Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

couldn’t wait another second to get his cock inside her, not one! He flexed his hips, probing, his head swimming with greedy anticipation.

Dancer raised one leg and wrapped it around his upper thigh, tilting her pelvis and opening herself more fully. In direct contrast, her mouth was soft and pliant, hardly responsive at all.

Rhio’s eyes snapped open. She was watching him, her wide dark gaze calm and a little wary.

What the fuck—? Not again!

He rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m ready.”

Growling a heartfelt oath, Rhio pulled back. Without preamble, he reached down to brush his fingertips over the folds of her sex. Warm, soft and relaxed, moist enough that he probably wouldn’t hurt her, but no more.

Now he came to think of it, she hadn’t kissed him back.

The suspicion that entered his mind was so startling as to be impossible. Until he thought about it some more.

His blood drumming an insistent demand, he rolled away from temptation and sat on the edge of the bed, swearing.

“Rhio? What’s wrong?”

He still had his bloody boots on. He wrenched them off. “You might be ready, but I’m not.” Coming to his feet, he unbuckled the kilt and let it drop, peeled off the drawers.

A sparkling glance burned from his head to his heels, with a significant pause at groin level. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Was there admiration mixed in with the amusement? Cursing himself for a vain fool, Rhio glanced downward, but his erection did him proud, thick and flushed rose-red—so full and eager it was damn near vertical.

“You’re one fine man, Captain R-Rhio-marrd,” whispered Dancer, the accent much in evidence. “Come back here.” She reached for him.

Rhio set a knee on the bed, heart thundering like a battle-drum. “Slow,” he said. “Slow and sweet.”

A slender fingertip skimmed up the inside of his thigh. “How about hard and fast?”

“Lie still,” he growled. Deliberately, he trailed his fingers down the center of her body, from the pit of her throat to her mons, and watched her tremble.

Drawing her into his arms, he dusted kisses at random over her face, never giving her time to settle—forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, those glorious cheekbones, the tip of that imperious nose. When she tried to speak, he silenced her by the simple expedient of nibbling on her lower lip, tracing it with his tongue, seducing, coaxing. Loving.

Dancer’s lips parted on a soundless— oh! —and Rhio slipped i nside.

An effective commander paid attention to every detail and Captain Rhiomard of the Queen’s Guard had a box full of medals attesting to his skill, not that he could remember where he’d put it. He missed nothing—not the hitch of her breath, nor the hand that crept into his hair, or the instinctive arch of her hips. But best of all were the tentative forays of a sweet little tongue, the mewling sounds she made deep in her throat.

When he stole a glance, her eyes were firmly closed, a pulse fluttering in her throat.

“Mmm.” Rhio hummed his pleasure into her mouth, cupped a breast and rasped the

nipple gently with his thumb.

The grip in his hair tightened to the point of pain. With a final regretful lick, he freed her lips.

“Dancer.” When he stroked the other breast in the same rhythm, she fucking purred, her shoulder blades rising clean off the mattress. “Look at me.”

She blinked, her obsidian gaze clouded and her lips delightfully swollen.

By the Brother, the restraint was going to kill him, but first times were special. And somewhere during her heartbreakingly inept kiss, Rhio had decided this was indeed a first—of many.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sweetheart, do you remember I asked if you enjoyed sex?”

She stiffened under his hands, her jaw setting hard. “Yes.”

“I’m asking again, but for a different reason, I swear. Does fucking give you pleasure?”

When her lashes swept down, he tugged a nipple. “Look me in the eye. I’ll know if you lie.”

She bit her lip and glared. “Sometimes.”

“How often?”

“All right! Not often.”

Rhio changed tack. “You don’t know how to kiss.”

Her lips twisted into an ugly line. “My sorrow if I failed to provide satisfaction, Master.”

Shit! Rhio ran a hand through his hair. “Dancer.” He grasped her chin in his strong fingers. “There are two of us in this bed. Your satisfaction is as important as mine. I want to give you pleasure. Do you understand?”

She blinked, her head moving from side to side on the pillow. No.

“The men you’ve had, they didn’t kiss you, did they?”

Her brow creased. “Why would—?”

He overrode her. “Did any of them go to the trouble of taking care of you? Even once?”

“Taking care—? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve answered the question.” Thoughts and emotions tumbled by so quickly he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to yell hallelujahs or fuck her ’til she fainted. Brother’s balls, he’d kill the first Trinitarian he saw. With his bare hands.

“So,” he said. “Do you take care of yourself?”

“I still don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t give me that.” Dipping his head, Rhio sucked in a velvety, burgundy-colored nipple.

Ignoring her startled hiss, he lashed it with his tongue, loving the way it plumped, rising against the roof of his mouth. He could swear she tasted spicy and sweet together, like a chocolate liqueur. Delicious.

He lifted his head. “Do you masturbate, Dancer? Make yourself come? Orgasm?”

Her cheeks had gone pink, quick breaths rasping in her throat. “I—ah—”

Rhio grinned. Thank the Brother, it was going to be all right. The tension of the last few minutes had taken the edge off his arousal, but now it returned in full force. Combined with the relief, it made him as light-headed and nearly as stupid as the randy lad he’d once been.

“Good girl,” he said, dropping a consoling kiss on the nipple he’d neglected. “You’ll have to show me one day.”

He hadn’t thought someone with that particular shade of honey copper skin could get so red. Dancer heaved beneath him, all lithe muscle and baffled fury. If