Chapter 59 #2
Draven, now standing shoulder to shoulder with me, turns his chin to look at me. He doesn’t say anything, instead only smiling, like a smile is all he needs to express all that he wishes to.
I understand the words of his language perfectly.
He unfurls his fingers from his palm, stretching his hand out to me. My breastbone, ribcage, sternum—every part of me—is so inflated with emotion, I fear I may simply float away and join the comets. Though I don’t think an existence amongst such beauty would be the worst thing.
I place my hand in his, where his fingers then close around it.
Draven and I turn back to watch the comet show.
To stare out over a golden city where a glistening, bejeweled fountain spouts crystal water at the center.
Where people wrapped in beautiful colors clap and cheer below us, fire magic arcing through the sky in praise while banners illuminated by light magic and trailed by ribbons are waved in the air.
The sounds of music and laughter carry up from the streets, inking their melodies deep into our skin.
“Lyra,” Draven muses as he stares up at the sky. “Have you realized it yet?”
I answer him with a questioning look.
There is a raw earnestness brimming in his eyes when he again meets my gaze. Both soft and vulnerable. “Rocks are flying. Does that mean we can finally be happy now?”
Draven’s words to me after our first day of training together—a day which now feels like a lifetime ago, where my biggest worries were passing an entrance exam and surviving the brutal training of my brooding mentor—slam into my mind.
Maybe happiness will find us like some phenomenon finding its sky. Maybe when…rocks fly; yes, that’s it. You and I can be happy when rocks fly.
I blow out a disbelieving, weighted breath. Tears suddenly well in my awe-stricken eyes as they remain glued to the glowing horizon; streams of red, silver, white, and blue zipping past in endless amounts. “I hope so.”
Draven’s voice is soft beside me. “Then why are you crying?”
I shake my head. “I’m not.” A tiny laugh escapes me.
“I mean, I am, but I feel like there should be another word for when they’re happy tears.
” I swipe said happiness from my cheeks.
“It’s just…ever since I was a little girl staring up at Rivara’s colored stars, I have wished and dreamed for this exact moment to come true.
And now…here it is. More beautiful and perfect than I ever imagined it could be.
” I swallow back some of my growing emotion. “I hope Gray is watching.”
“Do you want me to go get him?”
“No,” I answer through a smile. “I suspect he is exactly where he needs to be, just as I am.” I glance at Draven sidelong, finding him with crinkled eyes and upturned lips.
He slides his arm around my waist, holding me against his side while his palm presses firmly against my hip.
I lean into him, feeling bathed by sunlight.
As the comet show continues on, overtaking the sky in the most beautiful display of fiery brilliance—leaving me to question if perhaps a flame can be beautiful after all—I feel the caress of Draven’s eyes as he watches me and I watch the sky.
Time presses on, and the comets continue blazing over the horizon like pioneers forging onto a better existence.
Eventually, I look to Draven, who is still watching me.
I want to say something—to let him know all the many, many things I’m feeling.
Yet I realize I have no words. Or perhaps it’s best to say I have no better words to express what a simple action can.
So I turn, rising onto my toes.
My lips find Draven’s like it is the most natural thing they’ve ever done.
I kiss him with the weight of a thousand words behind it.
I kiss him with the desperation of lost time.
I kiss him with the fervent passion of deprived petals soaking in their sunshine, greedy and selfish and utterly dedicated to feeling warmth against their skin.
I kiss him in the shades of every color, every emotion.
And Draven kisses me back with equal hunger. Equal passion and need.
He slides his arms across my lower back, drawing me tighter against his chest. His hand roves up until it brackets the back of my neck, where he holds me firmly while kissing me deeper. I can taste the desire on his lips as though it were honey.
Our lips move in perfect synchrony, our tongues pressing and twirling together like the perfect dance partners they are.
The kiss is beautiful and emotion-ridden.
Slow and toying, like we are the keepers of the universe and nothing is more pressing than us discovering every outline and ridge artistically carved into our lips.
Until it isn’t.
The kiss turns frantic—more wanting. It becomes not a thing of tender discovery, but insatiable greed. I drag my fingers into his hair and thread them through the silken strands. I tell him everything without having to say anything at all, not wanting to pull my mouth from his for a single second.
