
“Gods, Sweetheart...,” he trailed off, simply unable to articulate anything further.
She let out a soft laugh, “I think my bear enjoyed that.”
“You have no idea,” he replied with a lopsided grin. His eyes roamed freely over her body, so full of adoration and awe, his desire only partially sated. “Are you still aching for me, love?”
Gods, that man's voice! “Yes.”
He slid down until the pillow was situated under his head, then crooked his finger, “Kneel over my mouth and I'll give you what you need.”
She carefully got into position, her short curls brushing his nose, his beautiful eyes dancing with love and lust gazing up at her.
I wonder if we’ll break my record for the most orgasms in one night, she mused a second before Jorah’s tongue stole her ability to think.