Chapter 35 Marienne #2
But her voice is low and certain as she says, “No, don’t hide from me.”
She brings her hand to my cheek, turning my face back to hers. Her thumb brushes over my bottom lip.
“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
The ache in my chest swells. I swallow, throat tight.
“Gods,” I breathe. “If you only knew the thoughts I’m having about you right now...”
Her smile is the kind that undoes me entirely.
“I trust you,” she says simply.
And then, her hand finds my breast again, delightfully greedy as her fingers brush across my nipple. A small sound escapes me, raw and unfiltered.
I pull her in. My mouth finds hers—deep, aching. A kiss like falling and claiming all at once. I kiss her jaw next, then lower, to the pulse at her neck.
I hover there, trembling.
“May I?” I ask, the need in my voice almost too much to bear. “Tamsin, may I taste you?”
There’s no hesitation.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Always yes.”
She leans in, offering herself without flinching, the collar of her shirt already loosened where I’d tugged it earlier. I bend forward from the divan, heart hammering. She’s kneeling before me, solid and steady, and her pulse thrums before my mouth ever touches her skin.
My lips find the place just below her collarbone—the place where skin is soft and scent is strongest. I pause there, breathing her in, and then I bite.
Not hard. Not hurried.
Just enough.
She gasps. Her hand flies to my thigh, gripping. Not to stop me, never that. But to hold on.
The first taste is fire and something older. Like copper and clove, memory and mourning. But beneath that, there’s something… uniquely her. Steadfast. Earned. The kind of strength that seeps into your bones.
I make a soft sound, almost a moan, as my tongue laps gently at the blood. My mouth suckles light and slow, not to take too much, only to feel her.
She shudders. I feel it in the way her shoulders tense, in the way her hand slides up, anchoring at my waist.
“Marienne,” she breathes, and my name on her tongue is everything. A prayer. A plea. A promise.
I drink once more, then pull back. Carefully, I press my tongue to the wound and lick it closed, sealing the skin with a kiss.
“You taste like fire,” I murmur, tracing the fading marks with my fingertips.
Her breath hitches again.
And gods—I feel warm. Not just in body, but soul. Like her blood has kindled something in me. Like I’ve swallowed sunlight.
Before I can gather a single thought, her mouth finds mine.
She kisses me like I’m made of something rare. Her fingers slip into my hair, tugging gently, angling my face to deepen it, to draw more from me. I melt into her, lips parted, heart wide open.
When we part, our foreheads rest together. Breath mingling. Shared warmth.
Her voice is hoarse when she speaks.
“You don’t know what you do to me.”
I smile, still dazed, still trembling with how close I feel to her. With how much she’s let me have.
“I think,” I murmur, “I’m starting to.”
I’ve had lovers before, but none that have looked at me like Tamsin does now.
Then her hand moves.
From my hair to the back of my neck, sliding down over my spine in a slow, deliberate stroke that leaves a trail of heat behind it. Her fingers press lightly at my waist, urging me closer. Not taking. Not demanding. Just inviting.
A sound escapes me—small, involuntary, torn from somewhere deeper than breath. My hips shift forward before I can think. The copper taste of blood still lingers on my tongue, but now it’s diluted by the salt of her skin, warm and alive. My fangs recede, but the hunger doesn’t.
It sinks lower, thick and molten in my belly.
I kiss her again. Her mouth answers mine with a growl, rougher now, more desperate. Her teeth catch my bottom lip and drag, and I moan into her.
One sleeve has already fallen from my shoulder.
She slides it lower, fingers brushing the slope of my breast until it spills free.
Her palms are hot, greedy, reverent. My nipples peak under her touch, aching, and she rolls them between her fingers with practiced intent.
Pleasure spikes through me like lightning.
I break the kiss with a gasp, pulling her closer until her hips press between my thighs.
I’m soaked—wet enough to feel the ache spread outward, a slow burn curling through every nerve.
