10. Kira
Chapter 10
Kira
THAT’S CHEATING
H e’s a liar, sure, but he’s a gorgeous liar, and this has been a very long and painful trip. Spending multiple nights on the ground listening to wolves debating whether they want to kill you before they eat you is not exactly a vacation.
And it’s not like things were easy before this trip either. Gods above, I was so happy when the Towers came for me. I could have kissed their feet, those two white-clad Exemplars who told me I came from magical lineage and it was just a matter of time before my hereditary potential revealed itself.
That was three years ago. Since then, I’ve done nothing but sneak around in the darkness and learn to fight, badly. There has to be something about my family in the Archives, but after all my nights paging through nearly illegible sheets of parchment by candlelight I’m no closer to discovering who they were than I was when I was scrubbing outhouses in the orphanage. And no closer to discovering that magical potential I’m supposed to have. Sometimes, when I cross the main courtyard in the Towers, I feel like I’m walking around with an axe over my head, just waiting for it to fall.
So, yeah. If there’s a chance to have some fun with this guy, I’ll take it. His claim that he’s only had one lover is idiotic, but do I care? No.
Well, not that much, at least.
I lean forward as he pulls back and push our mouths together once more. He freezes, then opens for me, his lips parting, his tongue sliding over mine. He tastes like wine, good wine, and gods, he knows how to move his tongue. I slide toward him on the bed, then run my hand up his arm.
He groans into my mouth when I sink my hand into his hair, and there goes any last remnants of restraint I might have had. He meets my kiss, our lips pressing and searching, his hand tracing a path up the bare skin of my arm. The space between my legs is already slick and aching.
I break away, panting. His dark eyes gleam in the misty half-light filtering through the window. I know what he’s going to say, and I wish I didn’t. That stupid line about only having one past lover is a setup, I’d bet my life on it. He’s about to ask if I’d like to be number two. Gods, I hate that I’m about to fall for something so damn stupid.
“It’s my turn,” he says.
His voice is deeper and thicker, almost a growl. For a moment, I’m so focused on the hungry gleam in his eyes that I can’t remember what in the nine hells he’s talking about.
Oh. Right. Questions. I try to breathe, then nod.
“Of course,” I say. “Go ahead.”
He gives me that strange half smile, the one that feels almost predatory. I brace myself for the stupid line I know is coming. Would I like to be number two?
Fuck, that’s stupid. And fuck yes.
“Where are you from?” he asks.
I blink. That’s so far from what I expected to hear that, for a moment, I’m not sure how to respond.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I stammer.
He leans in. I expect another bruising kiss, the kind I feel in every part of my body, but instead his lips close on my neck. I shiver as my skin pulls taut. His tongue flicks across my neck, and his breath whispers past my ear.
“Answering a question with a question,” he purrs. “I’ve been informed that’s cheating.”
I shift on the bed, trying to relieve the throbbing pressure between my legs without pulling away from his lips.
“S-Silver City,” I hiss as my pulse thunders in my skull.
His teeth close around my earlobe. Holy hells, I haven’t felt this wound up in ages. I’m about to explode; there is no way a man with only one previous lover would be so good with his mouth. I close my eyes, swallow, and try not to lose it as his tongue flicks against my skin.
“You?” I ask, in a strangled sort of voice. “Where are you from?”
His hand traces a path down my arm and dances across the bare skin of my thigh, teasingly close to the aching heat in my core.
“Blackwater,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck, his fingers slowly edging up the inside of my thigh.
The sound that comes out of my mouth is more of a whimper than an actual word. I take a breath and try again.
“I— I’ve never heard of Blackwater,” I say, trying to pretend we’re still having a conversation and his fingers aren’t dancing along the hem of my shorts while his lips trace a path down my neck.
“Of course you haven’t,” he replies, with a growl that echoes between my legs. “You’re from Silver City. As far as you’re concerned, the world ends at the far bank of the Ever-Reaching River.”
I groan in response and then, to keep from grabbing his hand myself and pressing it against the pulsing, aching heat between my legs, I sink my fingers into his hair and drag him down with me, until I’m flat on my back on the mattress, my nipples hard as stones against my shirt, his lips and tongue driving into me.
He breaks our kiss, and I stare up at him, the contours of his mouth outlined by what little light remains in the storm-darkened night sky. His hair falls over his shoulders, and his eyes gleam in the darkness. Some part of me remembers wolves?—
And then his hand is back on my thigh, sliding up the inside of my shorts, and I can’t stop the whimpering moan that slips from my lips. His finger parts the wet folds, sliding inside of me, hesitating just before the bright shining ember of pleasure at the crest of my sex.
