Court of Flowers (Sutherland Book 1)

XXVI | Belles Wheels

Sasha was roused from her sleep when she felt something moist and ticklish on her foot. Wriggling her toes, she buried her face deeper into the pillow, inhaling the familiar scent.

The tickling on her foot resumed and Sasha bent her leg with equal moan and growl.

The arm around her waist tightened, pulling her back against his length. She felt his warm breath flow through her hair and shoulder, tickling her skin.

As she began to fall back into sleep, a heavy weight bounded on her hip. She blindly found Seven, patted his head until he calmed down and settled behind her, resting his chin on her hip while nestled somewhere between two pairs of legs tangled underneath the covers.

Seven whimpered and Sasha reached out to shush him again.

West's arms pulled her closer, his lips pressing on her shoulder blades. Sasha smiled against the pillow, transferring her hand to his cheek and resting there as sleep began to settle in once more.

Warm hand cupped her breasts. She squirmed in half-protest and pleasure. "Will no one allow me to sleep for an extra hour?" she groggily complained.

She felt his smile against her neck.

His hand traced her waist and her hip, circling around to the inside of her thigh. Requiring not much effort from him, Sasha allowed him to lift her leg as he eased to claim her, awakening her senses.

She could feel her cheek turn crimson as a stream of heat ran through her veins, igniting her sleepy limbs.

His lovemaking was slow, so different from last night when he took her to the villa and claimed her against the door of his bedchamber, impatiently insatiable. She never complained for she welcomed it, reveled at it.

The Sasha from the Court of Libraries may have never imagined that she would ever find pleasure in an activity where slight pain was involved—a tease of a bite, a little bit of roughness. Sasha the Librarian would have fainted in fear that she was going insane, that her mind was consumed by the devil.

The Sasha from the Court of Flowers could now say that lovemaking was not a sin at all. It was not obscene or filthy, rather it could be so gentle as this one and unrefined and raw as last night and still be magical. It was anything two consenting lovers wanted it to be. If it was the work of the devil, then Sasha's soul would already be burning in hell for making love with West Blackwood was deliriously and sinfully glorious.

Their once quiet and sleepy breathing was turning into quick, shallow pants as their body moved in a dance under the covers. Sasha arched her back, reaching for his hips as he quickened his pace. Seven bounded on top of them and they both gently pushed the dog away, directing him to the foot of the bed to patiently wait.

Sasha muffled her screams in the pillow, her other hand clutching hard at the bedcovers beneath it.

When it was finally over and they lay panting, slick and sated, Seven returned to lick on Sasha's face. West blocked the dog's face with his palm and pushed Sasha on her back so he could hang his head over her and kiss her lips. "It's morning," he greeted, biting her lip.

Sasha kissed him soundlessly and stretched. His eyes traveled to her exposed breast, kissed it, and lazily dropping beside her. He rolled to his side, kissing her shoulder. Sasha bent her head planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. "You should wash your face."

He laughed and left the bed, shamelessly naked. He pulled her out with a tug and playfully took her to the washstand where they gargled and drank water, the task taking too long as their hands tried to distract each other. Once, Sasha sputtered water on the floor when his arm suddenly caught her from behind and lifted her away from the washbasin so he could resume to washing his face.