Chapter 8
#421
Wryn,
Look, I like to consider myself a patient woman. A kind one. Understanding, even.
But as the sun is setting and I have yet to receive any kind of gift, I’m beginning to think perhaps I’m not so patient after all.
I expect begging. Lots of begging. And chocolate, flowers, perhaps a new apron, or actually, now that I think about it, I would like another sketch—of you this time. Maybe even us. Perhaps of the orchard.
All of them. I want all your sketches, the entire sketch book, wrapped with a nice bow.
Oh, are you confused? It’s my birthday, you asshole, and it seems you’ve forgotten. The physical distance between us doesn’t count as an excuse either, because you’re my closest friend, remember?
I suppose I could forgive you… Only because I’m in such high spirits. Alivia and I somehow managed to find the perfect gown for tonight’s festivities, and to be truthful, it’s a damned shame you’ll miss it. Better yet, best you did. I believe you’d find yourself standing in a puddle of your own drool.
Well, I’m off to drink and dance the night away.
I hope you sulk in the orchard, thinking of all the ways you’ll make it up to me.
See you in 6 months,
The Birthday Girl
PS. I miss you, Wryn.
“Oh. My. Goddess.” My mouth fell open at the overwhelming number of people in the ballroom, all dressed in their best attire. Every person sparkled or glowed, their metallic masks catching the candlelight with every swirl on the dance floor.
From the balcony, the long gowns created a dark sea of swaying gossamer and silk against the black and white tiled flooring, the room dimly lit by the sconces and chandeliers. Between the masks and heavy shadows, everyone became anonymous, which seemed to cut any hesitation. People danced and chattered, laughed and drank—and the night had only just begun.
The musicians were stationed in one corner, lifted atop a small stage, while the opposite wall was lined with every sweet treat imaginable, including some kind of… My eyes widened incredulously. “Is that a fountain of mead?”
“Caramel mead.” Alivia nodded to my right, her elbows leaning on the rail.
“We outdid ourselves, I must admit,” Emma said to my left.
“I’d say so,” I chuckled.
“All right, well, I have a full dance card and no drink.” Alivia pushed herself off the rail and wiggled her eyebrows at us. “I think I need a whiskey…and maybe a mug of mead afterward. Anyone want to join me?”
“I think I shall find your father,” Emma said. She wrapped her arms around me, kissing my cheek before whispering, “Happy twenty-fourth birthday, El.”
“Thank you. For everything.” I squeezed her shoulders, and she laughed and kissed my cheek one more time before releasing me.
“You two have fun, but not too much fun.” With that, she winked and disappeared down the staircase.
Alivia stuck an elbow out to me, and I wound my gloved hand through it, my black silk sliding smoothly against her pink. We strolled down the empty hallway, our heels clicking on the stone, somehow louder than the party goers below.
“So, your dance card is full, hmm?” I asked while watching a particularly blissful couple sway in a small circle. They weren’t particularly skilled at dancing, but they held each other in such a way, with their chests pressed together and eyes locked, that they might as well have been the only people in the room, in the world.
“Yes, per usual,” she groaned. “What a ridiculous custom. To deny someone is rude, but why? Why would that be rude? I think it’s rude to be forced to dance with someone who steps on my toes or smells like week-old liquor. My first one…” She lifted her wrist, squinting at the name etched on the small card. A new song started, one with a recognizable tune and coordinated steps. The sea of people parted into the dance’s pattern. “Is now. Oh, lovely.”
She lifted her skirt and quickly strode to the staircase, waving to the solitary man waiting for her at its base with a patient smile. As she slid her arm through his, she peeked over her shoulder at me and flashed a quick smile before she, too, disappeared into the crowd, her expert movements blending into those around her.
“Well, I certainly need a drink,” I whispered under my breath as I took the rail and descended slowly.
My own dance card was sparse. While this was for my birthday, most didn’t know that. This, to the outsiders, was just another royal ball at the castle—not that I minded. I was happy to attend without the expectations or pretenses. Alivia’s card was full for a reason; she was the princess.
She was expected to dance and smile, to speak flowery, intelligent words, and appease her guests, while I got to flutter around, drink, dance with whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and simply enjoy—the best birthday gift I could have ever received.
