Chapter 21 - Elle #2
The kiss this time was different—slower, deeper, a claiming. His hands mapped my body through my clothes like he was memorizing topography, and everywhere he touched left trails of heat.
“Wait,” I said against his mouth, and he froze instantly.
“Too much?”
“Not enough.” I pulled back with a grin, reaching for one of the vines nearby. Its leaves were glistening with morning dew, sparkling in the light. I plucked one, brought it to my nose. The scent was pure peppermint, sweet and sharp. “These are flavored.”
His eyebrows rose. “Flavored.”
“Peppermint. There are others—look.” I pointed to different vines. “Chocolate. Bubblegum. Some kind of berry.” I traced the peppermint leaf over his lips, watched his pupils blow wide at the cooling sensation it left. “Guess I found my own personal candy cane.”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, but his voice was rough with want.
“Hopefully not before we get to the good part.” I kissed him again, tasting peppermint on his lips, and felt his control slip another notch.
His hands found the hem of my tunic, hesitated. “May I?”
The formality of it, in this moment, undid something in my chest. “Yes. Please, yes.”
He pulled the fabric over my head in one smooth motion, and for a moment just looked at me. The marks at my collarbones had spread again, golden lines tracing patterns down my chest.
“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he said, reverent. His fingers traced the marks, making me shiver.
He kissed me again, and this time there was no hesitation. His hands learned the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, and I did the same—mapping the planes of his chest, the ridges of his muscles, the places where his marks pulsed under my touch.
“The vines,” I murmured against his mouth. “They’re moving.”
He glanced to the side, then smiled—an expression I’d rarely seen, and it transformed his face. “Pleasure vines. They respond to desire.”
Even as he said it, the vines were weaving themselves into a structure behind us—supportive, responsive, creating something like a nest.
“That’s convenient.”
“That’s intentional. This garden was designed for exactly this.” His hands were working at the laces of my pants now. “The rebels who founded the Thornwood knew that pleasure was as much a part of life as duty. That joy could be revolutionary.”
“Revolutionary fucking. I like it.”
He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound went straight through me. “You’re impossible.”
“You like it.”
“I do.” He kissed me again, slower now, thorough. “Root and Bloom, I do.”
My clothes disappeared in stages, his following, until we were skin to skin in the golden light. The vines had created a bower around us, supporting but not confining, adjusting to our movements like living furniture.
“Elle,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that made everything inside me clench. “I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“I’ve lived hundreds of years, and I have never—” He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing hard. “I have never felt like this. Never wanted someone the way I want you. It’s not the bond, it’s not the prophecy, it’s not anything except you.”
I pulled back to look at him, saw the vulnerability there, the fear under the want. “Then have me. I’m yours.”
The vines adjusted as he lay me down, creating a nest that was impossibly comfortable. The mushrooms growing nearby began to glow brighter, responding to our arousal, casting everything in soft blue-green light.
“Wait,” I said, remembering. “The mushrooms—Peeble said something about them once. During one of their more educational rants.”
“What about them?”
I reached for one of the glowing caps, carefully broke off a small piece. It left luminescent residue on my fingers. “Body paint.”
His eyes darkened. “Show me.”
I traced glowing patterns across his chest, following the natural lines of his marks, watching how the light made them stand out even more. He shuddered under my touch, his hands clenching in the moss beneath us.
“Your turn,” he said, taking a piece of mushroom for himself.
His hands were careful, almost reverent, as he painted patterns on my skin—constellations, spirals, runes in languages I didn’t know. Every stroke left tingling warmth in its wake.
“You know what the best part is?” I asked, breathless.
“What?”
“You get to lick it off.”
His control snapped.
His mouth traced the glowing trails he’d painted, and the mushroom was sweet on my skin—earthy and bright, with an effervescent quality that made every nerve ending sing. He took his time, learning what made me gasp, what made me arch into his touch.
“My turn,” I said, flipping us over when I couldn’t take it anymore, pushing him back into this makeshift bed.
I painted him with deliberate care—patterns down his chest, following the ridges of muscle.
God, he was beautiful. Not in a soft way, but like something carved from marble.
