Page 189 of The Mercy of Dawn

“I think we both have a good view.” Cyril hadn’t trusted her voice, with how her chest heaved with uneven breath. It was worth it for the flicker of amusement that danced in the haughty darkness of his eyes.

Mikael huffed a shade of a laugh and lowered himself down, mapping the same path up her thighs with the warmth of his mouth. Cyril tangled her fingers in his hair as he kissed up one thigh, then the other.

She bit back a ragged moan when his tongue grazed her core for the first time. The touch was light, testing, but pulled a ripple of tension through her, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. His eyes darted up, assessment written plain on them, but Cyril just sagged back into the bed.

This man was going to kill her with his gods damned mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

“As my lady wishes,” he murmured, and the prince devoured her.

It could have been hours or days, really, that he spent anchored so comfortably between her thighs, with how Cyril lost all sense of time and space and self. All that mattered was Mikael’s mouth and his fingers in her and on her, wringing every ounce of bodily bliss he could from her flesh.

But by the time he’d worked her over the edge for the second or third time and showed no sign of stopping, her legs trembled and waves of pleasure came laced with undercurrents of discomfort.

“Mika, it’s…too much, I can’t…” Cyril whined, her body spent and oversensitive.

Her fingers had never left his hair, and she tugged weakly at him.

The prince looked far too pleased with himself when he finally came up for air, drawing Cyril in for a kiss as he settled in beside her.

And that was…her, that she could taste in that sweet heaviness on his lips. Her cheeks heated and her body ached for more.

“You want to stop?” Mikael’s breath came in uneven bursts as he traced circles across her stomach, her muscles tensing and rippling under his fingers.

“No.” Cyril pulled his mouth back to hers, and Mikael made an appreciative noise. She wanted to taste herself again, steep in that brief surge of confidence that came from it before she asked, “Can I…touch you?”

“So polite,” Mikael murmured with an edge of amusement.

He splayed his hand over hers, where she tethered it to the warmth of his chest and the thrum of his heart, and guided her down to where his cock was hard and straining against the soft cotton of his night pants.

Cyril’s fingers wandered, raking up the full length of him, and Mikael’s entire body shuddered under her touch. The groan that slipped out of him was more intoxicating than any spirit she’d ever put in her body. But she wanted to touch him properly. No more barriers or boundaries between them.

“Take these off.” Cyril tugged on his waistband.

“The lady is demanding too,” he chuckled as he eased away from her and slipped everything off.

Cyril had no short few ideas of what he might feel like in her hand—her mind had run rampant, and often at that—but her mouth ran dry when she finally wrapped her hand around him. So warm, and hard, and…

A tremor of nerves ran through her.

“Mika, I…I don’t think…” She swallowed thickly, looking up at him with wide eyes. Her damn fingers didn’t touch around him. “You’re…”

“You flatter me, wrath.” Mikael settled his hand around hers, guiding her into slow, languid strokes. He brushed his lips against her jaw, adding, “Should I show you how well you’ll take me?”

Heat tore through her entire damn body, and some indignant noise left Cyril.

She tipped her face to catch his lips, and Mikael was already easing himself back overtop of her, nudging her legs apart for him again. He knew what her answer was, what she wanted all this damn time.

But his eyes still met hers, lust-addled and appraising, and he asked, “You’re sure?”

A smile tugged at her lips.

“Positive. But, ah—” She stroked his cock again and Mikael groaned a half-breath of her name, rocking into her touch. “Tell me what you like. I…I want to—”

“Fuck what I like,” Mikael rumbled, the broad strength of his hand ensconcing hers again, guiding himself lower, and lower, and— Oh. He notched himself against her entrance, and Cyril’s breath caught at that first moment of fullness. But Mikael stopped, just barely pressed into her, and she wanted nothing to do with the sort of restraint he was showing. “This is what I want, Cyr, so fucking badly. I want you, I want your body, I want your heart, I want—”

An eager roll of her hips, and Mikael slipped out a guttural groan.