A smile pulled at my lips as I took the final step onto the ground floor and looked around, taking in the multitude of elated faces, the sound of laughter bubbling over the lively music. From down here, the flickering light overhead cast exciting shadows over already hidden faces.
I weaved through the crowd toward the drink table, but as I neared it, Godrick stepped in my path with two small glasses in hand and a ridiculous grin. He handed me one without a word.
“To the birthday girl,” he whispered and winked. Clinking his glass against mine, he nodded in encouragement, and we downed them together. The brown liquid scorched my throat, and I erupted in a coughing fit, shoving the glass back at him.
“What in the—” I managed, patting my chest, as if that would do anything.
“Fae rum,” he whispered, stacking the glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket. “I save this for special occasions, and my baby girl is turning twenty-four. Sounded like the perfect time to break it out.”
My gaze softened, and I cracked a smile back at him. “Thank you, Father.”
He grinned so hard, his eyes crinkled around the edges. He’d always loved when I called him Father, but I didn’t do it often, although I didn’t know why. Godrick was my father in every way that mattered.
“You have fun tonight, all right?” he said. “We love you, El.”
“I love you too,” I replied, feeling the warmth of the rum settle in my gut. “So much.”
His gaze locked on someone behind me then, and without looking away, he said, “Like a moth to a flame, I must go. She’s waiting and way too damned beautiful to wait even a second longer.”
He patted my shoulder as he strode past me, and I turned, my gaze following him. He stopped in front of Mother and bowed at the waist ceremoniously, extending a hand up to her. She smirked before dipping into a faint curtsy and sliding her hand into his. He slipped it into the crook of his elbow and led her to the dance floor with a proud, love-struck gleam in his eyes.
A group of people walked between us, blocking my view of my parents, and the sweet scent of caramel mead drifted from them.
“Okay, drink,” I whispered and spun on my heel toward the table.
A server held a glass under the pouring spout, filling it to the brim. I took it gratefully and downed a large gulp as I turned, but when I did, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
I lowered the glass to glance around the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone seemed as merry as they were moments ago.
My skin crawled, though, a heated flush rising in my cheeks. My gaze shifted slowly over the crowd, searching for…something. The dance was at its peak, women spinning under the men’s hands, the music moving faster and faster.
My heart raced to match its pace.
A loud crack of lightning vibrated my bones, the brilliant light behind me casting my shadow before me. My head whipped around to the window, and for the briefest second, I saw a man standing in the lightning as it struck the ground. My breath caught, the glass slipping from my hand, and as it hit the floor, shattering in every direction, the lightning disappeared, as did the silhouette.
No one else seemed to care or notice anything other than the broken glass. A maid swept around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. I couldn’t even bring myself to look away from the window, suddenly questioning my eyesight and sanity.
Shouting at the entrance caught my attention, though, and I swiveled to see another large group of guests entering. Glancing back to the window, I waited for movement, for lightning, for anything, but there was nothing—nothing but raindrops as they slowly started to pelt the glass and roll down the panes.
I released a shaky breath, and the doors opened again, another wave of people entering, laughing as they shook out wet hair.
Of course there were people outside. They were still arriving.
Does this mean I need more or less alcohol?
Placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder as she swept the last bit of broken glass into a pile, I knelt and held the dustpan. “I’m so sorry. Here. Allow me.”
She shook her head, smiling softly. “No, Elora, allow me. This is your night.” She turned and grabbed another glass from the table. Offering it to me, she shooed me away with her free hand. “Take this and go. Leave this to me.”
I took it and rose to my feet, my brows furrowed. “Are you?—”
“Go,” she ordered.
“Thank you,” I whispered and took a few hesitant steps away, peeking back over my shoulder. She lifted her brows and shooed me again, with both hands this time, so I inhaled slowly and faced the rest of the party, carrying on like nothing had happened at all.
I strolled to a nearby bench, recently vacated, and took the seat before anyone else could, along with a long sip from my glass, my gaze roaming over the crowd again. How fascinating people could be when they thought no one was looking.
Truly, people-watching could be a hobby in and of itself.I chuckled at the thought and took another sip, savoring the sweet taste as my eyes bounced from one oblivious face to the next.
That was, until I found a pair of smoldering silver eyes staring back at me.
My heart bottomed out. I sat straighter, slowly placing the glass on the side table, my throat burning with the threat of tears, worse than any rum.