“Why are you here, Kira from Silver City?” he rasps. “What are you hunting?”
He touches it, and pleasure burns through me, bright and hot as flame licking dried kindling. I cry out; his hand pulls back, leaving me panting.
“Gods,” I stammer. “Just take off your damn pants and fuck me!”
He grins at me in what’s left of the light. His finger slides back, tracing a path up and down the slick folds of my sex, lingering just before the hot bud at the top.
“Are you going to answer the question?” he asks.
Damn him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, but why does he care? He’s taking the whole Questions thing way too far. I gasp, a short, sharp inhale, as I try to think of something witty. His finger drifts across the top of my sex, sending another tremor of pleasure through my entire body.
“Oh, fuck,” I moan. “That’s not fair.”
He makes a satisfied purring sound. “You want me to stop?” he says, brushing that finger across the spot that makes my body pull tighter than a bowstring.
“No!” I gasp. “Gods, no!”
“Then answer the question.”
I pant, trembling, entirely pinned by this man’s long, talented fingers.
Well, fuck it. It’s not like he’ll believe a word I have to say.
“We’re hunting a man,” I say, in a voice that sounds like I’ve run all the way here from Silver City.
“Oh, interesting,” he replies.
His finger settles on the top of my sex. Pleasure sears through me like lightning ripping the summer sky apart. He bends over me, his hard chest dragging across my breasts.
“What will you do when you find him?” he whispers.
I cry out as his teeth close around my neck, pain mingling with intense pleasure, and my gods, I’m close. I’m going to explode like a firecracker. My hips rock against his hand, driving into him. The length of his cock presses against my thigh through his pants, and his breath comes hot and fast against my neck.
His hand stops. He pulls away, panting. I make a sound like I’ve just been ripped from something beautiful.
“Well?” he asks, letting his beautiful fingers slip down the wet, aching split of my sex. “Are you going to kill this man?”
It takes me a moment to even remember how to form words. “He— He stole something,” I stammer. “We’re getting it back.”
“Ah,” he replies.
He leans into me again, but this time I’m ready for him. His fingers dance over my clit, pleasure burns through me, but I bring my hand to his waist and shove it down the front of his pants.
He gasps when my fingers brush the head of his cock, and his fingers freeze between my legs. I rub my thumb across the tip of his cock; he shivers. When I draw my fingers down the length of his hot shaft, he makes a moaning sound that feels like it was torn from the very bottom of his soul.
His cock pulses in my hand, and his body curls over mine. His head presses into my shoulder. He gasps like he’s forgotten how to speak. When I close my fingers around his shaft, his entire body tightens.
“I have questions too,” I whisper into his neck.
He groans. Gods, he’s close; I had no idea. I turn toward him, kissing his neck, tasting sweat and lingering rainwater as his pulse beats against my lips. I run my hand up and down his shaft until his hips rise and fall against mine, and his gasping moans thread together, becoming desperate, incoherent panting.
“Where the fuck is Blackwater?” I say, as I nip the edge of his earlobe.
I almost stop touching him, but gods, I’m a liar. I don’t give a fuck where Blackwater is. I just want to make this gorgeous man come undone before me.
“It— It—” he pants.
I press my lips into his neck, biting and licking as I thrust against his hips with my fist, fucking him hard with my hand, until his entire body moves with mine and he’s gasping against my neck, completely under my thrall, all his questions forgotten.
“Ah, fuck!” he cries. “Fuck!”
His breath hitches, his cock thickens, and I pull back to watch his face as he falls apart in my hand.
His body rolls like a wave, he makes a stuttering sound that’s almost speech, and heat spills across my fingers as his cock pulses again and again against my palm. When it finally stops, his head sinks to my shoulder. He trembles against me, panting like he just fought something, and my hand is covered with the heat of his seed.
Well, damn. There goes the evening. I pull my hand out of his pants and wipe it on the sheets.
I’m sure he’ll kiss me on the forehead and leave, just like every other man I’ve ever tumbled with. Once the cock is satisfied, the night is over. I want to smack myself for getting carried away. Instead, I scoot out from under him and prop myself up on my elbow as he gasps like he’s drowning beside me.
“Sorry about your pants,” I say.
It’s almost too dark in the room now for me to see his expression. He sighs, and the mattress shifts as he moves.
“They’re not even my pants,” he replies.
Gods help me, I laugh. It’s not fair that he’s gorgeous and funny. At least he’s a godsdamned liar to balance it out, because there’s no way in the nine hells a man with so little experience would be that good with his hands.
“Here,” he says. “I’ll show you where Blackwater is.”
Great. A geography lesson. I try to swallow the simmering coals of my arousal as the mattress shifts once again.
