“Hold on to my hair, est amage. I want to feel your pussy grinding against my face.”

Goddess, but he’s such a dirty talker. My chest is heaving faster and faster with my arousal. The anticipation has taken me right to the edge. He could barely touch me, and it would set me off.

My hands thread through his hair. Flashing me a hungry look, he leans forward.

Mere inches from my core, I tug on that hair of his, pulling him away.

“Mercy, little witch, do you want to feel good or not?”

I glance down at the sorcerer and take in his ferocious, violent beauty. My heart is beating fast, so fast, and I feel vulnerable.

“This is just for tonight,” I say, watching him carefully. “It won’t be a regular thing.”

“Of course,” Memnon says smoothly, his gaze unfaltering. I should be skeptical of his easy agreement after all his earlier demands, but honestly, I want this too bad to peer closely at his reasons.

Just for tonight, I repeat to myself silently. Just because of the brew.

“Now,” Memnon says, running a hand up and down my outer thigh, “will you let me taste you?”

“Yes.”

I’ve barely gotten the word out when Memnon’s mouth is on me.

I gasp as his lips move against me, my hold tightening on him, and I’m rising, rising, rising⁠—

“Memnon!” I cry out as I come.

He continues eating me out as I come, and holy fucking Goddess, it’s too much. I make tormented, helpless noises.

“If you think I’m stopping just because you came quick,” he says against me, “here’s your notice—I’m not.”

I don’t know whether to curse him or thank him, because no sooner has my orgasm begun to ebb than my arousal comes roaring back.

Memnon teases all my sensitive spots before slipping a tongue in me. I moan, pressing my core closer to his mouth. My world has come down to the point of contact where Memnon’s mouth meets my pussy.

“Tastes like fucking ambrosia, mate,” he says as he works me with his mouth. The man eats me out with a hunger reserved for starving men, his hands kneading my thighs.

His mouth moves to my clit, and he is merciless. I move against his face, grinding against him like he wanted me to, my body desperate for more. I pinch my eyes shut, leaning my head back against the rough tree bark, writhing against him as sensation rapidly builds in me all over again.

Before it can pitch me over the edge, Memnon moves away from my pussy, lowering me.

I cry out at the loss of his touch, my eyes opening.

The sorcerer’s own eyes are taking in every inch of my face like he’s committing it to memory. “Do you still want me, est amage?” he asks when we’re at eye level.

I nod, my core feeling painfully empty.

“Then command me,” he says.

“I want you inside me.”

He gives his head a shake. “Command me.”

I hesitate, searching his gaze. I don’t want to take the sorcerer’s agency from him, and my orders do just that. Yet he wants my commands pressed onto him, I think. I think his demand for them is his consent.

My hand drifts to his neck, where my snarling familiar is inked on his skin. I trace the lines of it. “If you don’t like anything I order you to do, say ‘Ferox,’” I whisper.

Cannot believe we’re about to have the sort of sex that requires safe words.

Memnon’s eyes shine. “All right, Empress, I can do that. Now, command me.”

I wet my lips, then lift my chin. “Fuck me, Memnon.”

“That’s my queen.”

He spreads my thighs, lining us up. I can feel his heavy, throbbing cock at my entrance.

Memnon pauses. “This changes things.”

I open my mouth to argue, because it doesn’t change anything—it’s just sex, a simple, physical act. But before I get a word out, Memnon drives into me.

I gasp, my grip tightening around my soul mate’s neck as his massive cock fully seats itself inside me. I’m speared on the thing, and despite my dripping pussy and all the foreplay, I am stretched nearly beyond my limits.

Memnon exhales sharply, a shiver running through him.

“Are you good?” he asks softly, sensing my tension.

I nod, swallowing a little. “Just give me a moment.” I had forgotten how big he was.

For several seconds, all I can hear are our ragged breaths and the distant, pleasured cries of other witches. The sorcerer leans forward, pressing a kiss to the underside of my jaw, then my cheeks, then my nose, then my eyelids. With each gentle brush of his lips, my body relaxes, and my core stretches, accommodating him.

“Gods,” he murmurs in Sarmatian. “Two thousand years and I’m finally home.”

I don’t want to admit it, but I feel it too. Those gentle, reverent kisses, the fullness in my core—this feels right, so right. This is more intimate than I planned, but a deviant part of me enjoys this anyway.

“Don’t move,” I whisper. “Not yet.”

His lips brush against my mouth. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs.

My body has already stretched for him, but I stay there a few extra moments, just to relish it a little longer. Eventually, my arousal takes over, and I shift against him, now needing the friction of his thrusts. Only…they don’t come.

Memnon presses his forehead to mine, letting out a husky laugh. “Amazing as this feels, est amage, you’re going to have to release me from your last command if you want me to continue.”

Oh, right.

“You can move,” I whisper, too overcome by the feel of him to be embarrassed.

He pulls away to kiss me under my jaw. Memnon drags his cock almost all the way out of me before thrusting back in.

I gasp.

“You feel so godsdamned good,” he murmurs, grabbing my hands from behind his neck and threading his fingers between mine as his hips continue to rock against me. “My fierce little fiancée.”

The reminder drags away some of the lust-driven haze that I’m under.

“This means nothing,” I insist.

“This means everything,” Memnon says, squeezing my hands. His next thrust is punishingly deep, and I moan as it hits every nerve ending inside me.

The sorcerer still wants something soft here; he’s tried to angle this to his advantage.

But he isn’t the one in control.

I meet his eyes. “Harder,” I demand, lifting my chin. I don’t want to be reminded that we were married once or that we might be again someday. Terms be damned, right now, all I want from him is sensation alone. “Fuck me like you’re determined to get me to come as fast as possible.”

Memnon groans as his own pace picks up. He bites his bottom lip as he looks at me. I don’t think he’s aware of the action, but it has me mesmerized. I moan at the sensation, tilting my head back as I begin to climb once more.

The sorcerer leans in. “Just so we’re clear, Selene, I want to give you soul-devouring sex,” he says as he slams into me, his hips pumping faster and faster. He fucks me like it’s the one thing he’s been made for. “Not this hasty shit.” Each punishing stroke of his cock sends me closer and closer to the edge. “I want you to see the life we once shared—the one I still want to give you,” he says, squeezing my hands.

“You’ll give me what I ask for,” I tell him. “Isn’t that what you want from your queen?”

Memnon holds my gaze, his thrusts relentless. “I live to serve you, Empress.”

I can’t read his expression, not in the darkness here, but there’s no trace of mockery or disappointment in his voice. I think he’s being wholly sincere. But it is a reminder: I will only get my way like this so long as the bond remains and I don’t fall in love with him.

The sorcerer pulls down one of the straps of my dress, exposing the breast beneath. Bending down, he sucks on my nipple and teases it between his teeth.

That’s all it takes.

I cry out as my climax explodes through me, clouding my vision. I squeeze his hands as wave after wave of it crests.