My head tips back as her lips trail fire down my throat, her breath hot and uneven, and every exhale fans the hunger she’s already ignited.
I arch into her, shameless.
“Marienne…” she breathes, voice thick, rough with want. “Let me see you. All of you.”
A shiver ripples through me. I thread my fingers into her hair, holding her there like an anchor against the wave threatening to take me under.
“I’m yours,” I whisper, voice trembling. “You can have all of me.”
Something breaks in her at that. Reverence becomes hunger.
Her hands return to my ribs, slow and sure, sliding up until her thumbs graze the undersides of my breasts. Then her mouth dips, closing over my nipple with a soft, wet suck.
I arch into her, a moan bursting from my throat. Gods.
My dress is suffocating—layers of silk and lace between us, when I need her skin. Need her heat.
“Unlace me,” I plead, breathless.
I turn slightly, offering her my back. She stills behind me—just for a heartbeat—then exhales like she’s steadying herself on a cliff’s edge.
Her hands rise.
One braces at the base of my spine. The other finds the laces, pulling each knot with slow, deliberate care. The sound is a whisper of promise—fabric surrendering, tension undone. Between each tug, her lips find me again—the nape of my neck, the curve of my shoulder, the hollow just behind my ear.
“You undo me,” she murmurs against my skin.
My eyes flutter shut. I’m burning from the inside out.
The gown slips lower, baring the line of my back to the cool night air. Her hands follow, sliding the sleeves down my arms like a gift unwrapped—fingertips brushing every inch of skin as if she’s memorizing it.
“You’re…” Her voice catches. “Gods, Marienne. You’re a masterpiece.”
I can’t speak. My body’s already answering, trembling, pulsing with the need to be touched, claimed, devoured.
The dress slides down to my hips, leaving me half-bare in the moonlight and her arms. Her breath stutters as her hands find my waist, then curve around my hips.
She’s still kneeling. And I—
I’ve never felt so worshipped in my life.
Standing, the gown pools at my feet in a pale whisper of silk. I don’t even glance at it as it bunches, don’t even think of the fabric or the cost. All I can see is Ser Tamsin—my hearth—kneeling before me, looking up with a hunger I’ve never been brave enough to believe was for me.
Reverence and need, both at once.
A shiver runs through me as our eyes meet. For a moment, I’m suspended there—bare, open, held steady by the way she looks at me.
“Tamsin,” I breathe, my voice unsteady. “Please.
She rises just enough to wrap her mouth around my breast again, sucking deeper this time. Her hand slides down my belly, to the delicate lace that’s still somehow in place—too much. Far too much.
“All of you,” she murmurs against my skin. “Let me have all of you.”
Her fingers find the waistband and tug, slow but sure, dragging the last scrap of modesty down my thighs. They fall to the floor, silent, forgotten.
I stand bare in every sense of the word—naked under her gaze, flushed, throbbing, wanting.
A small, helpless sound escapes me.
“This is unfair,” I manage, voice breaking on a soft moan as her mouth keeps moving, kissing, tasting. “You’re rather clothed.”
She chuckles, low and dark, and the sound alone nearly unravels me. “Let’s fix that.”
She kisses a path from my breast to my collarbone, to my throat, to my mouth. Each press of her lips is slower, deeper, building, layering, coaxing me into a world where only she exists.
And for the first time, I let her. Fully. Completely.
My hands lift to her chest, fingers tracing the edge of her suit. The fabric gives with a gentle tug. One by one, layers fall away like discarded tension, until only the woman remains beneath.
And gods… what a woman.
Tamsin Greaves, sworn blade, my knight, my hearth.
The lines of her are strength and shadow, but her eyes—when they meet mine—hold nothing but tenderness and hunger.
I drag my palms along her waist, up her ribcage, fingers grazing her breasts, teasing the firm peaks until she gasps against my mouth.
Our bodies meet, all skin and heat and aching tension. Her thigh presses between mine, and I grind against her with a soft cry, needy and shameless.
