59. Reznyk
Chapter 59
Reznyk
COMING HOME
I t’s not sweet, the kiss I give Kira across the table. It’s not hesitant, or innocent, or gentle.
No, it’s hungry. I press into her like I’ve been starving, like I’ve been waiting for her for my entire life. Like she needs to break my curse with her lips.
And then, suddenly, it’s not enough. I pull away. Our eyes lock, and then Kira is pushing back from the table without speaking, staring at me with fire in her eyes. I grab her shoulders as she comes to her feet, pull her to me, and devour that sweet mouth.
The bed is too far away. I shove her into the wall, some part of me wincing at my urgency, my own frantic, pulsing need, but the rest of me is drowning without her, dying to get her out of her clothes. She moans into my mouth, and suddenly I’m back in the Golden Peaks, under the moonlight on that massive bed, and my gods, I should have fucked her then. I should have fucked her hard, over and over.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for that mistake.
Kira’s hips tilt up to meet mine. Her leg wraps around my waist, and her hand tugs at the waistband of my pants. She’s panting against my lips, gasping and moaning, and how did I ever think I could survive without her? How did I ever think I could stop loving her?
“Gods,” I gasp. “Gods, Kira?—”
She wins the battle against my belt. I pull one hand out of the tangled mess of her hair and help her shove my pants down over my hips, and I remember how she looked standing in front of the door, one hand on the handle, my heart shattering as she pushed open the door and snow curled over the lintel.
I shove her pants down to her ankles, and my hand dives between her legs. She’s gasping, her hips rising and falling against the wall, her head thrown back and her hair a wild, messy wreath against the wall. I press my lips against her neck, kissing and biting, as my fingers sink inside of her, and the heat of her sex coats my hand.
“Fuck,” she mumbles. “Fuck, please?—”
I curl my fingers. Her breath cuts off as she moans something that’s not even close to words. Still, I understand. I understand her just fine. I pull back, trailing my wet fingers across the soft skin of her inner thigh.
She whimpers. I bring my hand to my lips, licking the taste of her from my fingers. Her eyes are wide, her pupils huge in the dim light of the fire, and the room is hot, and my gods, nothing has ever been so beautiful. My cock aches; I feel the heat of her even through my clothes.
Soldier coming home. That’s what the women in the Blackwater brothel called this position, some part of me remembers. I never understood. Wouldn’t a soldier returning from some foreign war take his time, reacquaint himself with his wife, spread roses over the sheets and make slow love all night long?
No. Fuck that. I press my hips between her legs. Her ankle digs into my waist; her hands form fists around the back of my shirt. Her breath is hot against my lips. The head of my cock throbs against the wet heat of her sex as I stare into her wide, wild eyes.
“You’re the only one,” I gasp, although my breath is as ragged as steam hissing from a teakettle, “who knows what—what this means to me.”
“I know,” she whispers.
And she waits for me.
I drive into her as slowly as I can, pleasure climbing my spine as I enter her, one hand around her waist, the other braced against the wall, our bodies joining as our lips meet, drowning in each other.
Coming home.
The frantic hunger that reared as soon as our lips touched comes back with a vengeance, and I pull my hips back and sink into her again, harder and faster. She rises to meet me, gasping, crying. I drop my hand between our bodies, finding the hard, hot nub at the crest of her sex, driving into her with everything I have.
She knows. She knows. She knows. Everything I am, everything I have to offer, everything this act means to me. She takes me in, all of me.
Kira’s leg tightens around my waist, and she cries out something that might be my name or might be some frantic, forgotten prayer. I close my eyes and thrust blindly into her, losing everything, giving it all to her. Her body tightens around me, pulling me forward, and when I finally spill my seed, I make a sound that’s ripped out of somewhere deep, somewhere hidden. Somewhere just for her.
The room spins around us. I drop my head to Kira’s shoulder and breathe her in, the salt and sweat of her body, the thick, rich scent of her sex. When I bring my lips to trace the curve of her neck, my cock trembles back to life inside the warmth of her body. Coming home.
Kira laughs, low and soft. I blink open my eyes, but the room still swims with golden sparks, the afterglow of my last orgasm.
Or. No?—
“Shit,” I whisper.
I stagger back, our bodies coming apart with a noise that sounds almost like a kiss. Magic swirls in the room around us, golden stars dancing against the wall and shining in the darkened windows.
“So that does happen every time,” Kira says, with a grin.
The sparks are already starting to fade, the magic returning to purr contentedly beneath my skin. Kira’s cheeks are flushed, her shirt is a wrinkled mess around her shoulders, and she’s smiling at me like I’m the answer to something important.
“Does it?” I say. “I don’t know.”
I reach forward and pull her into my arms. She giggles as I claim her mouth for another deep, bruising kiss, a kiss that makes my cock stiffen once again. I wrap my arms around her waist, spin her across the room, and then collapse onto the bed, dragging her with me. At some point we’re going to have to get rid of that shirt she’s wearing. But not yet.
“Let’s find out,” I whisper as I pull her lips back to mine.