Standing in the corner, reclined against the wall, was a tall man with a handsome face hidden beneath a black mask and a bouquet of apple blossoms. His grin widened as he lifted the flowers to me in a toast and mouthed, “Happy birthday, sun ray.”
“Wryn.” The second his name left my lips, I shot to my feet and wove through the crowd. My steps slowed as I neared him, my eyes trailing over his form from head to toe. “How— What?—”
He cocked a brow, clearly amused at my sudden inability to string words together, but said nothing as he handed me a folded piece of parchment.
#422
You didn’t think I’d miss your birthday, did you? Do you truly think so lowly of me?
I swatted his shoulder before squeezing it, merely to further prove he wasn’t an illusion or hallucination. “I sent that letter a few hours ago, you lunatic. How are you even here?”
He chuckled and grabbed my wrist to pull me into him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I sank into him and wound my arms around his waist in return, breathing in his scent—warm and masculine, reminiscent of sea storms.
“Surprisingly, I wasn’t far. When you told me, I just…changed plans.” He shrugged, as if that was a casual thing to do. “What kind of friend would I be if I missed your damned birthday?”
I pulled back, shaking my head, but stopped short when I noticed his ears. I reached up and grabbed his hair to pull his head down, turning it to the side to get a better look. His loud laugh encircled me like a breath of fresh air. “Your ears!” I whispered harshly. “What happened to your ears? They’re…” I turned his head toward me, my eyes as wide as saucers. “Rounded.”
“Elora.” His face was flat, but an amused spark lit behind his eyes. “I couldn’t very well come to Auryna and crash their precious masquerade ball with pointed ears, now could I?”
I rolled my eyes. “How are they round?”
“It’s called a glamour. Anyone in the realm can do it, I suppose, with the right spell.”
“Like how we send letters through the fire?” I asked. He’d taught me how to do that years ago when we first started writing, but I hadn’t realized more was possible.
He grinned, tapping the knuckle of his pointer finger on my chin. “Smart girl. Yes, exactly like that. Now, are you going to hold my hair all night? Because if so, I do believe people are going to whisper.”
I jerked my hand back, having forgotten I was holding him in the first place, and winced at the state of his wavy, brown hair: already damp from the rain and now disheveled. I reached up to smooth the mess before taking a step back and clasping my hands behind my back. “Sorry.”
His gaze dropped to my cleavage for the briefest of moments, and a wave of satisfaction washed over me. Spurred on by that simple glance, I took a step forward and closed the distance again. My chest nearly touched his, but he didn’t dare move. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing as I craned my neck to look up at him through my lashes.
“Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?” I whispered.
His eyes flashed, and an erratic thump in my heart nearly made me jump back.
“I could be persuaded,” he whispered back, his voice huskier than it was moments ago. He stepped forward this time, only an inch, but it was enough for his chest to brush mine.
I nearly gasped at the contact, but it was when he slid an arm around my waist and grasped my folded hands in one of his, arching my back and holding me against him, that my lips parted. He didn’t miss the movement—he never did. His smoldering gaze fell to my mouth before lifting back to my eyes.
Even through the silk gloves, the heat of his touch spread over my skin and settled in my cheeks…among other places. “And how might I do that?”
He didn’t immediately respond. Instead, his mouth curved into a smirk as he studied every visible inch of my face, half hidden behind my black mask. He started at my neck, and I could nearly feel his gaze travel up the column of my throat, an intangible caress. My breath hitched as he found my lips, painted dark, ruby red, then the slope of my nose, following it to my eyes, lined with black above my darkened lashes, and finally, my hair, freshly curled and coated in gold shimmer.
It felt as though I was being studied by not simply a man, but an artist viewing the finest piece of artwork, truly looking and admiring every detail.
He leaned down, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his breath along my skin. “You can beg for forgiveness later.”
With that, he pulled back, body and hands leaving me at once, and I just stood there, stunned, my arms falling to my sides like a fool.
Blinking rapidly, I unintentionally asked aloud, “Beg?”
He ignored the question and grabbed my wrist, tilting it to read my dance card. He clicked his tongue. “Remind me to thank my lucky stars later.”
