29
The world turns upside down. An onslaught of sensations blast through her skin and assault Love to the marrow of her being. The thrust of a cyclone against her chest, a bolt of lightning through her veins, an eruption across her flesh. The contact shatters something within her, while also filling a cavity that no soul has ever reached.
It’s a simple thing. Yet it’s catastrophic.
Andrew’s eyes widen, the irises flashing with shock. A split second of indecision, and Love scuttles backward with a petrified gasp, the motion compromising her balance. Staggering, she fights to keep herself upright on the skates. Then she spins, intending to flee.
A gruff noise resounds from behind, followed by the thud of Andrew’s stick hitting to the ice. A pair of desperate arms catch Love, tug her backward, and band around her middle. He surrounds her with a protective, imploring, and terrifying weight, the embrace robbing her of oxygen as his chest—his heartbeat—thrusts hard against her back.
Someone is touching her. Andrew is touching her.
He holds Love carefully, tenderly, firmly. “Wait,” he begs. “Please.”
Although she trembles like a string pulled to its limits, his voice soothes the terror, his breath stoking the ledge of her ear. If Love commands it, this mortal will release her. Yet his strong grasp becomes a safe haven, a refuge.
Remarkable. Surreal.
This is how it feels to be Holly. This is how it feels to be like everyone else, brittle and comforted.
Her body quakes, on the verge of breaking easier than glass. Shallow pants vacate her lips as she stares at their reflection in the ice. Two bodies entwined, their arms clasping, her fingers digging into his forearms.
She does not wish for him to let go. If he does, she might chip apart like the stars.
A hoarse noise rumbles from Andrew. Shuddering, his forehead drops against the side of her jaw, his eyes on her through the frozen surface. Together, they watch one another, a dire need to release these feelings building inside Love.
She has been touched by deities. But never by a human.
And not by him.
She wants to scream. So she does.
Keeling forward, Love sucks in a breath, then bursts into noise. The howl rips from the pit of her stomach, the frayed sound launching into the sky. She cries out, the cacophony endless and cleaving through the forest.
All the while, Andrew clutches her, his body anchoring Love as she empties her lungs. When it’s over, she collapses into him, her muscles deflating. Andrew brushes his mouth into her hair, the motion helpless. His heavy respirations match hers, as though he’d shouted alongside Love.
Clarity returns. How strange to fit her body to a mortal’s, and how unfair that it’s never happened before.
Once he senses that she’s ready, Andrew steers Love around. Her breasts edge across his torso, everything softer yet harder than she’d imagined it would be. The second her fingernails burrow into the lapels of his coat, he buries his face in the edge of her neck.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, breath stirring against her pulse point.
Gooseflesh races across her body. Her forehead lands on the plank of his shoulder. “No.”
“You feel like a dark fantasy. Like the shadows gave you to me. I could hold you all fucking day and night.”
Indeed. But how? How is this happening?
Oh, Fates. It’s his influence on her, from the way she’s unable to outrun him or sense his emotions, to the fragments of power she loses each time they’re together. Touching must be no exception.
“It happens the longer we’re with humans,” she guesses.
“It what ?” Andrew’s growls. “You didn’t tell me!”
That’s because she didn’t expect this. She would need more words to explain, but his embrace has swept them all away.
Andrew lifts his gaze to hers and hisses, “We need to get you inside.”
That would require releasing him. “You said you could hold me all fucking day and night.”
“And I meant it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Yes, he is. But not yet.
Andrew waits for Love to move, yielding to whatever she allows. Cautiously, she experiments by running her palms over his coat, then sneaking her fingers past the material. Beneath the knit sweater, his abdomen hitches as her digits wander, exploring the ridges in fascination. Fearful of waking up, of realizing this is nothing more than an erotic dream, Love etches his frame. She scales his muscles—pecs, nipples—her touches growing bolder once she locates his pounding heartbeat.
Stars eternal. She had thought using objects to stimulate one another had been extraordinary, but this is a new level of discovery.
Solid. Steady.
Andrew’s outtakes accelerate. When his gaze sinks to her mouth, those pupils blacken over the pewter irises.
Motivated, Love pulls on his coat, pulls him to her, their chests knocking together. She senses his willingness and pushes past the fear, moving with sudden certainty. Uttering a coarse noise, Andrew clenches his eyes shut, groaning as she grazes his lips with her thumb, tracing the contours of him.
He likes this.
His cock lifts against his pants, the stem high and pushing through the material. Her touch is thickening him. The knowledge whets her appetite, boosting Love with adrenaline, rekindling her immortal side. When deities crave, they indulge.
Another foreign urge surfaces, a passionate sort of need. Love’s teeth ache, and her mouth tingles. She wants to tear her canines into this man, to mark him.
