Chapter 27 #2
My brows knit, a flicker of unease twisting in my gut.
She softens then, leans her elbow on her knee, and smiles with something almost like affection. “His sigils, of course. I believe she’s inking him as we speak.”
I glance over my shoulder, eyes lingering on the door that leads to them.
I imagine him stretched out on that table, shirt discarded, Solena’s hands gliding over his skin. A flicker of something sharp catches in my chest. Not jealousy. Envy.
There’s no bitterness toward Solena. I believe her when she says I have nothing to fear. But I want my hands on him. My fingers tracing the heat of his body, his firm flesh slick with sweat beneath my touch. Our breaths tangling, melting together in the humid haze of the cabin.
Something stirs low in my belly, hot and undeniable. A need. A hunger I’ve denied for far too long.
“You’re still here?” Zyphoro asks, one brow arched as her gaze flicks to the door.
A slow smirk curves my lips. I say nothing.
I turn, stride to the door, grip the handle and push it open without hesitation.
Daed’s eyes flick up from the table, a dark strand of hair falling over one half-lidded eye. Solena glances up too, standing beside him, a fine-tipped needle in one hand and a small cup of black ink in the other.
“Amara,” she says gently. “Is everything alright?”
Daed lifts his head. “Is it our daughter…?”
I shake mine. “She’s fine. Everything’s fine.” My gaze lingers on the ink. “I just thought… maybe you could show me how to do that.”
Daed’s brow draws together. “Really?”
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. “If that’s alright.”
Solena offers a soft smile. “There’s a great deal that goes into runeweaving, but I’m nearly done. You can finish the last lines.”
I step toward her, feeling Daed’s gaze settle on me like heat. Solena steps aside, pressing the needle into my hand, her fingers stained black.
“Just trace the edges,” she instructs, holding out the cup. I dip the tip of the needle into the ink, tapping it lightly against the rim.
Then I turn to him.
Daed’s back is lean and taut, his skin glistening with sweat and streaked with dark sigils, some still seeping blood. My hand hovers, the ink dripping from the needle’s tip. I can see the tremble in my fingers.
“Nothing to worry about,” Solena murmurs. “The runes are marked. You can’t change them now. It’s just finishing.”
I nod to steady myself. Then, I lower the needle.
“Good,” she says. “Now, prick. Quick and steady.”
I exhale, then press.
The needle resists. The sensation startles me, and for a heartbeat I falter. But I close my eyes, breathe deep.
No. I want this.
I press again.
Daed flinches barely, but I catch it. Another press. Then another. Sharp breaths hiss through his teeth.
I pause. “Am I doing it wrong?”
“You’re fine,” he mutters. “But you could be a little gentler.”
My brow lifts. That only makes me press harder.
He hisses, eyes flashing as he glances over his shoulder. But when he meets my scowl, he doesn’t speak, just turns back around and rests his head on the table again, missing the satisfied smirk that curls my lips.
“That’s it,” Solena encourages. “On to the next one.”
I move from rune to rune, darkening each mark, watching the way his muscles shift and twitch beneath my touch. The way his breath stutters and falls into rhythm. My fingers glide over warm skin, and every time I touch him, truly touch him, he shivers.
“You’ll need to sit him up to finish the neck,” Solena says quietly.
“I can hear you,” Daed groans, pushing himself upright and swinging his legs over the side of the table.
He throws back his head, sweeping the dark fall of hair from his eyes, and when he looks up, our faces are barely a breath apart.
He swallows hard, startled. “Sorry.”
I shake my head, my cheeks warming with a sudden, helpless heat. Gods, how long had it been since my husband made me blush? “It’s fine.”
But it isn’t fine. It’s devastating.
The heat radiating off him rolls over me like a tide, thick and stifling, laced with the scent of him, deep, musky, familiar. I feel dizzy with it. Drunk on him.
Solena, oblivious, leans over my shoulder, peering at my hand.
“You’re drifting off the line,” she mutters, her tone clipped. “Focus.”
I clear my throat and nod, noticing the smug curve of Daed’s lips. “Right. Focus.”
I press the needle again, quick and steady, darkening the edge of the rune. My eyes stay fixed on the pattern, but I can feel his gaze burning into me like the blaze of a molten sun. His legs shift, just enough that his knee brushes me, subtle yet deliberate. I don’t move.
His fingers slide along the leather of his trousers, back and forth. Sometimes they skim over the seam where his thigh touches mine, casual, calculated.
“That’s better,” Solena says, approving. “Keep going like that.”
“Yes,” Daed murmurs. “Keep going like that.”
His thumb presses gently into my thigh, just above the knee.
I gulp.
Then a knock.
The door creaks open before anyone gives leave. Orios leans in, ducking his massive frame.
“Solena,” he says, scanning the room until he finds her. “I’ve made you something to eat.”
She nods, still more interested in the runes than the interruption. “Thank you. I’ll be there soon.”
My heart thunders. “I can finish this,” I say somehow. “It’s nearly done.”
“You’re sure?” she asks, brows raised.
“If I need help, I’ll find you.”
Orios brightens, reaching out a broad hand. “Come then, my love.”
Solena finally smiles as she steps away from me. “Very well.”
She touches my shoulder as she passes, a brief reassurance, before ducking beneath Orios’s arm. He holds the door open, impossibly gentle for a man his size, and she rises on her toes to kiss his cheek. He’s carved from granite, but I swear, he melts under her touch.
The door clicks shut.
Only Daed and I remain and the heat, thick and consuming, growing heavier with each breath that stretches between us.