Before I had the chance to ask what he meant, he grabbed a pencil from a nearby table and proceeded to write his name in every single blank space on the card, claiming all my dances for the night—all but one. Evander had already asked me to join him, but I found myself deeply regretting granting him that.
“I don’t know Evander, but I don’t like him,” Wryn said matter-of-factly, replacing the pencil on the table. My mouth fell open, a shocked laugh escaping me, but he merely took my hand, looped it in the crook of his elbow, and led me onto the dance floor. “It just doesn’t seem fair he should get to take even one dance from me when he gets to see you daily.”
I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not a competition.”
“Isn’t it?”
Evander seemed like a decent enough man. He was respectful when he approached for her next dance, dipping into a dramatic bow with a shit-eating grin.
Watching them dance was nearly unbearable, though, and not because of the rotten feeling clawing at my chest. No, it was because they were ferociously mismatched. While he clearly enjoyed his time with her, he moved like a fish out of water, while she could have been a child of the sea. Her steps were but waves on the shore, graceful and purposeful—destined, fated.
Taking a long drag from my whiskey, I swallowed with a wince. Everything about it was inferior to Fae whiskey: taste, quality, intensity. It didn’t dull my senses in the way I hoped, and thus, pulling my gaze from Elora was impossible. That damned dress…
Goddess, I was hopeless, at her complete mercy.
She didn’t know I was coming tonight, and yet, it felt like she wore the gown just for me. Against the blackest of silks were gold constellations, thicker at the bottom and trailing up around her waist where they dispersed into sporadic stars.
Damn it all. She is the clear sky, the antithesis of me.
I needed to stop comparing the two, however. It almost felt like an insult as she was infinitely more beautiful.
My eyes widened slightly, and I swallowed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp.
As Evander spun her from my sight for a fraction of a second, I jerked my eyes away before I could get ensnared in her again, making a beeline for the bar. The server handed me another whiskey, and I downed it too. If my normal whiskey burned its way down, this was merely a tickle. It wasn’t enough, not when she was right there.
She—we were becoming too much. Six months between visits wasn’t long enough to keep her at arm’s length. I needed hundreds of miles and at least a dozen months it seemed, but even then, it was difficult.
She was a friend, a companion to keep the loneliness at bay, albeit a companion who knew me better than anyone else in existence. There were only three things, three significant yet simultaneously irrelevant things, I would never indulge: my name, our mate bond, and these damned feelings.
As the song came to an end, I avoided her general direction, so as to not be bewitched by her again. One look, one gaze from across a ballroom would anchor my feet here. Better yet, it would have propelled them forward to her. I would stay and dance, allowing whatever this was to amplify.
My heart raced, pressure building like a swelling storm in my rib cage. There was no doubt a storm growing outside to match.
She should be just a friend.
She should be, but she wasn’t, was she?
Friends didn’t lust after each other. They certainly didn’t dream of depraved nights, or imagine the feel of the other’s mouth, or long for a taste.
They didn’t feel this type of warmth at their smile, and they sure as hell didn’t feel this type of fear at the idea of them.
Fuck.
When the server reached across the table to hand another guest a small glass filled with clear liquid, I snatched it, much to their dismay. An angry huff sounded beside me, and I muttered, “Sorry,” before swallowing it with diminishing hope that it would do anything.
Fuck.
Lightning cracked outside, and there was a collective gasp among the guests standing near the windows. Rain pelted the glass as another wave of lightning bounced across the clouds.
I didn’t care enough to dispel it. Rain was rain, regardless of who created it.
Before I realized what I was doing, I weaved through the crowd, but not toward Elora. No, I headed for the door. Despite the guilt, the regret, the growing urge to turn around and find her, I moved faster, and people stepped out of my path before I pushed through them.
“Wryn,” Elora shouted, her voice laced with easy laughter, and I clenched my jaw. I could nearly hear her smile. I made it three more steps, within mere feet of the exit, when a small, gloved hand grabbed my forearm. My feet froze, my chest rising and falling quickly.
“Hey.” She tugged my arm.
I turned begrudgingly, my mouth still pressed into a tight line, but I didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, I looked past her, at her birthday ball, filled to the brim with people as happy as she was. She deserved that, not the fear and reservation I offered.
