Whispers of the Flesh Read Online Free PDF Page B

the finger around inside her to make her exceedingly aware of it. Suspended on the water as she was, it would feel as if her entire body were supported by that one skewering digit.
    “You’ll be filled up and quivering and begging me to finish you,” Elic said. “He won’t be able to take it anymore. He’ll scream as he comes, and you’ll feel every spurt, every throb, but I still won’t let
you
come, not yet.” He ceased his ministrations and grabbed her hips to still her. “Not till you’re wild with lust and ready to explode.”
    “Elic, don’t tease me,” she pleaded, struggling against his grip. “I’m so close.”
    So was he, painfully close. Ten days had passed since his last opportunity to bed a female visitor to the château. The water lapping against his cock made it throb like a sore tooth.
    He was pondering what to do to Lili next—kneel between her legs and fuck her with his tongue?—when a breeze wafted through the bathhouse, carrying with it a medley of scents that made his nostrils flare: musty autumn leaves, ripe juniper berries . . . tobacco with a hint of frankincense . . . Castile soap . . .
    Beckett. He was out there somewhere, and coming closer, because the scent was growing stronger.
    “Elic . . . oh, God,
please
.” Like Elic, Lili was incapable of achieving climax by her own hand. Most incubi and succubi were entirely at the mercy of others to provide the sexual release on which they thrived.
    The Englishman was headed straight for the bathhouse, Elic was sure of it. In half a minute, he would be upon them. He would see them.
    He would see them.
    “Oh, God . . . Elic, don’t leave me this way.”
    “Of course not.” Elic gathered her up and held her close with her back to the arched doorway of the bathhouse, her legs wrapped around his waist. He rocked his hips, sliding his erection against her damp cleft in a sensual rhythm, gritting his teeth against the stimulation. Were Lili a mortal woman, someone he could fuck, he would relish the sensation of being so close to climax, feeling it gathering in his veins, his balls . . . He would ram himself into her and no doubt spend within seconds, given how ready he was. But Lili wasn’t a mortal woman, and no matter how close he got, there would be no relief.
    “Elic, you mustn’t,” she breathed, even as she writhed against him, too lust-drunk to resist. “It will only hurt you.”
    The pain, when he teetered on the edge of an unattainable climax, could be overwhelming; the longer he’d gone without spending, the more excruciating it was. Already his balls felt as if they were on the verge of splitting open; the shaft felt almost scalded.
    Testing the air, Elic guessed that Beckett was close, very close, no more than fifty feet away. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said softly, peering through the doorway to the gravel path that led to the bathhouse.
    “You know I am.” She was breathless now, and moving against him with increasing urgency as she gripped his shoulders.
    There came into view a figure so well lit by the full moon as to cast a sharp black shadow on the path—Beckett, wearing an open frock coat, boots, and a wide-brimmed hat, an unlit lantern in one hand and a walking stick in the other. He slowed his gait, and then stopped, staring into the bathhouse as Elic pretended not to notice him.
    He imagined the scene from the Englishman’s perspective—Elic and the enchanting Lili, making love standing up in the moonlit pool, her moans growing frantic as her pleasure crested. Grimacing at his own, nearly unbearable arousal, he thrust harder, faster.
    “Oh, yes,” she moaned, her entire body undulating in a primal rhythm. “Yes, like that.
Mamitu,
I’m so close. I’m going to come. Oh . . . Oh, God . . .”
    “Say it.”
    “I’m yours,” she cried. “I’m yours. I belong to you.”
    Beckett turned and strode quickly back down the path. Elic smiled to himself.
    Lili, still on the verge of climax, grew still,