Forty-Two

 

Amani debated whether he was dreaming, or if he'd died and attained paradise, for there was no way Briska could be truly sitting astride him, riding him hard in the pursuit of her own pleasure, as she sent him inexorably to his own glorious peak.

He reached up to cup those glorious breasts, bouncing as she rocked. But there was blood on his hands, and the dimly remembered pain of tearing his palms free of the ice. But blood could cast magic. He sent a powerful healing spell through his body, gritting his teeth against the pain as his ribs knitted together and his hands became whole once more. Only then did he place reverent hands on Briska's hips, wanting to touch her to see if she was real.

Her eyes flew open. "Amani?"

He managed a smile. "You mistook me for some other lover? My queen, you wound me."

"I have no other lover. Never. Not in all this time..."

He rose up, so that he might kiss her lips while still driving deep inside her. Bliss, the like of which he never thought he'd feel again.

"Then you have been neglected for too long. It will take me weeks to make up for my absence. I will make you never want to leave your bed, my queen. For I know I have no wish to leave it." He thrust gently, changing the angle until she gasped. He fixed his gaze on her face as he pushed her to heights of pleasure no one else could reach, and was rewarded by the sound of her screaming his name. At last.

His pleasure could wait. For Briska was and forever would be his queen, and nothing mattered more than bringing a smile to her face, a sigh to her lips, and an enormous, shuddering orgasm that engulfed her completely.