Her fingers wrapped around my jaw, her sweet scent filling my senses as she pulled my face down. I resisted looking upon her face, I really did, but the second my eyes grazed over her shimmering hair and down to her eyes, those Goddess-forsaken eyes, I was lost. And those lips. Damn it all, those lips, full and red and tilted up in an intoxicating smirk.
Who needs liquor when I can stare at her? My own drug, specially curated for my damned soul.
Her fingers gripped my chin as she pulled me an inch closer, her eyes flitting to my mouth and back up.
Fuck.
I was hers—if only for tonight.
“Don’t tell me you were planning on leaving without saying goodbye,” she whispered, cocking her head to the side. My jaw clenched, and she paused. The smirk fell from her lips, and I could nearly see her processing my lack of response. She dropped her hand and stumbled back a half step. “You…were?”
She wore every emotion plainly on her face, and this one in particular sank beneath my skin in the most infuriating way. With her wide eyes, parted lips, furrowed brows, and a flush seeping into her cheeks, it was hurt, clear as fucking day.
“Damn it all,” I muttered, grabbing her hand. She tried to pull it back, but I wound my fingers through hers and led her to the closest set of double doors. Once through, I glanced down the dimly lit hallway, flickering with candlelight. Empty.
I released her to close the doors behind us and leaned forward, pressing my palms into the wood, my head hanging low. “Elora, I just… I need…”
“What, Wryn?” The quiver in her voice struck me in the chest. “What do you need so badly that you were going to leave without even saying?—”
I could’ve sworn I heard the snap of my self-restraint a second before I swiveled on her. Her lips fell open in an O, but she didn’t have a moment to say anything else. Hell, she didn’t have a moment to breathe before I was on her, one hand wrapping around her pale throat, the other gripping her waist. Her back hit the wall as my lips met hers in a kiss that had been long, long overdue.
She panted as I broke the kiss, but I offered her no space. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. “I needed this,” I rasped.
I needed to bask in her, her uneven breaths, her touch, her lips. I needed her scent to fill my lungs. Goddess, I needed mine to fill hers too.
My lips skimmed along hers as I smirked and whispered, “I needed to taste you, and that’s not very….friendly of me.”
She arched into me with a soft moan as my hand moved along her waist, my mouth devouring her like a starved man—because I fucking was. I had been starving for this, for her, and Goddess, she tasted good. I didn’t think I could ever be completely satiated; I could lick and kiss her skin for months, years, decades, and it would never be enough.
But I’d be damned if I didn’t try.
“Y-you’re…” I grinned at her lack of words as I kissed down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Her breath hitched as I pressed my lips to the swell of her breast. Her hands found my hair again and wound into it. Somehow, I knew they would, and I slid mine through hers too, cupping the back of her head. “You’re still my friend.”
I chuckled against her skin, wrapping the long strands around my fist before I wrenched her head back as I stood, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Am I your friend, dear, sweet Elora?”
She bit her lip, nodding. My thumb circled her nipple over the fabric of her dress, and a muffled moan escaped her. “Then I must be the very best friend you have, hmm?”
She nodded again, and I smirked, sliding my hand lower, lower, lower until I bunched her skirts up and slipped my hand underneath. She jumped as my fingertips met the bare skin of her thigh.
“Then as your ‘very best friend,’ I want to know you better than anyone else.” My hand trailed to the inside of her thigh, her skin prickling with goosebumps. Her breath hitched as my hand moved up, but she widened her stance ever so slightly to grant me access. I bit back a groan of approval and slid my knee between her legs, nudging them farther apart. “Tell me, has anyone tasted you before?”
Her brows furrowed at my question, and I paused my perusal. “Answer me.”
“No,” she panted, her cheeks flaming. I cocked a brow, and she added, “No one has…tasted me.”
I did groan then, my grin growing devilish. We couldn’t last forever, I knew that. I couldn’t be her last, but I could damn well be her first. I wanted to burn the feel of me into her mind so that she’d be as haunted by me as I was by her. I wanted her so lost in euphoria that no one else would ever satisfy her, not in the way she would know I could.
My hands trailed down her form as I sank to my knees, her wide eyes tracking my movement with anticipation. With shimmering hair, cheeks as flushed as her parted lips, pupils blown and skin cast golden under the flickering candlelight, she looked every bit the temptation she embodied—a true goddess.
