Page 90 of Foundling

Spread eagle, he was totally prone and utterly at her mercy.

Should she like that as much as she did?

His hearty chuckle was reassuring. Testing his magic restraints, Attalus rotated his ankles. His tail swished on the bed beside him, as content as if he was laid out in the crystal pavilion under his favorite tree.

“My, my, doe. I didn’t think you the type.”

“The type for what?”

“Binding. Restraining. Do you like me like this?”

“Yes.”

That one word snared his attention, and he lifted his head to smile toothily at her. “I’m intrigued.”

She’d take it. Leita walked to stand at the foot of the bed, looking down upon him laid out before her like some great scaled sacrifice. He truly was a feast for the senses, all that warm scaled flesh, his spicy scent wafting up from the soft sheets. His croon simmered in his chest, a pleasant, barely audible tone that settled in her ears and between her legs.

She realized as she looked upon him that her plan had been a bit thinner than she’d thought. Now that she had him there, what did she want to do with him?

Practice. Play. Push.

He was always teasing and flirting. Perhaps it was time he receive his own treatment.

And, Leita hadn’t forgotten that night in the cave.

His tail went still when he felt her magic flow along his limbs. While keeping him in place, she used her magic to caress him, tracing the pattern of scales along his flanks, circling the flat nipples on his chest, and pooling at the flat plane above his stirring cock. Attalus’s gaze sharpened, never wavering from where she stood, and a cocksure grin lifted his lips.

That look heated Leita’s blood. Infernal, incorrigible man.

Warm as syrup and just as thick, her magic slid along his body in slow, deliberate strokes. She took her time over his beautifully wrought chin and cheekbones, kissing his elegant lips with magic and twining between every eyelash. When the magic tickled at his mouth, he opened dutifully, his tongue tasting the ephemeral force as it traced his fangs.

Phantom hands touched the faint scars her own fangs had left in his neck. She liked the sight of them and wondered if another bite could make the scars more pronounced. Her own necklace for him to wear. Pleasure clenched her lower belly tight—oh, she liked that idea very much.

Another pair of magic hands swept down to cup his great chest, feeling the strength there, his twin hearts pumping. The synchronized beats had the faintest echo as they began to quicken beneath hands that caressed and kneaded. His hide was tough but warm, and through her magic, Leita felt him, her palms tingling.

The temptation to replace the magic with her own hands was strong, but she resisted. She hadn’t been playing all that long.

At the very least, she needed to coax that handsome cock of his to full potential.

As though reading her intent, Attalus’s head fell back on his pillow, a gusty laugh making the ball of his throat bob. “Do it, agae. Take what’s yours.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her magic wrapped round his rousing cock, enveloping it in that syrupy warmth. A hiss slid between his clenched teeth, and Leita watched in fascination as the muscles at his hips clenched.

Her magic claimed what was hers, swirling around the shaft in a spiral to the top. She teased the ball-ended bar pierced at the underside of the head, eliciting a rumbling moan. The three circles of ridges framing the head intrigued her, and she kissed each in their time, running gentle touches over their circumferences.

Finally, magic pooled at the head, sinking into the slit to tease back and forth, back and forth. Spend leaked from the head, only to be gathered by her magic and spread up and down the shaft. Engorged head cupped and thick shaft encircled, another tendril of magic slid down to pool around his bollocks, holding them gently.

He was scalding here, pulsing so strongly, she felt him in her palms. Leita’s lips tingled, wanting to kiss him—his mouth, his cock, the flat plane below his belly button. She wanted her tongue and lips to touch everywhere her magic had, but she stood strong, working him as she watched.

Attalus’s lips peeled back into a grimace of pleasure, and he flipped an errant lock of black hair back behind his horns to see her clearly. “You want me this way, agae? Or should I hold back a little longer?”

A throbbing deep in her cunt answered him, and Leita inhaled sharply.

The pressure at his cockhead and lower shaft tightened, denying the orgasm building there.

“A little longer,” she said.

Attalus smiled ferociously before throwing his head back on the pillow. His laugh was a bit maniacal, a bit desperate, but all pleased.