Crescent Moon

by Delilah Devlin

“You’re not in your right mind.” He pushed away her hips and retreated, putting space between them.

  Her whole body clenched at his rejection. “Please.”

  “I can’t do this. I shouldn’t be here. You’re in my custody.”

  “I am a woman in your care. You have seen to my needs—washed me, fed me, clothed me. How can you not love me? Men are driven by their desires. Am I so unattractive—”

  “Fuck no. But you said yourself. You’re married.”

  “To a god. Who has given his blessing.”

  His head rustled on his pillow. A gusted sigh blew hot. “Has he ever done that before?” he asked, his words slowing. “Given you his blessing to sleep with a man?”

  “No.” She held her breath at the thought he relented.

  Another soft curse gusted. “Are you a virgin?”

  She drew a swift breath. Was that his objection? “You will not hurt me. I have used fingers and a sacred phallus to appease my lust.”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “My maidenhead isn’t an issue. It is gone. You won’t hurt me.”

  “A sacred phallus?”

  She nodded. “Made of smooth marble. I used it to assuage my desires.”

  “Jesus Christ.” A soft chuckle, one that didn’t sound amused, shook the bed.

  He held her back, so she reached out, tentatively touching the part of him that proclaimed him proudly male. With her fingertips, she stroked him through thin cotton pants. His phallus was much larger and warmer than her stone instrument, but nearly as rigid, and it jerked as her fingers skimmed up the shaft.

  His breath hissed between his teeth, but that was the extent of his protest. He held still, not breathing as her fingertip traced the edge of the broad, soft cap poking insistently against his garment. A shudder shook the bed. A choked growl emanated from his throat.

  At the sounds, she knew she had won.

  Insistence no longer necessary, she settled beside him, staring into the darkness and wishing she could see his expression as she explored with languid caresses the thick, hard length of him. “I have dreamed of loving a man.”

  “You should wait for someone special, cher. I’m too rough around the edges. Too old for you.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  Her mouth curved. Age was not an issue. She’d been born millennia ago. “I will defer to greater wisdom, and let you choose how we do this, Justin Henry Boucher.”

  His hand curved around hers, which lightly gripped him. For a second, she thought he would push her away again, but the hesitation was followed by his fingers squeezing around hers, firming her grip to ride the long column up and down. The soft cotton separating her fingers from the evidence of his desire was no barrier at all.

  As they glided together, their breaths deepened. “I want to see you,” he said, his gravely tone deepening.

  “A light,” she said. “Something soft.”

  He withdrew and she sat up on the mattress as he strode away. The bathroom light ignited. He disappeared inside for a long moment, the sound of a drawer opening then sliding closed. Silence followed, and then he pulled the door partway closed after he reentered the bedroom. Just enough light remained to see the grim set of his jaw, the wildness in his eyes.

  Khepri liked the hint of violence restrained in his flexing, bare chest. Her gaze trailed downward to his undergarment—shorts, the word echoed inside her head. “Remove them, please,” she said, her voice thin, high . . . nearly breathless.

  His mouth curved up at the corners. His fingers tucked into the waistband and he shoved the shorts down his thighs until they fell to the floor. Then he stood still while she stared.

  “Turn,” she said, sliding her legs over the side of the mattress.

  When he turned sideways, light gleamed on the taut skin stretched by his burgeoning erection.

  “I never thought a man’s part could be beautiful. Of course, I’ve seen men naked …” Something thin was stretched over him. She fingered the edge.

  “It’s a condom,” he said.

  Condom. Sheath. Birth control. Something inside her cringed. Still she touched him, noting the thin sheath did little to prevent her enjoyment of the silky feel of his skin, the heat emanating from his core. Her fingers encircled him, but her thumb didn’t meet her longest fingertip. “Are all men made like you?”

  “You aimin’ to find out?”