I want him everywhere, all at once.
I just want him.
Draven, immediately sensing the shift, hoists me up as though I am light as a falling petal.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and he maintains his hold on my neck, his mouth growing more savage as it devours me with sharpened hunger.
He strides into the bedroom, and I feel him harden against me just before he lays me gently onto the bed, skillfully keeping his body positioned over me so his lips don’t break away from mine as he leans over the mattress.
Eventually, he pulls back just enough to gaze at me.
“Tell me what you want, Lyra, and it is yours.”
I smile against his mouth. “You were the one who said he has six ideas already lined up.” I nip his bottom lip. “Why don’t you show me one of them?”
His gaze hazes with desire, and he lowers his lips to trace my neck and jaw.
He pulls my ear between his teeth, sucking momentarily as his fingers teasingly graze over an area of me aching with desire.
They rove up and up, until they still around my neck, his thumb swiping over my pounding pulse while he leans back and studies me, considering his choice.
An immediate thrill dances over my skin. I rise with an arch in my back, pressing another kiss against his lips. “Just let me have you,” I breathe.
Draven’s eyes darken. “You can do whatever you want with me, Lyra. My body is yours.” He reaches for my hand, slowly guiding it down and down until my palm cups the bulge pressing against his pants. “Because this? This is only for you. Will always be for you, and you alone.”
I melt.
My fingers wrap around the hardness of him, and I make toying motions, a smirk tugging my lips up even as they find his. I move my hand to grip Draven’s wrist—our lips still pressed together—and glide his fingers beneath my pants. “And this is for you. This is what you do to me.”
Draven growls possessively against my mouth.
“Let me show you how much that pleases me.” He slips one finger inside me, his thumb immediately pressing against my clit.
I tip my head back, a small moan breaking free.
He chuckles lowly. “I have dreamed of hearing that sound spill from you again. I need to hear more of it. Much more of it.”
Draven slips another finger inside me, where he then moves with such precision, an immediate heat builds at the base of my stomach. It is dizzying and intoxicating. Euphoric and addicting.
I ride his fingers, letting free any illusion of control.
I want this more fervently than anything I have ever wanted before.
We’ve earned this moment for ourselves. And being forced apart, being forced to wait and hold off on touching each other like this—even after being reunited—has sharpened every stroke and touch with an energy so intense, it’s all-consuming.
Warmth spreads from the base of my neck all the way to the tips of my toes.
The pleasure compiles, turning my nerves and skin into living sparks.
Draven’s lips crash into mine, taking without apology.
His other free hand glides up my shirt to cup my breast, and he pinches my hardened nipple toyingly between his fingers.
A choked noise of pleasure rises from my throat and collides with Draven’s mouth.
He groans with satisfaction.
Draven slips his fingers free of me and brackets my hips, swallowing me with his arms. He presses another kiss to my lips, this one more gentle. He guides my movements, lifting the shirt from my body and removing my undergarment.
Insecurity suddenly dilutes my pleasure, a frigid bucket of sobriety crashing into me.
My scars are laid bare for his viewing—something which we have not touched on after I indicated I wasn’t ready during a night we laid pressed together on a pile of blankets. Sometimes it feels like all I can do just to reveal them to the world, let alone discuss them and their implications.
“Do they hurt?” he asks, voice so gentle. He traces the raised lines over my left arm with his thumb.
“No. I don’t feel them at all. Sometimes I almost forget they’re there.”
He is silent as he studies me, and I now have the overwhelming urge to squirm beneath his concerted gaze. Doubts, criticisms, worries—they all press into my mind, their sharp words pelting my confidence bit by bit.
Until Draven lifts a hand to push hair back from my face and cups my cheek, the depths of the sea cradling me as his eyes hold mine.
“You are the most exquisite piece of art I have ever seen.” His lips sweep up into a grin.
“And I don’t just say that because your eyes are like mine now.
Though, if you start a trend, I reserve the right to say I did it first.”
I laugh softly, my smile now light as a flower. “That’s fair enough.”
He nips my bottom lip. “Glad we have an understanding.”