I try to hold my focus. I really do.
I trace the sigils along the curve of his neck, the lines steady and precise, even as ink drips and mingles with the sweat slicking his skin. Still, his eyes never leave me, dark, smoldering, relentless. The kind of stare that strips me bare.
Where his thumb once brushed my thigh, now his whole hand slides over it. Slow. Firm. Circling. Drawing me closer.
He inhales, growls in his throat, rumbles in his chest. His lashes flutter at whatever he scents in me.
And then he guides me between his legs.
Even when he settles me on his thigh, I keep going, determined to finish what I started. Even as he fists the fabric of my gown, dragging it higher inch by inch, until it pools at my knee. My breath shudders. I gulp.
His hand slips beneath the fabric.
At last, skin meets skin.
And he pauses.
His eyes locked on mine, asking a question without words.
I say nothing.
Not because I can’t.
But because I don’t want to.
The needle slips from my hand, forgotten, as my arm drapes over his shoulder. He pulls me into him, his lips hovering at my neck, his breath warm, heady, before his mouth finally presses to my skin.
I exhale, eyes fluttering shut, and thread my fingers through his hair, dragging my nails gently against his scalp. Daed kisses me slowly, each press of his mouth soft and sure, his tongue tasting the sweat beading along my neck.
My chest rises sharply, breath catching when his hand travels higher along my inner thigh, slow, slow, until he finds the heat of me. I gasp, unable to stop it, hips twitching at the first teasing stroke of his fingers.
The sound I make, a soft whimper, pulls a growl from deep in his throat.
I fist his hair tighter when his kiss deepens, hungrier now, tongue sweeping against my neck as he presses a finger into me. My spine arches against him, a moan escaping, desperate and shameless.
His other arm anchors me, wrapped tight around my waist, holding me flush against him, denying me even the smallest escape as I squirm in his grip.
His touch is possessive, his mouth relentless, and the way he groans my name against my skin sends shivers down to my bones.
I feel it everywhere. In my veins, my nerves, every trembling inch of me.
Then he slides another finger inside, and I can’t help the way I grind against his palm, riding the pressure, the pace.
I’m straddling his lap, gown rucked up around my hips, my breath ragged.
His kisses trail down my neck, across my collarbone, lower, until his mouth finds my nipple through the thin fabric.
His tongue laps at it, and when his teeth graze over me, a gasp bursts free from my lips.
His fingers work inside me, firm and coaxing, while his mouth toys with my breast, and the tension inside me coils tighter, higher. My hands tangle in his hair, gripping hard, pulling him closer. I roll my hips shamelessly, chasing the friction, the heat, the sweet ache.
The ship rocks beneath us, the floor groaning in rhythm with my gasps.
I hear the ocean lapping at the hull, the creak of timber, everything outside us swallowed by the storm rising inside me.
His fingers move with perfect purpose, his mouth devouring me, and then my body seizes, back arching as the wave crashes through me.
I bite my lip, trying to muffle it, but the moan escapes anyway.
Long, low, broken. My head falls back and I shake with the release, shivering against him, undone in his arms.
My hand falls back on the table, tipping the cup of ink, sending it spilling onto the floor.
“Oh no,” I gasp, stumbling back from him as the inkwell tips. Black ink blooms across the floor, dark and slick, sliding between my toes like cold blood.
“It’s fine,” he says, voice rough with need. “I’ll clean it up. But if you don’t get back here right now, it will be the end of me.”
The ink between my toes shocks me like a spell broken. I look at him, his chest rising and falling, eyes sharp with hunger, the outline of his thick cock beneath his leathers unmistakable.
I grin. “What do you want to do? Take me here, now, on this table?”
He nods, not missing a beat. “It’s one of the things I plan to do, yes.”
The haze of climax still hums through me, loosening my limbs, giving me a boldness I hadn’t expected. I tug down the hem of my gown, slowly stepping toward the door, and watch his expression shift.
“That’s enough,” I murmur, teasing. “I think I hear our daughter.”
He straightens from the table, slowly stalking after me. “You hear nothing. She’s asleep.”
“Still,” I say, fingers curling around the door handle, “I should really check.”
“Amara,” he growls, head lowered, gaze burning up at me beneath his brow.
But I’ve already twisted the handle. The door creaks open.
“Another time.”
I slip through the doorway, closing it firmly behind me, just as I feel the thud of his body against the other side and hear his low, agonized groan of frustration.
A laugh bubbles up and I smother it with my hand, pressing my palm to the wood, almost as if I can feel the heat of him radiating through it.
The aftershocks of him still spark across my skin. My lips part with the memory. His mouth, his fingers, the exquisite torment of his touch.
A cough breaks the moment.
I turn to find Zyphoro still there, watching me with a grin she doesn’t bother to hide. Reon stands beside her, his brow pressed to her shoulder, laughter caught in the curve of his smile.
“Just a little something to take the edge off, sister?” Zyphoro asks.
Reon snorts, trying and failing to stifle another laugh.
For the first time in days, they’re not wary. Not watching me like I might explode.
They’re just... grinning.
“I have to check on my daughter,” I say quickly, clearing my throat and dragging a hand down my flushed face.
“Oh, don’t be embarrassed,” Zyphoro calls after me. “We can smell it a mile away.”
Reon bursts out laughing, louder this time, but I don’t stop to fire back. I turn and hurry toward my cabin, leaving my mortification and the lingering scent of lust trailing behind me as I shut the door and seal myself inside.