Chapter Forty-Eight
T he hum of water droplets crashing into the glittering surface is hypnotizing.
But not as hypnotizing as watching Draven plunge beneath the water, emerging like a glistening god as his hair drips wet, tousled and messy, leaving his every muscle outlined by a watery sheen. He swipes water from his face with both hands, and shakes the excess moisture from his sopping hair.
Wearing nothing but my undershirt and undergarments—choosing not to just plunge into the pool naked, Draven doing the same, removing only his shirt, belt, and pants—I walk closer to the waterfall.
My hair is unbound, cascading freely down my back, and I hover my hands just above the water as I move, loving the buoyant feel on my palms, relishing in the cool kisses brushing against my fingertips.
Luckily, the water rises only to about my ribcage, making it an easy stroll.
I stop once the mist from the downpour of rushing water splashes my skin, and I stare at the network of twisting vines lining the walls, flowers blooming along them like bursts of living color.
I glance right and see water lilies. I glance left and catch softly glowing blue light as the bioluminescent flora sways humbly with the breeze.
When I look up, I see a smudge of silver in the sky as the moon rises, taking its rightful place in its kingdom of night.
I feel Draven behind me before I hear him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I continue staring through the circular opening above us. “Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it.”
“I agree entirely.” Draven presses a kiss to my temple. And then my cheek. And then my jaw. He nips at my earlobe, and slowly, he begins to trace my neck with his lips, collecting my hair and sweeping it to the other side of my neck.
My eyes flutter closed, and my head tilts, giving every inch of my skin to him. But those intoxicating lips of his still.
“Lyra,” he rasps. He drops his voice a scratchy octave. “Tell me these aren’t what I think they are.”
At first, I don’t know what he means. Until his finger traces one of the raised scars, where King Alastair forced me to rub salt into an already bleeding thing.
I clear my throat and lift my chin, refusing to feel shame about them. They are not blemishes signifying damage; they are reminders of survival.
“They are,” I answer sternly.
His voice is dangerously low. “Your king did this to you?”
“Yes.” I bite down on the acidic taste suddenly coating my tongue. “And he is not my king.”
Draven responds with a low rattling noise, stemming from deep in his throat. “How long? How many times? ”
I swish my lips side-to-side, feeling a weight sink in my chest. “Why does it matter?” I whisper.
“Because I need to know exactly how many hours he should suffer, and how many cuts should be sliced into his skin.”
The corner of my lip twitches. My hands dance across the water, and I stare at the ripples branching from the touch. “Sorry,” I say. “But he’s all mine to claim. If anyone is going to make him suffer, it’ll be me.”
Draven is silent for a long moment. But then he presses gentle kisses along my scars. “That’s my girl,” he whispers onto the marks, giving something ugly and mangled the chance to feel beautiful.
The words pull at something in my heart, and I turn, facing him. He meets my gaze with tender eyes, and he lifts a hand, cupping my cheek. Then, he wraps his other arm around my waist and pulls me into him, enveloping me in his citrus scent.
It is dizzying, how much he can make my chest swell with emotion and my heart beat with desire.
He watches me for a few, passing seconds. And then, torturously slow, he brings his lips to mine.
And I am again reminded of how devastatingly explosive a feeling can be.
Stars stream across my shut eyes, and I kiss Draven back with every ounce of feeling, desire, want, emotion—all that I’m capable of. I kiss him with everything I have, all that I am. Broken fragments included.
And gods does he stitch the jagged pieces into something whole as he holds me tightly and threads his fingers into my hair.
I get lost in the kiss—lost in the vibrating abyss swirling inside of myself, far deeper and greater than anything I knew was ever possible. I lose myself to the frenzy—to the want.
I suck on Draven’s bottom lip and slowly drag my teeth over it. My fingers plunge into his wet hair, and I tug at the strands.
Draven groans, the sound coming from deep in his throat. His grip on me tightens, and he squeezes the back of my neck as he kisses me deeper. Breathless, he pulls away, gliding his thumb across my swollen bottom lip.
“You are so perfect,” he whispers. And then he guides me a few steps forward, until the falling water brushes against my backside. “Close your eyes,” Draven instructs, his voice soft.
“What?” I ask, my own voice breathy.
