Chapter 22 Wants of the Flesh #2
She inhaled sharply at his touch. "T-Tharen said my bandages can come off soon. I’m healing well. I don’t feel any pain at all, unless I move too suddenly or put too much pressure on my back."
He hummed. That was to be expected. "As soon as your bandages are off, I will show you, then."
"Show me what?"
Graves leaned down, face pressing right beside hers as they looked out at the sea. "The first steps of flight."
Her cheek pressed against his, and he felt the last tendril of her fear give way to desire as the wind roared around them. "What if I am doomed to be flightless?"
He lowered his voice, wrapping her in the temptation of the body so she would not feel any fear—never again. "You are not flightless, sweetheart. I have faith. Do you?"
She was silent for so long that he wondered if she had somehow fallen asleep there in his arms, but when she did speak, it was accompanied by a rumble of distant thunder. "I have faith in some things, Graves, but not in myself."
His hands tightened on her as the air grew charged with the promise of another storm.
That couldn’t happen. "That’s the problem.
You don’t believe in yourself." He nipped at the point of her ear.
The thunder grew closer. "You feel weak, less than.
" He gripped her hips suddenly, forcing her back into him, into the ache of his cock that nestled in the swell of her backside.
She gasped, and the waves grew fiercer. "Is it weakness to make me feel like this?
Because I think it is the greatest power of all. "
"Graves," she managed, a hand reaching out to brace on the railing.
"You sigh, and the whole world holds its breath. You cry, and the mountains tremble." He spoke directly into her ear. "And you still think yourself weak?"
She turned her head, the wind making her hair whip around them. Her palm was cold as she grabbed his cheek, her index finger tracing over the shadow of hair on his jaw, the line of his scar. "Kiss me?" she asked, hesitant and broken.
"Was it hard to ask that of me?" Graves rasped.
She nodded.
"Then you deserve to be rewarded."
Her tongue wet her lip, and he chased it with his own. When their lips met and she sighed against him, true to his word, the world held its breath.
Her wings pressed to his chest, her backside against the source of his desire. Salt air stung their skin. He cupped the side of her neck carefully, lest he hurt her healing spine, feeling her lean into the railing, unmindful of the sea below.
Desperate for air, they both broke away, and her exhales were ragged against his slick mouth.
A faint flash of white illuminated them both, and they stared up, finding the swiftly moving, dark clouds parting to reveal the moon in all its brilliance, a crescent-like sliver, fog drifting before it, blotting out its shape.
The sound of the wind and the waves lapping against the ship had nothing on his thundering heart.
"Take me somewhere," she breathed, their noses brushing.
They stumbled to the side, both knowing that all it would take was one cracking splinter and their safety would dissolve into the darkness of the abyss.
Under the moonlight, she was truly the Princess of Luna. White hair eating up every speck of brightness from the moon above, pale skin reflecting its glow, and pure wings shivering with need.
A collection of thick netting was on the side of the ship, there to keep crates from toppling into the sea. Graves’s fingers tightened around her hand, and he stopped at the netting, eyeing how it curved outward, over the water.
A half-smile pulled at his lips. "I think you like danger." He walked them closer to the netting, putting her before him, her wings still pressing into his chest as he forced them both into the netting.
Luella’s hands tangled in the coarse ropes. "What are you doing?"
"Showing you that the sea is not to be feared.
" With a hand on her bare lower back, Graves pushed her front into the netting.
She gasped as she fell into it, hot terror licking against him.
Her hands gripped the netting, cheek pressed against it, forcing her to stare straight down into the sea.
Her feet barely stayed on the deck. He pressed himself flush against her back.
"Tell me, sweetheart, does it not excite you, knowing that the snap of a rope is all that keeps you from your demise?
" His voice was like gravel. "I felt how your fear turned to desire as I held you on the bow. You like it…"
"No," she said, voice quivering.
One of his hands drifted up her side, under the open back of her shirt, until he found her bare breast, the soft swell of it heavy in his hands as he teased the underside. She stuttered out a moan.
"Then why are you not pushing me away?"
"I don’t know," she revealed.
"I do," Graves rasped. "You want this. The danger.
The thrill." Each word was punctuated by the upward stroke of his fingers over her breast, until he brushed against the hardened peak of her nipple, making her arch into him.
The nets swayed. Her fear did not dull; it cascaded against rising desire until they were both entwined.
"W-what if I do?" Luella breathed, fingers curling into the netting.
His touches were featherlight and teasing, even though he wanted to grip her, consume her. He gave in—just a bit—letting his hands massage her small breasts and revel in her tiny whimpers. The sea roared below them, dark and consuming.
Graves felt the thrill at staring down into the abyss.
His head thumped on her upper back, making the net groan under their combined weights. A breath. And another. He filled his lungs with her scent.
Then, he ripped away from her, and her body trembled against the nets without him to anchor her back.
"Go," Graves said, forcing every bit of ragged want out of his tone, until he sounded as emotionless as he wished he could be.
She shuddered against the nets, carefully pushing her body off of them, and he watched as her flushed cheeks grew darker as she stared at his chest, unable to look into his eyes, and he hated that.
As she stood before him, he caught her face and tipped it up to his.
Stray white hairs framed her face, damp from water. Flushed cheeks.
Graves leaned forward and took her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it. He pulled free with a soft sound, and the delicate line of her throat worked with a swallow. Her hands came up, fingers tangling with his, holding on as if for dear life as she shivered.
The groaning creaks of the swaying ship echoed her words as she asked, "Why send me away?"
Graves held her gaze, disentangling his fingers from hers. "I don’t have enough control to be near you."
She exhaled, her breath hitting his chest as she peered up at him.
Her hands were still before her, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself now that Graves no longer touched her.
He knew the feeling. From where her cheek had been pressed into the netting, there were small lines imprinted on her skin.
He reached for the impressions, tracing the back of his hand over her cheek.
"Go," Graves repeated, "before I do something you may not be ready for."
She looked back at the netting and nodded, dazed. Graves bit back a gruff laugh. She had liked it—there was no denying that. But her mind may take time to catch up to the wants of her flesh.
She stumbled away, unmoored. Graves saw her plea for direction. He couldn’t help but answer the call as he murmured into the night:
"Go to your demon. He’ll care for you in ways that I can’t."