The bedding sinks beneath me as he presses me down, dragging openmouthed kisses along my neck. “Anything you don’t like, honey. Anything you need, tell me.” Big hands, rough with calluses from sword fighting, skim down my sides. “Anything.”

With a noise of want, he cups my breast, then leans over it. His mouth is hot and wet, and I groan, arching into him as he sucks my nipple in deep. He releases me with a long satisfied lick and then does it all over again.

“Macon . . .” It’s a plea. For more, for it everywhere.

He seems to know this because he looks up at me from beneath the fan of his lashes as his wicked tongue flicks over my other nipple. “It’s my turn to play.”

Play he does, suckling my nipples until they’re swollen and stiff and gleaming, then rubbing the flat of his fingers over the sensitive tips—a slow, heavy circle. The action is so lewd, so basely sexual, that I writhe and moan against him, my leg hooking over his trim hips in an attempt to bring him over me.

But he resists, his focus all on me. He makes his way over my body, learning every curve and hollow—gentle little kisses of shuddering pleasure, slow wet kisses of greed. When he gets to the rise of my hip bone, he pauses. His big hands settle over my thighs, gripping them lightly. His gaze, dark and hot, meets mine.

“Spread these thighs, Tot, and show me what I’ve been dreaming about for far too long.”

Slowly, I open to him. I feel the exposure in the soft stretch of my inner thigh muscles, the cool rush of air against my wet sex. My breasts jiggle with every shuddering breath I take. Macon’s attention is rapt. He licks his lower lip, and I clench deep within me.

With a groan, he lowers his head and kisses my pussy like a man deprived of air. Pleasure jolts through me, hot and sharp. I writhe against that slowly questing mouth of his. He fucking feasts, and I can’t help but put my hand on the back of his head to hold him there, urge him to take more.

God, the feel of his tongue sliding and searching; my clit becomes so swollen and sensitive I’m half trying to get away. But he won’t let me. The sight of his broad shoulders between my legs, the fan of his lashes shadowing an expression of sheer greed, has me teetering on an orgasm. He stops to place a soft, firm kiss right on my clit like it’s something he has to do, this bit of utter affection at the height of his lust, and I fall.