Chapter Forty-Eight #2
I scent a subtle, sweet clove smell. And as the velvety texture glides gently beneath my collarbone, circling my breasts, rising up to my neck, I realize just what, exactly, Draven is using.
The Nox’s Caelum.
He lazily traces every inch of my body with the petals of my favorite flower, a torturous tease. My skin is littered with chills, and I am wound as tightly as one can possibly be, reaching the point where I’m ready to beg for more.
In fact, at some point, a breathy plea must blow past my lips, because Draven chuckles and rasps, “Your wish is my command.” Suddenly, petals no longer trace my skin, but instead it is Draven’s touch now ruffling butterflies in my stomach.
He glides his hand down my torso, slips his fingers beneath the thin fabric, and begins rubbing painfully slow circles against my sweet spot.
My body is flooded with a consuming rush of need, and my brain is lost to a frenzy that only understands one word: more .
Without my sight, I feel every texture, every tiny detail with shocking clarity. Between my arms being pinned above my head, his lips caressing my neck, and the toying motions of his fingers, triggering my every nerve ending, I am a tightly coiled spring, taut and ready to explode.
And despite myself, a small whimper sneaks past my lips.
A sound that sends Draven’s fingers slipping back inside of me and his mouth finding my breasts after a soft groan pushes from his tongue.
He drops my wrists, and his tongue swirls in circles across my skin, transforming my tiny whimper into a melodic moan as an aching want consumes every part of me.
Acting on nothing but feeling, I reach my hand out and find his shoulders.
Then, I glide an idle finger down his chest, over the ridge of his abs, and to the waistband of his trousers.
I toy with the fabric, until my hand roves lower, making perfect contact with his considerable bulge.
And feeling Draven unrelentingly hard in my palm—even if just through his pants—sends a fresh wave of burning heat coursing through me, warming everything from my cheeks to my toes.
I curl my fingers just enough to put pressure against the swell of him, and then I rub, toying with him like he has been toying with me.
Draven bites down on my shoulder before I feel his head tipping back, groaning. “Fuck, Lyra. You have no idea what you do to me.”
My lip tilts with a smirk. “I think I have some idea,” I murmur thickly, squeezing just a little tighter for emphasis.
A low rumble sounds in the back of his throat.“Let me worship you,” he breathes.
Something swells in my chest. “You already are,” I whisper through heavy breaths.
“No,” Draven counters. “This is nothing but the opening prayer to a sacred ritual. You asked me to shatter you. And though I have no intentions of ever causing you harm, I will unravel every part of you before taking my time in piecing you back together again.”
My voice drops into a loaded whisper. “You have already unraveled every fiber within me, Draven.”
I feel his rough palm glide across my skin as he cups my cheek, his thumb moving idly.
His voice is soft—different—when he replies, “And you, Lyra, have obliterated all my defenses. You are my undoing. My beginning and my end.” He reaches for my hand and guides it to his chest, laying my palm flat against his skin, pressing his hand against the back of mine.
“Whatever a heart truly is—whatever substance allows it to feel with such unabated devotion—it is yours, wholly and entirely. I have no need for it without you.”
Emotion crawls up my throat, and the rush of feeling flooding my veins is almost too much for me to process.
Thankfully, Draven doesn’t wait for me to speak.
He grips my backside, and he lifts me, taking a few steps before setting me down on what I can only assume is a large and flat ledge, where he then slips my undergarments down my legs, removing them.
He places slow, tender kisses on the inside of my left thigh, then my right thigh.
I lean back against the cave wall, still unable to see a thing, feeling like all the overwhelming sensations are making me drunk.
He grips both my thighs, drawing my knees up, and traces the scars painted across the back of my legs with reverence.
Then, he wedges himself strategically between my legs and presses his lips to me, sliding his tongue along my seam, licking the bundle of nerves sitting swollen at the apex of my thighs.
Lightning cracks beneath my skin, igniting me with a staticky fire.
I tip my head back and moan. Loud and unabashedly. I don’t even care.
The pressure his tongue places against all the right places sends me spinning. And when he sucks and nips with his teeth, I am spiraling.
But it isn’t until he slips two fingers inside me, curling them upward, that I am unraveling.
That knot winds tighter and tighter in my stomach, and the humming pressure it builds inside of me has me breathing Draven’s name—the sound rolling effortlessly off my lips.
He hums with pleasure. “Say it again,” he demands between strokes of his tongue. “Say my name again.”
I do.
“Again,” he groans, his voice feral.
I breathe his name like a prayer.
It is his undoing .
One hand grips my thigh tightly while the other makes powerful thrusts inside of me as his mouth devours me. The knot in my stomach coils tighter—seconds away from snapping as the strings of all my nerves pull taut.
I plunge my fingers into Draven’s tousled wet hair, close to drunkenly falling off a cliff. Then, I feel something fade—like removing a forgotten thin blanket.
“Open your eyes,” Draven instructs.
I listen, officially shattering at what I see.
Inside the small cove behind the waterfall, the water glows aqua as aquatic flowers gleam beneath the surface.
Purple petals twirl on forgotten vines along the rocks, bright and saturated.
But it is the warm, soft glow of all the dyotana—small, translucent caterpillars—coating the ceiling that stunts the rhythm of my heart.
Their glowing blue bodies appear almost crystal-like, shimmering with a glittering light.
And there are perhaps thousands of them twinkling above me, like a foreign, ethereal night sky.
The strings inside of me quiver, preparing to snap and release as Draven continues unraveling me with his fingers, his tongue worshipping me, driving me to insanity.
I stare up, mesmerized by the glow of the ceiling above, for only a moment longer before my gaze returns to Draven—who watches me as if I am something precious, something he’d bring down the stars to protect.
The moment our eyes meet, all the tension beneath my skin explodes in a wave of pleasurable heat, surging and pulsing as an effervescent hum spreads through my limbs in a dizzying rush.
My head tips back, and my eyes flutter closed as the waves of pleasure crash through me, shattering all I have ever been, reminding me of all I can be.
Draven holds onto me as I explode with pleasure, my moans and squeals oscillating along with my euphoria.
I am left weak and limp when the fluttering dissipates, gasping for breath.
When I reopen my eyes, I find Draven studying me with a softened gaze. His face is a marvel worthy of being strung in the stars—of being among the gods themselves.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs gently.
I spend a few seconds catching my breath. Then, I lean forward and kiss him like it’s the last kiss this world will ever know.
When I pull back, my eyes trace his body, so unbelievably attracted to every inch of him. But my eyes snag on the small circle of mangled skin hovering just below his collarbone. Gingerly, I reach my fingers out and graze the tips of them across the marring.
Draven sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, and my eyes snap up to him, my brows creasing. “Did that hurt?” I ask, my raspy voice a shade above a whisper.
Draven places an idle hand over my fingertips, stilling me. “Not in the ways you think,” he answers softly. His eyes drop to the water.
I study him, sensing a shift. Unsure of what to do, I learn forward and place a kiss on his chest, up his neck, along his jaw, until I again reach his lips, where I offer him something soft and tender.
When I pull back, his eyes remain gentle, though something different now rests behind them. He grips my chin lightly, grazing his thumb over it. “That’s enough for now,” he murmurs.
“But…you received nothing.”
Draven chuckles, the sound soft and airy. “Trust me,” he counters with a smile. “I received plenty .”