  She liked the hard edge of his voice. It hinted at possessiveness. But she didn’t want to anger him. “I’m thinking that if it’s true, then I needn’t worry we’ll … fit.” She glanced up and caught a flare of heat in his dark blue gaze. And because she wanted to see that flare again, she stood, pulled the top of her pajamas over her head, and then pushed the bottoms off her hips. He’d already seen her nude, no surprises there, but she wanted nothing between them. Not fabric. Not space.

  She stepped closer. Moisture glazed her belly, but she didn’t look down as her gaze locked with his. She’d seen wetness glinting on the tip of his sex. Her gaze greedily followed his as he glanced down, attention narrowing on the mound of her sex and sweeping upward to snag on her breasts.

  Cupping them, she lifted both, offering herself. “My body burns for you, deep inside.” With quick flicks, she thumbed her nipples. “These ache for your kiss. Please, Juste. Take me.”

  His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared. When he moved, his hands cupped the notches of her hips and drew her closer. “Last chance. Tell me to go, sweetheart.”

  She smiled, moisture filling her eyes. “I have no desire to send you away. Take me. Teach me. I am yours.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Juste held her hips and stood there, damning himself for being weak. If she didn’t change her mind and quick, he was going to fuck her—every way he’d imagined since he’d roamed his hands over her soft skin while he’d bathed her.

  Ever since her bath, he’d been hard and horny. Sick in his belly because he knew he was all wrong for her. She was his responsibility. And whether she was truly innocent, or simply couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a man, or was outright lying about the fact, he shouldn’t be here. Not with his dick slicking her belly and his hands curling around her trim hips.

  Worse, he was too far gone to even be gentle. When she’d nuzzled his neck, he’d seen images of him taking her, from behind, from on top, her legs wrapped around his waist and then his neck …

  Then and there, he’d known he was a goner. Hell, he’d been resigned since he’d turned off the bathroom light and headed to the bed with a rubber coating him, instead of heading straight to the couch.

  He wasn’t a gentleman. Wasn’t good, not deep inside. Lately, he was ruled by his anger and his lust. And he was angry with her for tempting him. And lust? Sweet fuck, he couldn’t look at her fingering her own nipples without being jealous he wasn’t the one giving her that pleasure.

  It was inevitable—her being in his bed, him staking his claim, driving deep. Once he’d discovered her in that crate and unwrapped her like a present, like a gift from God, he’d been lost.

  Lost his damn mind. No turning back.

  He picked her straight up by the waist and turned. Her legs bent as they met the mattress, and he crawled onto the bed, his knees on either side of her thighs and hips, his hands still clutching her, shoving her not so gently toward the center of the mattress.

  Her gaze never left his face. If she’d blinked or shown a moment’s fear, he’d have reared back and fled. But she met his gaze, boldly fascinated, dipping to his mouth then back up, an invitation he was accepting.

  When he had her where he needed her on the bed, he eased down, blanketing her lithe, supple form, his hard contours crushing hers until he came up on his elbows.

  Her fingers tracked the edge of his jaw.

  In his mind, he saw them flirting with the flared edge of his corona. “I have to have you,” he growled, his groin tightening painfully as he
resisted the urge to grind against her tender belly.

  “It is … inevitable,” she whispered. “Amun’s will.”

  Fuck, she felt it too. “So don’t bother fightin’?” he muttered.

  Her smile was very nearly a smirk.

  “What are you playin’ at?” He narrowed his gaze.

  “I’m not playing. But you are worrying too much about what this means.” Her finger traced his bottom lip. “Relax. Give yourself. Find your pleasure. Help me find mine.”

  Her pleasure. She was a virgin. Maybe. He groaned and closed his eyes, forcing out the words through a tight jaw. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  She laughed softly. “That I don’t believe. You are too beautifully made. Women must follow you home.”

  “Not talkin’ about … lovemaking,” he said, wincing because he’d nearly called it something else. “Making love” wasn’t part of his normal vocabulary. But then, the women he brought home knew the score. And if they hoped he’d call back, well … he was sorry, but he didn’t do repeats. Those got sticky, and he didn’t like sticky.

  So what the hell are you doing, you horny bastard?