Her hand slips lower, finds the slick heat between my legs, and parts me with reverent fingers. I moan into her neck, kissing gently as she strokes me—slow, precise, knowing.
“Tamsin…”
“Divan,” she whispers. “Now.”
I don’t argue. I let her guide me down until I’m sitting on the cushions, legs parted, eyes heavy with lust. She kneels again between my thighs and takes me in—really takes me in.
And gods, the way she looks at me…
Her hands slide along the insides of my thighs, coaxing them further apart. I open for her willingly—shy and bold all at once—my breath uneven, my core bare beneath her gaze.
She looks at me like I’m a prayer answered.
And when I meet her eyes, cheeks flushed, lips parted, I whisper, “Yours.”
Just that.
And it is everything.
Tamsin has the audacity to smirk, almost smug, but there’s something molten behind it. Something that trembles close to awe.
“Mine,” she agrees.
But her gaze isn’t on my face. It’s lower. Between my thighs, clearly focused on the glistening wetness there. And gods, the heat that rushes through me at that—
My breath catches.
Her hands curl around my legs and tug—firm, certain—pulling me to the edge of the divan until I’m spread for her, open and wanting.
And then she lowers her head between my legs and her mouth finds me.
The first touch of her tongue—slow, deliberate—draws a sound from me I don’t recognize. Bliss. Blinding, aching bliss.
My hips jerk, and one hand flies to her hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, holding on, not to guide her, but to ground myself.
She licks me with languid purpose, tongue circling my clit before she flattens it and sucks, slow and greedy.
“Tamsin—” My voice breaks around her name, high and breathless. “Gods…”
She groans into me, the sound vibrating against my most sensitive flesh, and I jerk, pleasure cresting high.
My head tips back, strawberry-blond hair tumbling free around my shoulders, messy and damp against my spine.
The moonlight spills through the tall windows, gilding the room in silver.
It casts her in stark, perfect relief—broad shoulders, flushed skin, the damp heat between her own thighs shimmering in the light.
And when I lift my head, dazed and trembling, our eyes meet.
Her tongue flicks against my clit, the peak of my need—tender, unrelenting.
“Gods, Tamsin, right there. Please,” I beg, breathless.
Her tongue presses harder, more insistent, lapping at me, all the while watching me.
As if there is nothing else in this world but the two of us.
As Tamsin's mouth moves against me, the world narrows to my rising pleasure. My hips arch—helpless, seeking—and her name leaves my lips like a prayer.
The wave crests. Breaks. I cry out…
… and she doesn’t stop.
I gasp as her fingers join her mouth. She murmurs sweet nothings between my legs, and then slides one inside, then another, filling me with reverent precision.
Her gaze is steady, locked to mine, and there’s something there that nearly undoes me more than her touch.
“Still with me?” she murmurs, her voice husky, dark with promise.
I nod, barely managing a breath. “Don’t stop.”
She doesn’t.
Her mouth returns to my clit, coaxing, guiding, as her fingers curl inside me, and the next release hits harder. Starlight behind my eyes.
I cry out, loud, unrestrained. But she doesn’t stop. She keeps going, drawing every drop of pleasure from me like she’s starving for it.
Somewhere between now and after, I realize I’m no longer sitting… I’ve melted down onto the cushions, half-drunk on her touch and the quiet devotion in every movement.
When I blink back to myself, she’s above me, haloed in moonlight. Bare and breathtaking, her skin lit with soft silver, her smile somewhere between triumph and tenderness.
I reach for her, and she comes willingly, sliding against me like a vow. Her body fits against mine, warm and solid and home. She kisses me—slowly, deeply—until I forget where I end and she begins.
“That was…” I manage, voice thin with wonder.
She hums, nipping gently at my throat. “Oh, my flower. We’re far from finished.”
A pause, a glint in her eye, as she adds, “Shall we move to the bedroom before Margot gets curious about the noise?”
I laugh, soft and breathless, and tug her closer, already knowing the answer.