Chapter 44 #2
He walked us to the bed. I barely noticed until the mattress met my back and he came down over me, his hands trembling where they held me.
Sylvanwild could have been on fire. I didn’t care. Rhiannon could have been at the door. I didn’t care.
This court had taken what it wanted from me. Now I would take what I wanted.
Dorian’s hand swept over my hair, eyes lidded on me. His other arm caged me in on the bed, his body pressed against me from sternum to hips. His eyes roved my face like he would memorize the contours.
I angled my head, lips curving. “Looking for something?”
One hand came up and brushed the angle of my jaw. “First time I’ve seen you without leaves in your hair.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Don’t get used to it.”
Above me like this, his mouth seemed impossibly lush. I leaned up and nipped at his bottom lip, tugged it between my teeth. He groaned into it, pressing his mouth to mine. His tongue parted my lips, sweeping in and sliding over my own. He tasted delicious, like the fresh water from Virellan Falls.
His smell filled my nose; his hand cupped my face, and all at once, everything felt more urgent.
Not once in my life had I felt this way, this needy and empty and wanting for a man. Not just a man—him. This one, whose lips and taste and smell felt so right. I needed more of him. I bucked my hips against him, hands sliding down his sides.
Between us, his erection pulsed. He broke the kiss, lips dragging over my cheek, down to my jaw, over my pulse. “Need to taste you,” he murmured against my throat. “Been dreaming of it. Please.”
Please.
He’d been dreaming of it.
He was asking my permission.
I opened my eyes, catching sight of his dark hair. No man had ever tasted me like that—and with him, I found I wanted it. Badly. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Yes?” Dorian kissed a line down my sternum, over my belly, his breath warm and slow as though he were savoring me already.
“Yes,” I said, louder, fingers threading into his hair.
When he reached the heat between my thighs, he met my gaze—his eyes dark, endless—and then lowered his mouth. The first swipe of his tongue over my slit, from entrance to clit, made my spine bow off the bed.
“Gods,” I breathed, fisting the sheets.
He groaned like he’d been starving for me. His tongue laved with purpose—long, languid strokes up my center, circling my clit before drawing it gently into his mouth. When he slipped a finger between my lips, I gasped. He lifted his gaze, and suddenly his eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them.
Before I could respond, another finger joined the first, like he couldn’t resist. I arched on the bed, eyes opening wide, my mouth parting.
All the while, his fingers kept moving inside me, slow and steady, coaxing pleasure in rhythm with every flick and press of his tongue.
I writhed beneath him, undone, my hands in his hair—dark, damp, curling around my fingers. I looked down, his eyes watched me, smoldering with a need so deep it hurt. Not just desire. Devotion.
I gasped his name. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause. He only licked me with the flat of his tongue, long and lavishing, and pushed his fingers deeper.
His fingers moved inside me with reverence, curling slowly, stroking places I hadn’t known existed. My hips lifted of their own accord, chasing the sensation, but he pinned me with a hand on my thigh, commanding and unhurried.
The current of my pleasure rose suddenly, crashing over me with a cry I didn’t recognize as my own voice. My body rocked, and he held on, his mouth tight on my clit, tongue pressing again and again, driving me through the fall.
I fell apart in his grip, my body boneless, only held together by his arms.
When I breathed out, long and slow, he released his hold on me. I barely saw him through my lidded eyes, the sweep of his thumb over his mouth. His lips curling around the end of it as he tasted me.
“Definitely not human,” he murmured.
I let my head fall back. “Fuck.”
I hadn’t expected that, any of it. Not the need, the devotion in his eyes, that tongue.
He rose, the whole of him coming into view once more. My gaze followed, dropped down his chest, his abdomen, and below, where his cock hung thick and heavy and gorgeous. I felt wrung out, and yet a tight string of need brought me up to my elbows.
“Want you,” I breathed, hardly comprehending the words before they were spoken. “Now.”
This time he didn’t hesitate, didn’t prevaricate. He descended over me the same way he’d dropped between my legs, all sureness and dark intent. His body came over mine, eyes level with mine, pressing against me. One hand slid down my side, warm fingers pressing into my hip and then my thigh.
His forehead touched mine as his hand moved between my legs—as he took hold of his cock and slid it over my clit.
My lips parted, and he kissed me through my gasp.
His tongue slipped into my mouth as he pressed himself into me.
Slowly at first, then with a thrust that made both of us groan and my eyes open wide.
He lodged home, the two of us joining deeply, my body clutching his.
He paused. He was almost too big, that thrust on the edge of pain. He breathed fast, his lips parted. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” I said, and caught his mouth in a kiss that made him moan again. I pushed my hips against him, urging him deeper, and he thrust again, less pain this time, more pleasure. I gasped into the kiss and my fingers found his back. They dug in there, raking, wanting more, more, more.
He gave it to me, every thrust a starburst of pleasure. His lips were hot on mine, on my cheeks, my nose, my eyelids, as though he’d lost all sight yet wanted to worship nonetheless. My legs wrapped around him, holding tight, rising higher and higher, spinning up fast, faster—
I broke with a cry, hoarse and loud, shattering around him.
That sent him over. His breathing became grunts, his thrusts harder, rhythmic, until he buried his face in my shoulder. He was almost more animal than fae, his body shaking. I felt him let go inside me in pulse after hot pulse as he held me tight to him.
I held on just as tight; I wanted him this close. I wanted him closer.
Eventually we stilled, he on top of me, our bodies coated with sweat.
I had never felt so sated. And then, while my arms were still wrapped around his back, a thought struck clear: I don’t want to be anywhere else.
Eventually, after minutes, he lifted his face. A soft smile appeared, and he brought his thumb up and stroked my lips. He breathed out. “I meant to clean you off.”
My lips twitched. “You can do it again, if you like.”
“I think I might.” His hand swept over my hair, and he kissed my forehead. “This time properly.”
I heard so much care in his voice. It almost sounded like—
He slid out of me and pressed himself up to a seat.
He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from me, head bowed.
I wondered what was passing through his mind, but before I could ask, he stood and crossed into the washroom.
He returned with a mosscloth, lay down on the bed next to me, and asked, “May I?”
He really meant to clean me.
I nodded, and he lowered the cloth between my legs. He wiped between my thighs with slow care as I lay in a daze, feeling more relaxed than I’d ever thought I could feel. He moved on to my legs, my belly, my arms, and even gingerly around my shoulder.
The gentleness lulled me. I fell into a half-sleep under his hands, and only woke when I heard water moving in the washroom—the sound of him cleaning himself.
Soon he was back. When he got into the bed he kissed me one more time, slow and searing. Then he pulled me into his arms, his chest at my back.
I fell asleep like that, with the warmth of him wrapped around me.