  Juste knew he was entering dangerous territory. The last thing he wanted was to hurt the girl, but he didn’t see any way around it. If he couldn’t have her, he’d die. Just once.

  He snorted because already his mind was leaping ahead to the next encounter, and the next …

  Rather than keep thinking thoughts that shook him to his core, he lowered his head. His lips met hers and that spark he’d felt before, the one he’d pretended didn’t matter, shivered through his frame, sparking the top of his spinal cord and shooting straight down his back. His groin drew up, balls tucking tightly against his body. And good lord, his dick had never ached this badly.

  Her slim, long-fingered hands soothed the back of his neck, and he realized his mouth had frozen atop hers. He hadn’t kissed her so much as mashed his mouth against hers. Not that she seemed to mind. Her wide eyes stared back; the stiff tips of her breasts poked him.

  Juste drew a deep breath, called on what little control he had left, and angled his head, aligning their noses. He’d show her how this was supposed to be done—even if it killed him to go slow.

  He rubbed her mouth gently, eating at her lips, his tongue sneaking inside her mouth as she gasped in surprise. He nearly smiled, but continued exploring. He discovered her mouth was softer than any he’d ever kissed, and that she tasted just right. Sweet, but not too sweet. His tongue swept inside, teasing hers, gliding and thrusting like he wanted to do below. To his great surprise, she quickly reciprocated, mimicking his actions, even to the soft suctioning he began against her mouth.

  He cradled her head, liking the added control and the fact his fingers tangled in her thick, warm hair. “Ain’t you ever been kissed?” he growled.

  “By you,” she nodded. “Right now.”

  He shook his head, but believed her. She was a quick study, but the shocked gasps and the way she followed his every action proved her innocence. Which caused his heart to thud against his chest.

  Dread settled in the bottom of his belly. If he did this, if he took what she so enthusiastically offered, he couldn’t just walk away. He’d be bound. Not for life or anything, but to making sure she stayed safe, that she was happy when he left. He couldn’t get up off the bed and wash her off his skin the same way he had every other woman he’d played with. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d forget her as fast.

  Again, he sank, trailing his mouth along the jut of her jaw, then smoothing his lips down her neck, lifting on his hands and knees to scoot lower, knees spreading to clamp around her thighs, her knees, and then arriving, at last, with his head hovering over those hard-tipped, impudent little breasts.

  He liked their pert, round shape, their youthful firmness. Liked the beige color of her nipples, just a shade or two darker than her golden skin. Smooth as velvet, their surface tickled his mouth as he circled, rubbing them over and over.

  Her hands gripped his shoulders and squeezed, and his lips tightened in a feral smile. He knew what she wanted, even if she couldn’t form the thought. He fluttered his tongue at a rigid bead.

  Beneath him, her belly quivered. Her back curved, forcing more of her breast against his mouth. But he pulled back, continuing to lick the tiny bud, ignoring the soft, keening moan she made, the fingertips digging into his skin.

  When at last he latched onto her nipple and sucked, air hissed between her clenched teeth.

  “Too much?” he asked, lifting his head to stare down at the reddening tip.

  Gasping, she shook her head, a wildness in her eyes that matched his own galloping heart.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I’ve pinched them before, when I used that phallus …”

  He grunted and gave her a scowl. “You gonna tell me this ain’t any better?”

  “No.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “This is so much more. My skin … Please, Justin.” She cupped her other breast and pushed it up, offering herself again.

  Because his foster mama had raised a polite boy, he took what was offered and gave her back his silent gratitude, licking and sucking, tapping it with his tongue, before finally chewing gently until her belly undulated beneath him and her legs moved sinuously between his knees, trying to open.

  Relenting, he raised one knee at a time while she slowly opened her thighs, letting him look down at the sweet sexy treasure she exposed. Juste went lower, kissing her belly, gliding his hands and his mouth down her smooth skin, pausing to plunder her navel, before going lower still. When he was level with her mound, her hand snuck between them and she cupped herself.

