The Bed You Make
Chapter 49, concluded
Since the early days of their marriage, long before she had realized or acknowledged her attraction to Stefan Cassadine, Dara found herself just watching him. As he interacted with Nikolas. As he conducted business with other powerful men and women. As he went about his daily life.
When she and Stefan fell into the practice of spending a quiet hour alone each night after dinner, Dara was given a clearer glimpse of her husband's complex nature. At first he was teacher to her student, showing her all the ins and outs of a lifestyle that very few people got to experience: how to decipher the sometimes coded language of those not only rich, but Royal; or how to maneuver the maze that was Cassadine family intrigue.
In time, their nightly ritual became less about learning about the world of the rich and famous and more about learning each other. Dara introduced Stefan to little-known musical artists and obscure genres (like horrorcore rap and rockabilly country) that he might never have encountered on his own. She waxed poetically about the beauty of the legal system and wryly suggested that he might have a bit more faith in its ability to be just. She introduced him to reality television, the urban dictionary, and phrases like the one he had just uttered. 'Have you met me?'
It was not the first time Stefan had employed her own words against her. But how, she marveled, had he managed to make such a simple phrase so playful yet dangerous?
Her brain short-circuited before she could give it any further thought. Stefan's mouth was on her, his lips and tongue doing things to her that made Dara's body arch as though she had just touched a live wire. And each time she did, he repeated his actions, no doubt committing to memory a virtual map of the intimate places on her body that he knew were sure to garner his desired reaction.
At the moment, Stefan had discovered just one such spot. Once, twice, he swept his tongue flat against her clitoris and Dara felt tiny shock waves race through her. Before the sensations could die, Stefan delicately took the tiny bundle of nerve endings between his lips and scraped it with his teeth. It was only the barest of touches, but to Dara's hypersensitive flesh, it was torture. Of the sweetest kind.
With difficulty, she released her grip on the bed sheets and reached down to thread her fingers in Stefan's hair. She tugged none-too-gently in an effort to divert his single-minded attention. Stefan merely tightened his hold on her hips until the tips of his fingers dug into her flesh. When Dara shakily managed to relax her body, Stefan renewed his tactile assault.
If she had to give a name to what he was doing, Dara could think of only one word. Feasting. It was a skill, Stefan once informed her during one of their nightly sessions, at which he was ‘quite proficient'.
Silly of her to think that his claim only applied to food.