And then he’s next to me. His finger traces a path along my collarbone, sending shivers across my skin and another deep, aching throb through my sex.
“Let’s say this is Cassonia,” he murmurs.
I hum in agreement. I don’t want to admit that I probably couldn’t find Cassonia on a map, and honestly, I couldn’t care less where Blackwater is. But I’m not going to say anything that might stop those lips from touching my skin.
His hand slides under my shirt, tugging the fabric up as his long fingers trace a path between my breasts. His hand shifts, and his fingers run across the hard nub of my nipple.
“Then these,” he whispers against my neck, “must be the Iron Mountains.”
This time, my murmur of agreement sounds more like a moan. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, like a swallowed laugh, and then he pulls my shirt up to my neck and drops his mouth to kiss the tight bud of my nipple.
“Oh, gods,” I moan as I grab the blanket in my fists and hold on.
His tongue flicks across my nipple, dancing and teasing. When he pulls back, the loose fabric of his shirt drags across my bare stomach. It’s too dark to see his expression, but his voice sounds like he’s smiling.
“So this,” he says, “must be the Ever-Reaching River.”
His shirt covers my stomach as he bends between my breasts, kissing a path down my chest. My hips twist against the mattress, meeting the hard wall of his chest. His breath is hot on my skin; I’m panting and aching when he runs his hands down my waist.
“And here’s the great Silver City,” he says, running a finger across my navel.
“Oh?” I gasp. Gods, I want to beg, but I think that’s just going to make it worse.
“Mmmm,” he purrs against my skin.
His lips trace a path down the curve of my trembling stomach.
“This is Deep’s Crossing,” he says, after kissing my skin.
He moves to the side, dragging his lips across the crest of my hip.
“The Port of Good Fortune,” he whispers.
I’m burning. I’m dying. I know exactly what those fingers can do, and if he doesn’t touch me soon, I’m going to go up in flames.
“Blackwater,” he whispers, sending sparks across the inside of my thigh and a burst of heat between my legs, “is a little south of the Port. And a little east.”
He kisses a path across one of my thighs as his hand drags up the inside of the other. I feel the bite of his teeth hidden behind those velvet lips, and I’d be crying for more if I could even remember how to form words.
Then his fingers slide inside me. My hips buck against the bed as I make the kind of noise that would make a stone god blush.
“There we are,” he says, from the darkness. “Blackwater.”
His mouth joins his hand, teeth and tongue against the nub at the head of my sex while his fingers thrust deep inside of me, and I surrender to my fate. My hips beat against his mouth, driving into his tongue, and he meets me stroke for stroke.
There’s nothing calm or gentle about the way he devours me. No, we’re beyond the teasing now, beyond the playing. This is hard and harsh and fast, pleasure burning through my body like waves in a storm, drowning me, destroying me. I wrap my legs around his shoulders and hang on as he drives me toward that cliff, that sweet oblivion. And when I start to crest, he goes even harder, until I swear I see feast day fireworks streaking across the ceiling of this dark little room.
I fall back against the mattress, gasping for air as my soul leaves my body and hovers against the ceiling for a few heartbeats. He kisses the inside of my thigh, then lies down next to me.
“Holy hells,” I pant, when I finally remember how to use my lips to form words.
He makes that sound again, the soft, half-swallowed laugh.
“Does that answer your question?” he says.
I don’t even remember the question, but I make a little purring sound of agreement anyway. After what he just did with his mouth and fingers, I’d agree to damn near anything. His arm settles across my stomach and his body curls against mine. It feels good, the warmth of his skin on mine.
“Damn,” I whisper into the darkness. “It’s nice to be number two.”
“Hmmm?”
“You know, since you’ve only had one lover before,” I say, running my fingers along his arm.
I’m teasing him and I know it, but come on. It’s such a stupid lie.
“Oh,” he replies, in the voice that sounds like he’s smiling. “Well, that depends on how you define lover.”
“Right,” I snort. “Gods, you didn’t tell me you’re a magistrate.”
He laughs, sharp and loud. I get the feeling the laugh startled him.
“Magistrate?” he says. “Why in the hells would you think that?”
“What, you’re telling me you’re not?” I reply, with a grin. “After using technical legal definitions of sex and lovers as pillow talk?”
He laughs again. This time it sounds more relaxed.
“I assure you, I’m not a magistrate.”
“That sounds exactly like something a magistrate would say,” I mumble as I close my eyes and roll over.
“Hmmm,” he replies. “And how would you know what a magistrate sounds like in bed?”
“Shut up,” I reply.
His soft laugh brushes the back of my neck, and I sigh. As his arm settles around my waist, I let myself fall into sleep thinking about how damned good it feels to share a bed with someone.