  He glanced up, recognized the dawning shock for what it was. “I want this, Khepri. Swear you’ll like it.”

  She shook her head, her mouth opening.

  To give a protest, no doubt, but he bent, stuck out his tongue and licked at the seams of her clenched fingers, watching as her eyes grew smokier and darker, pupils dilating. At last, she spread her fingers, allowing him to tongue the tangy flesh she protected.

  Prickles of awe at her trust, at the feeling this was as he’d suspected all along—more than he’d bargained for, more than just sex—raised gooseflesh on his arms. Something about her drew him in. Instinctively, he knew he’d be changed by sharing intimacy with her. Irrevocably.

  The burning, insistent ache in his groin never eased, but he slowed again, savoring the journey. He cupped her harder, hugging her bottom, gliding his cheeks against her inner thighs. She was so wet and tasted like an ocean breeze. He growled and burrowed deeper, his nose and chin shoving away her fingers until only his mouth covered her pretty, nude pussy.

  He drew her lips into his mouth and tugged and licked. Then stuck out his tongue to feather the edges of the pink inner lips. He didn’t miss her thinning breaths, the shivers that quaked her thighs, or the pulsing, involuntary clasping of her sex.

  Cupping her bottom tenderly, he raised her. “Spread your thighs wider,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  Without hesitation, she complied, the movement exposing her opening and stretching the thin membrane covering her clit. Glinting red and swelling, the round nub was impossible to resist. He glided his tongue over the smooth knot, ignoring her broken cries and the fingers pulling at his hair.

  He licked and soothed until the thin hood receded entirely and his lips could close around the small nub. Then he suckled there, his tongue continuing to push against it inside his mouth. With a slow move, he snuck a single finger inside her, circling her opening, testing her acceptance of his intrusion.

  Issuing a long sigh, Khepri raised her legs.

  From the corner of his eyes, he watched them straighten, her toes curl.

  Her back curved too, her head digging into the mattress while her hands cupped and caressed her breasts. She was so beautiful, so natural, not a false note or warble. When the shivering grew harder, he set her down and crawled up her body, lett
ing his cock drag against the inside of one thigh as he came over her.

  Her eyes were deep wells, her mouth wet and trembling. He kissed her lightly, then bit her lower lip. “Pay attention.”

  Her mouth pursed and she blew out a breath. “Justin—”

  “Cher, hold on tight.” He shook his head, cutting her off. “I’ll be gentle as I can.”

  Her eyes rounded, but she gave a little nod. When he prodded her opening with the tip of his cock, she drew in a swift breath.

  “No, relax. Let me in.” Reaching down between them, he held apart her folds and pushed against her with a slight side-to-side motion, easing inside. She was tight … and getting tighter. “Sweetheart, let me in.”

  She gave him the oddest look, firming her mouth, then closing her eyes, the line between her brows easing then disappearing, her features growing slack.

  “I said relax, not go to sleep.”

  When she didn’t respond, he frowned. “Khepri. Sweetheart.”

  At last, her eyes blinked open. Her mouth curved softly. “I’m ready now.”

  That was the first time he’d had a female meditate in the middle of getting laid. A fact he found a bit unnerving. “This doesn’t have to happen,” he muttered. Please don’t tell me to stop.

  “I’ve waited forever for this moment. Come into me, Justin Henry Boucher.”

  Into her creamy depths, he slid like a knife through butter, wanting to pause to let her adjust to his girth, but unable to hold back once he was there. And Jesus, when he was there, every inch snug inside her channel, he let loose a groan. “Never felt like this.” Shut up, you idiot. “Never, cher.” So it was the truth, but he wasn’t some dumb teenager getting his first taste of pussy. Although he felt new, refreshed, cleansed somehow of all past transgressions. “I wanna move.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “Just all right?”

  She gave a little laugh.

  The sound made him lift his head. Joy glimmered in her sparkling eyes. Joy in his own, he knew, shone right back at her. Give it up, Boucher. You’re a goner. “It’s time. Wrap yourself around me, little girl.”