Nonetheless, this is too momentous, too important to charge ahead. Love staunches her primal impulses, seeking something gentler first. Something true.
When her nose touches his, she is lost. Until her arrow enters his heart, she owns him. He may not love her, but he worships her.
His toughened erection emboldens Love, as do his swift exhalations and the amorous glaze in his eyes. She senses Andrew withholding, restraining himself from snatching her.
No matter that she cannot feel his heat. She experiences it in other ways, sees the devoted fervor searing across his face.
Destiny forgive Love, but she yearns to do this for eternity, make him stumped or speechless, guarded or relaxed, joyful or frustrated, to see his face in different facets. Moreover, she wants him to unravel her in the same manner, to unspool every hidden emotion.
Eager to stoke those flames, Love brushes her lips against his. And damnation, the contact is electrifying, igniting her to the soles of her feet. Andrew hisses against her mouth, and a whimper slips across her tongue.
The nexus of her body throbs, the slit of her folds emitting wetness. All of this hurts so good, she longs to rub her clit over his cock, to brand her flesh to his. But first, she must have that snarky, insolent mouth.
Over and over, Love glides her lips against him, teasing Andrew’s flesh while his hands knife into her hair. The gesture triggers every nerve in her scalp, the effect invigorating, producing a maelstrom in her blood.
Finally, a haggard noise curls from Andrew’s throat. “I’ve thought about you this way so many fucking times. I’ve fantasized about kissing that stubborn mouth of yours, tearing your moans apart with my lips until you’re dripping for me.”
“I am dripping for you,” she confirms, her pussy melting, growing as wet as her tongue. “Let’s celebrate this gift. Let’s take care of each other.”
“Christ, Love.”
“Beg me to kiss you, mortal.”
“Kiss the fuck out of me, goddess—”
She seizes his lips before he can finish. Parting them with her own, Love swallows his growl with a famished pull of her mouth. At once, her universe explodes with lightness and darkness.
Seething, Andrew catches her kiss and flings himself into it, trapping her mouth in kind, sealing her to him and throwing her existence into chaos. Their mouths fit and rock together. The forbidden taste of him—illicit, sinful—wracks her with shivers.
Her arms fling around his shoulders and cling to the nape of his neck as their lips slant. Their movements sync as though this has been destined from the beginning, as though they’ve been created for one another.
Groaning, Andrew hauls Love’s mouth to his and spreads her open. She parts under the force of his kiss, her lips quivering, her body liquifying. With precision, his tongue flexes into her, plying Love with deft flicks, striking in and out.
The tempo reminds her of the way he’d lapped at her cunt through the blanket, only deeper, sharper. A shrill whine vaults up her throat, and Andrew devours the noise, the skilled piston of his tongue driving her a little bit mad.
With his fingers tangled in Love’s hair, the mortal locks her skull in place and crushes their mouths together. Fusing his lips to her own, he captures every moan, every pass of her own tongue, every tremble.
As their skates make slicing noises over the pond, the kiss restores her life’s blood to its former glory. She attacks him. Intensifying the kiss, Love hoists herself against Andrew, her body shoving toward his, her breasts swelling into his pectorals. She feasts on that razor-sharp tongue, etches the rims of his teeth, and licks into Andrew.
The mortal snarls and grinds his mouth over hers. His tongue meets every punch of her own, slamming his kiss into her.
It is not the exploratory first kisses she has witnessed between human lovers. Rather, it’s a collision. Possessive and rampant. Yet it stirs her soul, the rhythmic lunge of his mouth breaking through her, cracking open her heart like a locket.
It’s raw. It’s defiant. It’s real.
Unleashing a coarse sound, Andrew releases her scalp, then shoves his hands into her coat and fists the sides of her dress. At Love’s hungry moan and swift nod of permission, his palms dip lower, sneaking beneath the hem and over the bare flanks of her ass. The corner of his mouth lifts against her lips when he remembers she has disregarded her panties. In answer, Love drags her tongue over the seam of his grinning mouth.
Then his sensuous digits travel up and down the swells, so near to her aching cunt. Love curls herself into him, needing more, and more, and more. With pleasure, Andrew cups her naked backside, rubbing in circles and drawing a mewl from her throat.
The instant she nips his lower lip, Andrew hisses again. Snaring her ass in his grip, he hoists Love against him and shoves his mouth into hers. The impact sends her into delirium, her thoughts spiraling from the decadent pressure of his lips, the delicious pitch of his tongue.
This cannot end. It must never end.
Andrew drives his lips into hers, their tongues lashing. Hot pants thrust from his lungs, the temperature intangible yet present all the same. The vibration of his growl treks across her palate, down her spine, and between her thighs.
She moans and launches into his mouth, taking his tongue, giving hers in kind, thinking that maybe kisses have a bottom. Maybe she can find it. And if she does, that’s where she will live and die.