The Ugly Dukeling by Bex McLynn

Author:Bex McLynn [McLynn, Bex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

Cisnetta gazed at Atrates’s arm, now bared to her because he’d shed his military jacket. Her skin prickled, scraping against her clothes. She couldn’t afford the best garments. Her clothes were well worn, no longer stiff, yet each fiber chafed her skin. Her nipples rubbed against the cups of her brassiere and the banding of her underwear pinched at the juncture of her thighs.

She licked her lips as her lust mixed with dismay. Atrates had settled on the seat with his opposite hand gripping his thigh. Her heart rate kicked as she gazed at the tendons on the back of his dark hand, then up to his corded forearm to the bugle of his bicep. His granite-gripping tension cut his form to perfection and stilled him like a statue. Not a ripple of budding frenesia rose to the surface.

“Cisnetta.” His deep voice rumbled through her, and her core pulsed and ached.

She swallowed, trying to ease her dry throat. “But your synten levels—”

“I can take what you need me to take.”

Although he shot the words at her, she knew it wasn’t an attack. It was only his bumbling of Mayreni nuance. She knew he meant that he would accept what she was offering, but he lacked faith in his adequacy. Therefore, he sought to convince her, in an assertive Otaric manner, that he would be enough.

Her hand shook as she reached for him. She saw no need to tamp down on the frenesia that coursed through her. It rushed like floodwater beneath a low bridge, occasionally brushing against the underbelly of the planks as her bezeten levels swelled.

With a ragged exhale, she pressed her hand to his skin, her fingers unable to wrap completely around the girth of his forearm. He remained granite hard beneath her palm.

The lancar had resumed traveling, speeding them over the carriage grooves in the road. Though the ride was smooth, like gliding over a frozen pond on skates, she braced for his first pull of her bezeten. The waiting had her skin tingling and her breaths had become short and choppy. Just as she thought he needed a permissive signal, he siphoned.

Cisnetta pressed her lips closed as her eyes popped open, but it was too late to seal off her whimpering moan. His pull on her bezeten lit up her palm. He had her curling her fingers into his flesh as his robust siphon coursed through her body, angling straight for her core and throbbing her clit like the flick of his tongue.

She sucked in a startled breath as she closed her eyes.

How? And dear god, why? Trone and Naosim—hell, every man she’d ever siphoned with—never struck such a euphoric yet sexually stimulating chord.

She felt Atrates draw again. The siphon had her arching her back as her astonished gasp expanded her lungs. Her thighs clamped together, pressing against the long, lazy strumming of his siphon that engorged her clit.

Her breath burned inside her lungs as her body locked up and shut down, unable to process the mix signals of lulling relief and growing arousal.

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