“Close. Your. Eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I look at them any longer, I will lose control. And I have thought about this moment many times, through many nights, and I do not intend to rush it.”
Something melts in the pit of my stomach as a fresh wave of heat overtakes me. I do as he says and shut my eyes, and he turns me around, to where my back is again pressed against his chest, and the falling water just knicks my skin.
Then he kisses my neck while pressing both his palms flat against my ribcage. Until one hand moves toward the thin fabric of my undergarment while the other slides upwards, his fingers spreading across my neck and squeezing gently.
A moan rises in my throat.
His fingers rub circles against the soft fabric—against the part of me throbbing from the desire to be touched by him.
“Tell me something, Lyra.”
His breath on my jaw sends sparks of electricity skittering along my skin. Well, that and…other things. “Yes?”
“When I touch you, would you like me to tell you about the many times I’ve touched myself, fantasizing about you?
Or do you want me to tell you about how hard seeing you aroused makes me?
” His hand slips underneath my undergarments, where his fingers brush against the apex of my thighs, making teasing circles against the bundle of nerves, coiling my stomach into knots.
“Or,” he says lowly, “would you prefer I say nothing at all, and simply show you all those things through the ways I choose to worship your body?”
Everything inside of me melts into oblivion, replaced instead by sparks of light, heated explosions, and consuming vibrations humming along my skin.
I have never known a touch to feel this good.
And gods do I want more of it.
“I want you to make me feel,” I breathe. “Give me everything—shatter me for all I care. But don’t hold back.”
Draven stills—only for a moment—before he whispers into my ear, “Your wish is my command.”
And then he slips a finger inside of me, curling it up with every thrust. His other hand—maintaining a firm pressure—slowly slides up my throat, until those fingers reach my jaw, where they lock into place. He presses a firm kiss to my neck, then sucks my skin against his tongue, biting down.
The resulting sensation sends blasts of radiant color exploding behind my eyelids, and I open my eyes as I gasp for breath .
Only…
I can’t see anything.
My fingers rise to my face, expecting to find the blindfold Draven carries around pressed against my eyes. Yet I feel nothing but my bare skin.
“Draven…”
“Yes?”
“Why can’t I see anything?”
I can hear the smirk in his voice. “You asked me to make you feel, and I intend to do just that.” His finger slides in and out of me with delicious strokes, his movements intentional and precise. A moan slips past my lips, the knot tightening in my stomach.
Without my sight, everything feels so…heightened.
His thumb drags across my jaw before skimming lower, grazing the seam of my lips.
“I am selfish,” he murmurs thickly. “And I want you focused only on me.” His thumb presses against my bottom lip, making it hum as if my skin sings for him.
“Just my fingers inside you, and my name inked on your tongue. That way, when you are alone at night, again surrounded by darkness, you will long for the taste of me.”
A shiver rushes through me, and, without thinking, I wrap my lips around his thumb and suck, grazing the tips of my front teeth over it.
A low rattling sound rumbles deep in his throat, and a wave of heat curls over my skin, featherlight and electric, leaving behind a slow, aching burn.
And I realize—he is the Dalmar heir.
Which means his magic is dark magic. The strongest magic in all of Solaya.
My voice trembles with desire. “You’ve blinded me with your magic, haven’t you?”
His finger continues gliding in and out of me, sending electrical shocks shooting down my nerves with each thrust. He chuckles under his breath.
“Blinded? No, not exactly. It’s more like…
I’ve encased you in my darkness.” And then Draven’s finger slips out of me, and I hear the gentle murmur of moving water—feel the absence of his warmth as his body shifts away from me .
Thankfully, he returns within seconds. His lip grazes the tip of my ear as his hand rests on my hip. “Do you trust me?”
It’s strange, the way my heart doesn’t even need to think about the answer.
“Yes,” I breathe.
His fingers press into my skin, tightening, and then he nudges me forward, through the waterfall, until I feel him turning me around to where my front faces him, pinning my back against a cold surface.
The cave wall, I think.
With measured movements, he grips both my wrists and slowly raises them above my head, pinning them in place with a single hand.
And then he kisses my jaw, my cheek, my nose—my lips.
Something soft and velvety traces the sensitive skin of my underwrist, trailing down until it reaches my collarbone, sending the hairs on my arms rising as my breasts peak from the overwhelmingly soft yet intoxicating sensation.