I didn’t pull my gaze from hers as I lifted her skirts higher. They bunched around her waist to reveal her black undergarments, and her breath hitched when I ran a finger along the lace’s edge, biting back at a groan at how soaked they were.
“Did you expect to be touched tonight, sun ray?”
With furrowed brows, she shook her head.
“Then why would you wear such…” My finger hooked into them and pulled. She hissed as the band bit into her skin before stitches popped, and the fabric ripped. I cocked a grin as I lifted them to show her like she hadn’t put them on herself. “Enticing undergarments?”
“You—Why—” she sputtered, her eyes flashing between me and the torn lace.
I clicked my tongue and slid them into my pocket before skimming my fingertips along her calf, her skin smooth and hot. She watched intently, her breasts heaving with heavy breaths as I moved to the back of her knee and pressed my lips to the inside. Goosebumps spread over her skin in my wake, and I continued my way up her inner thigh, kiss after teasing kiss.
She panted, her hands braced on the wall behind her, fingers splayed. I moved slowly, excruciatingly so; I wanted her on edge, so wanton there wasn’t a single thought left in her pretty head, so lust-driven that no other person existed beyond me, much like there was no one but her for me.
I wanted to reduce her entire world to this room, to my touch, to this feeling, to me.
As I moved closer to her sweet little cunt, the smell of her desire broke through the fog of Iaso’s tonic. I closed my eyes when I felt the lightning crackle within my irises, a deep ache settling between my thighs as my cock strained against my trousers.
Her scent was one I wanted to drown in, and Goddess be damned, I would if it wouldn’t lead to me taking her here and now, claiming her in every imaginable way: with my cock, my teeth, my mark, on the wall, the floor, the stairs, in the damned ballroom.
Her scent and sounds, every mewl and moan, were intoxicating, but nothing could have prepared me for how exquisite she’d taste.
A vicious wave of hunger consumed me when I ran my tongue over her cunt, her echoing moan music to my ears. My tongue circled her clit, and her hands slid into my hair as she bowed off the wall.
“Sweet, sweet Elora,” I groaned, my hands sliding up the backs of thighs. I hooked one of her legs over my shoulder, exposing her bare cunt to me. With one hand gripping her hip and the other splayed across her lower back, I thrust my tongue into her. She cried out so I did it again and again.
She writhed in my grip, but I held firm. She would not escape my mouth, escape me until she exploded—until I tasted her as she came, heard it, saw it, experienced it. It would be such a beautiful shattering.
As she grew more desperate, her leg over my shoulder pulled me ever closer, using me as leverage to grind her hips in motion with the thrusts of my tongue, her cunt growing wet enough that she dripped down my chin. My hand trailed from her lower back to the apex of her thighs, so my thumb could circle her clit.
She trembled, a broken sound leaving her, somewhere between a sob and a moan.
Fucking perfect. The way she unabashedly rode my mouth, chasing her own pleasure, was nearly enough to make me come in my trousers.
I wanted to praise her. She deserved to hear how good she was doing, how delicious she tasted, how I had never in all my years wanted anything or anyone more than I did her in this moment—but my mouth was much too occupied. My mouth, among other things, was at her complete disposal, hers to use and ride and fuck. Hell, if she wanted to suffocate me in her cunt, then I would die the happiest man in existence and thank her from other side of the veil.
I wanted her delirious because of me, breathless and spent, legs too weak to hold even her own weight.
But then, the tonic stifling the mate bond wavered, and I felt everything. Unfettered lust knocked the air from my chest, and I wanted nothing more than to fill my lungs with the scent of her, sear it into my body until that was all I would smell for the rest of my days.
I jerked my face back, resisting the urge cover my mouth and nose, while I slid a finger in and out of her. She gasped when I added a second, but I didn’t stop.
Goddess, I want it. Her. Her moans. Her cunt. Her screams.
“Are you all right?” Her words were laced with pants, her body still rocking on my hand.
A deep groan reverberated through my chest. “No.”
Her eyes snapped to my face, but I didn’t pull my focus from her cunt. I added a third digit, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a moan, her head falling back on the wall.
I needed to hear that again, louder, against my skin, my mouth. I needed to swallow it while I plunged into her. I needed to slide my hand from her and suck the taste of her from my fingers—or better yet, use it to wet my cock before I buried it in her.
Damn it all.
I needed so many things, every single part of her. Everything. All of it. Now.