His abdomen was a study in controlled power, each muscle defined, the kind of physique that came from centuries of training and fighting.
He looked like an Adonis—if Adonis had been forged in darkness and marked with corruption.
“You’re staring,” he said, voice rough.
“You’re worth staring at.” My hands traced lower, following the trail of marks that disappeared beneath the vines. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re obscenely gorgeous?”
“Not in those words.”
“Then everyone you’ve met has been a coward.” I leaned down, pressing kisses to follow where I’d painted. The mushroom glow made his skin look almost ethereal. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
“Elle—”
“Shh. My turn to explore.”
When my hand finally wrapped around his cock, his sharp intake of breath was gratifying. He was substantial—impressively so—and the look on my face must have shown my thoughts because he actually smiled.
“Is that concern or appreciation?” he asked.
“Definitely appreciation.” I stroked slowly, watching his eyes darken. “With maybe a touch of ‘this is going to be interesting.’”
“I’ll be careful—”
“I don’t want careful right now.” I reached for one of the chocolate-flavored leaves, showing it to him. “Do you know what a lollipop is?”
“A… what?”
“Earth candy. You lick it.” I traced the leaf along his length, coating him with the chocolate essence. “Let me educate you.”
The moment I took him in my mouth, chocolate and salt and him, he made a sound that wasn’t quite my name. His hands found my hair, not pushing, just holding on like I was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality.
“Root and Bloom,” he gasped. “What are you—”
I pulled back just enough to answer. “Showing you what a lollipop is. Educational.”
“This is not—” His words cut off as I took him deeper, the chocolate leaf creating a sweetness that made the act even more decadent.
The peppermint leaves came next, alternating sensations—cooling, warming, the slight effervescence of the mushroom glow still on my lips. I could feel him trying to maintain control, trying not to thrust, trying to be careful even now.
“Let go,” I told him, my hand working where my mouth couldn’t reach. “I want all of you.”
His control shattered beautifully. Through the bond, I felt his pleasure building, felt the moment he stopped fighting it, and when he came with my name on his lips, I stayed with him through it—taking everything he gave, feeling powerful and desired and absolutely perfect.
When I finally pulled away, his chest was heaving, marks pulsing erratically across his skin. He looked thoroughly undone. His eyes bulged when I ran my tongue along my lips, swallowing the last of him.
“That,” he said when he could speak again, “was not educational.”
“No?”
“That was devastation.” He pulled me up to kiss me, tasting chocolate and himself on my lips. “You’re dangerous.”
“You like it.”
“I’m obsessed with it.” His hands were already exploring again, returning the favor. “Your turn.”
He pulled me up, kissing me deeply, tasting chocolate and peppermint and want. When I pulled back, he was already hard again—impossibly quick recovery that made me raise an eyebrow.
“Fae stamina?” I asked.
“Among other benefits.” His marks pulsed with renewed hunger. “If you’re interested.”
“Very interested.”
The vines responded to our desire, weaving themselves into supportive straps that positioned me above him. They created loops that I could grip with my hands, while other vines wrapped gently around my thighs and hips—not restraining, but supporting my weight like a sex swing.
“Oh,” I breathed, understanding the mechanics. “That’s—”
“Perfect leverage,” Kaelren finished, his hands settling on my hips as he lay back into the nest of moss and vines beneath him. “You control the rhythm. The vines will hold you.”
I straddled him, the swing-like support taking most of my weight while still letting me move.
From this angle, I could see all of him—the sculpted planes of his chest still gleaming with traces of mushroom paint, his marks pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat, the way he looked at me like I was something sacred and profane all at once.
“Like this?” I asked, positioning myself above him, feeling the head of him pressing against my entrance.
“Exactly like that.” His voice was strained, hands flexing on my hips. “Take your time. Set the pace.”
I sank down slowly, inch by inch, watching his face as I took him.
The vines adjusted with me, supporting my weight so I could control the depth, the angle.
When I was fully seated, we both groaned at the sensation—deeper than before, the angle hitting something inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Fuck,” I gasped.
“Move,” he urged. “Please, Elle, move.”