Page 16 of Be-Djinn At The Beginning

She pulled back enough to speak, her lips brushing against his with each word.

“That thing you did.” She paused. “On Hallowe’en.”

“Mmm?” The sound was half acknowledgement, half warning.

“Could you… do it again?”

He took the honeypot from Bea’s hand and set it on a table by the window before snatching her up in his arms. He carried her to the large bed against one wall that was laid with half a dozen plush pillows and silky bedclothes.

“Forgive me, wife. I have not the patience for an hour’s worth of unlacing this contraption,” he said as he laid her on the bed and clapped his hands. With a rustle of fabric, her clothes were gone. She was bare on his bed, pink and practically glowing with her blush.

For a moment, all he could do was stare. It felt, just then, as if he’d never seen a naked woman before in his life. All his centuries of experience and confidence were blown away, leaving him frozen with desire and awe.

“Surely I can’t be that poor-looking,” Bea said with a nervous laugh, tugging the edge of a soft blanket over herself.

Sahar knelt over her and gently pulled the blanket away.

“You are breathtaking,” he said, trailing his fingers down her neck and over the curve of a breast, watching her shift and wriggle under his touch. “And I adore you.”

Bea opened her mouth, no doubt ready with some biting remark, but all speech stopped in her throat as he pinched the rosy tip of her breast. He leaned down with his eyes still locked on hers before flicking out his tongue, tasting what his fingers had captured.

She practically jumped beneath him, a soft cry escaping her before she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“You needn’t be quiet here, my love. This is our home,” he said, sucking her nipple between his lips and grazing his teeth against her gently. “I implore you to be as loud as you please.”

His hand slid up to squeeze her other breast, tugging and pinching while watching her face all the while to map out each reaction. They had time, even if his body was shouting at him to rush.

He could feel the heat between her legs pressing against his stomach where he lay against her, like a small sun burning so close to where he needed her. His tongue ached for more, to create more of those soft sounds she was trying her best to keep hushed.

“Stay right there,” he said, kissing his way down her soft stomach.

“Mercy, Sahar, where else would I even think to g⁠—”

She gasped, cutting herself off as Sahar parted her thighs and kissed his way between them with groans of a starving man being offered a cake. His tongue trailed along her opening, politely at first, but just as she had caught her breath it dipped between her petals and wove figures against her hot skin, focusing on the delicious little pearl that made her cry out each time he flicked his tongue against it.

“What—what in the—” Bea choked out, reaching down to grasp a handful of Sahar’s thick hair.

“Shh, trust me,” he said, lips right there, brushing against sensitive places no one had ever seen.

She did trust him, though it made no sense to do so. She had only just learned his true name, only recently seen his true face, and yet no one in her life had been closer to her.

Bea tilted back her head as her breath stalled in her throat, her whole body clenching. His sizzling hot tongue melted its way through her every dip and curve.

“By the stars, Beatrix, you taste like a delicacy,” he mumbled between her thighs, slipping his fingers beneath his tongue to slide into her heat.

Bea cried out into the palm of her hand, torn between wanting to scold him for such scandalous talk and begging him to say more at once. As his fingers slipped their way inside her, she struggled to breathe, to think—could he really make her do that again? That explosion that had happened on Hallowe’en night?

As he drew his fingers in and out, pressing upward each time he dragged them out of her, Bea’s wonder turned to shock as that feeling crept back up her spine, locking her hips and forcing a shout from her that even her hand couldn’t quiet.

“Ohh that’s it, my wife,” Sahar growled between her thighs, plunging his tongue within her to taste what he had earned. “My beautiful wife.”

Dizzy and half melted, Bea felt that word land upon her tingling skin like a warm blanket. Wife. She was the wife of not just a man, but her dearest friend.

“My handsome husband,” she said through panting breaths.

Sahar propped his head on one hand, grinning up at her, dark eyebrows raised.

“Handsome? Am I? You never said so before.”