My skin burned, my jaw clenched so tight, I feared my teeth might crack. I hadn’t even known I held such restraint, but I fought it, sitting back on my heels. It took every damned muscle in my body not to lurch forward.
I was on borrowed time, but when the tonic settled over me again, fainter than it should be but enough, I sucked in a cautious breath, not daring to move until I was sure I had regained a bit of clarity.
The scent of a mate’s arousal was supposed to be the strongest drug, an irresistible temptation, and I would not subject myself to such torture. I would not take her like that, driven by the bond.
No, when I took her—and I would—I wanted it to be me.
When I was sure I was clearheaded enough, I dove in mercilessly. She needed to come, and she needed to come now. My fingers curled, hitting the spot that set her trembling and writhing again. My tongue swirled over her clit until her cunt pulsed around my fingers.
Nothing was gentle or slow, but she seemed to like that as her slick ran down my hand, her hands nearly ripping my hair from the root. When her entire body tensed, her back arched and mouth hanging open in a silent scream, I picked up the pace, dragging her orgasm out until she went lax.
I pulled my fingers from her, licking my lips as I stood, basking in her post-orgasm glow. Her skin shone with a sheen of sweat, face flushed as her gown fell back around her legs.
She had never been more beautiful.
With a deep sigh, she opened her eyes, smiling faintly, her head still reclined on the wall.
Much to my surprise, the little nymph cupped either side of my face and pulled me down while standing on her toes to crash my lips to hers, tasting herself. My cock strained against my trousers, and I groaned into her mouth as my fingers wound through her hair.
I slid my tongue along the seam of her lips, and she gasped, parting them long enough for me to slip in. She tasted of mead, caramel, and herself—a delicious concoction.
When she finally broke the kiss, her chest heaved breathlessly, her lips swollen and glistening.
Her palm found my cheek with a certain gentleness that felt too close to affection, her head tilted to the side. “I think…I think I’m in love with you, Wryn.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest, mingling with that of whiskey and the aftermath of her. “I?—”
The blood drained from my face when the weight of her words hit me.
I almost said it back. I almost told her I…loved her.
Fear, stark and vivid, knotted in my gut.
Everyone. Dies.
Flashes of her cold and still, her skin wrinkled beneath my touch, bombarded me, and my chest tightened.
She didn’t love me. I didn’t love her.
We couldn’t.
When a beam of silvery moonlight fell over her face, I glanced at the nearby window, framing the setting moon and revealing how late it was, and I did what cowards do best.
I ran.
“I have to go, Elora. I’m…” I started to take a step back but paused. Confusion flashed across her features, and she opened her mouth to say something, but I quickly silenced her. My lips brushed against hers before I kissed her how she deserved, how she should be kissed every day for the rest of her life.
But not by me.
It could never be me, because I would never survive her. I just hoped my touch was scorched into her memory like her taste was in mine.
“I have to go, Elora. It’s…late.” I glanced to the window again, shamefully looking to my excuse once more, but I winced and forced myself to meet her gaze. I could do that much. My thumb found her lower lip and ran along it once, twice. “I’m sorry.”
With that, I slipped back into the ballroom and strode toward the exit.
This time, there was no dainty hand stopping me, no teasing voice calling my name.
I walked away, and she let me go.
#423
Wryn,
Did I do something wrong? It looked like you ran away from me, but that can’t be right, can it?
If me telling you how I felt made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry for that, but just so you know, I didn’t expect you to say it back. I simply wanted you to know. I just…wanted to say the words. I made myself a promise a long time ago that I would always follow my heart and never stifle it.
Life is too short to hide such important things, don’t you think?
For what it’s worth, it’s all right if you don’t feel the same way. It’s all right if you needed space or air.
I can be a lot, I know that, but I won’t apologize for it.
Love is meant to be shared, and I’ll never stop doing just that.
Please at least let me know you’re all right. Just a quick “I’m alive” will suffice.
See you in 5 months and 30 days,
Elora
#424
Wryn,
It’s been two months with no reply. I’ve waited and worried, but I think I’ve done enough of that.
I’d say I’ve paid my debt by now, hmm? A letter for every apple.
I’ve certainly written infinitely more letters than apples stolen, so this will be my last.
Goodbye.
With all my love,
Elora