He's beautiful, and he's mine.
I reach out tentatively, my fingertips hovering just above his chest. Then I make contact, and the warmth of his skin sends electricity through me.
I slide my fingers slowly across, exploring the hard, defined lines of his muscle, tracing a tattoo, and just enjoying the way his skin feels under my touch.
Adrian doesn't take those dark eyes off me, but he stays perfectly still, letting me take my time.
My hands travel up to his shoulders, then down his arms, feeling the strength there. I trace the line of his collarbone, then move up to his neck, keeping my fingers gentle.
His jaw clenches slightly, but he doesn't move.
I bring my hand up to his face, my thumb brushing across his cheekbone, then down to his mouth. My finger traces the line ofhis lips, and I watch as his eyes darken with barely restrained desire.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says, his voice rough. "If you're okay, I'm okay."
I smile and nod.
I move my hands back down his chest, over his abs, and then lower. My fingers find the waistband of his pants, and I hesitate.
"Leni," he says, his voice strained. "You don't have to?—"
"I want to," I interrupt, my voice cracking slightly. "I need to."
I need to reclaim this. I need to choose this.
My hand slides down his thigh, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric, and then I move back up. I can feel the heat of him through his pants, and when my palm presses against the hard length of him, he exhales sharply.
"Fuck," he breathes.
He helps me push down his pants just enough for me to reach inside and wrap my fingers around him.
His cock is hard and thick in my hand.
I stroke him slowly, watching his face for his reaction.
His eyes are closed, his jaw muscles flexing, his breath coming in bursts. He's holding himself back, I can tell.
I stroke him a little firmer now, and a low groan escapes his throat.
The sound sends heat flooding through me, and for the first time in eighteen months, I feel powerful.
Not powerless or broken.
I continue stroking him, finding a rhythm, and his hand comes down to cover mine.
"Leni, stop," he says, his voice dark.
I freeze, panic rising. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," he says quickly, his eyes opening to meet mine. "God, no. You're perfect. But this isn't about me."
I blink at him, confused.
"I want to please you," he continues, his hand still gently holding mine. "I want to show you what it's like to be worshiped like the queen you are. My queen."
"I don't know if I can..."