Chapter 8 #4
“A sofa or two chairs would be safer. My control should we share a bed would be severely tested.”
“A Myrkálfar admitting to a lack of control? Shocking.”
“Almost as shocking as the depths of my desire for you.”
It was dryly said and yet edged with a deeper emotion that had my pulse soaring. “And yet, here we stand, neither of us acting on those desires.”
“Do you wish there to be action on said desires?”
“Despite the fears that still rage, yes, I believe I do.”
“Then I am ecstatic to comply.”
I laughed, and he caught my hand, tugging me into his embrace.
His body was hard against mine, his flesh heated, and his erection fierce.
The man really did want. He didn’t say anything, however; he just kissed me.
And oh, what a kiss. It was soft and passionate, demanding and yet not.
It made promises the man couldn’t possibly keep, and yet there was more than a small part of me that wanted to believe.
Wanted to trust that, against impossible odds, it would somehow work out for us.
After what seemed forever, he pulled back, though thankfully not far. His breathing was harsh and heated against my kiss-swollen lips, and his lust was a thick cloud that smothered, making it even harder to breathe.
“Consider me convinced about the depths of your desire,” I murmured, my voice breathy and almost inaudible. “I believe we should reconsider the option to take this to bed.”
“Taking it to bed rather than talking is part of our whole problem,” he replied. “Do not get me wrong. I want nothing more than to bury myself in your flesh right now, but—”
I didn’t let him finish. I grabbed his shirt, pulled him close again, and kissed him with all the fervent desire that burned through me. Talking wasn’t going to solve the problems that lay between us. Neither would sex, but it at least held the promise of a satisfying ending.
He groaned softly against my lips, then his arms went around me again, and our kiss deepened, became hot and hungry and desperate.
His fingers slid under my sweatshirt, sending delicious tingles of desire skittering across my flesh as his touch slowly—agonizingly slowly—moved up toward my breasts.
When he caught and gently squeezed one puckered nipple, I gasped and arched into him, pressing my mound against him, feeling his instinctive reaction even through the weight of his jeans.
He chuckled softly. “You win. Let’s take this to bed.”
“And how do we bring said bed to life in this place?”
“Imagine what you want, and it will be.”
“I want you naked and in me, and that isn’t happening.”
His laugh was a soft and decidedly wicked sound. “Imagine the bed, Bethany. Once it becomes a reality, me losing myself in your magnificence will definitely follow.”
Somewhat impulsively, I imagined a big four-poster bed with lots of impractical pillows and a thick and luscious comforter. The air vibrated briefly, and Cynwrig once again laughed. “Well, that is certainly a little grander than what I was expecting.”
I turned. Grand was an understatement. Aside from the fact it was huge, it was heavily carved with vines and leaves that ran through the range of autumn colors.
It wasn’t painted—it was in fact living wood, however impossible that might be—and its song ran rich and wild through the air and my body, fueling those inner fires to even greater heights.
Pillows lined the bedhead, layers of red and gold velvet, while the comforter was also velvet, but a deep green that reminded me of a thick carpet of grass.
“It is a little over the top, isn’t it?” I replied, amused.
“It is, but this place does tend to take ideas and run them to the extreme end.” He caught my hand and led me over. “Shall we undress each other?”
“As long as it doesn’t take forever. I might spontaneously combust if it does.”
“Impatience. I like it.” He caught the ends of my sweater and lifted it up and over my head. Then he cupped my breasts in his big, powerful hands and began to lick and kiss and tease, until I really could take no more and growled for him to keep moving down.
He did so, slowly slipping my sweatpants and knickers down my body. I kicked them off, then gasped as his fingers slipped between my legs, finding my clit, sliding through the wetness, teasing me, taunting me, bringing me to the very edge, then pulling away again.
“Oh,” I growled softly, “you’re going to pay for that.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said with that wicked grin.
I arched an eyebrow and slipped my hands under his sweater, doing nothing more than exploring the hard planes of his stomach, reveling in the pleasure of simply touching him.
Then I tugged his sweater free, let it drop to the floor, and once again explored the magnificence on show, this time with tongue and lips rather than just touch, following the happy trail of hair until I reached the barrier of his jeans.
I undid the button, slid down the zip, and then dropped to my knees, letting my tongue play across his erection until his body was trembling and I was tasting precum.
He made a low sound in the back of his throat, dragged me upright, then picked me up and threw me onto the bed. I laughed and scrambled under the comforter, watching as he hastily stripped off his remaining clothes.
“Prepare to be ravished, wench,” he growled, and climbed in beside me.
“Looking forward to it,” I murmured.
His lips once again claimed mine, and from that moment on, there was no talking.
I explored every inch of him, touching and tasting, refamiliarizing myself with all his muscular magnificence.
He returned the exploration in kind, making me shake and shudder and ache, until the delicious pressure had me so tightly wound, it felt as if I would surely shatter.
Then he entered me, and everything did shatter, my orgasm so fierce I was little more than a leaf tossed on the tempest of a storm, lost to everything but the sheer power of the forces flowing through me.
A few seconds later, he joined me in that joyous oblivion, his deep groan echoing through the shadows that still haunted the area beyond the bed.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he pushed up on his elbows, holding his weight off my body as his gaze caught and held mine.
While a multitude of emotions flitted through the glorious silver depths, it was fierce determination that gleamed the brightest. This man was not going to let me escape him, no matter what it took.
And while that made my heart dance, not even the might of the Myrkálfar could defeat death himself.
I opened my mouth to tell him and then closed it again.
While the reluctance was based mainly on nothing more than the cowardly need not to spoil the perfection of this moment, I really did want to explore all the possible avenues of salvation before I admitted the inevitability of death to either him or my brother.
Besides, if I got the tracer as Darby demanded, surely them knowing the truth of my future held less importance?
No, it did not. Not when there were powerful emotions at play, his as much as mine.
I dropped my gaze from his, and he shifted to my side. “Would you like something to drink and eat while we talk?”
My eyebrows rose. “I thought you said there was no food or water in this place?”
“There isn’t, unless, of course, you bring it in with you. Which I did.”
“Then I will certainly partake in said food and drink.”
He rolled off the bed and disappeared briefly into the darkness.
I pushed upright and tugged the velvet cloud of cushions behind my back to brace it.
He reappeared a few seconds later, carrying a basket containing a bottle of red—Cuvée du Vatican Chateauneuf-du-Pape, which wasn’t the most expensive of wines but was still one of my favorites—two glasses, and a small platter of cheese, fruits, and crackers.
“The man comes prepared for seduction.”
“A good red never goes astray, be it for seduction purposes or simple enjoyment.”
“I was speaking more of the cheese and crackers. They are a weakness.”
He placed the basket beside me and then climbed onto the bed, crossing his legs and facing me. “I thought chocolate was your weakness.”
“No, chocolate is one of the five essential food groups.”
He laughed softly. After opening the bottle, he poured the wine, handed me a glass, then placed the bottle back into the basket and raised his glass. “To a continuation of our relationship.”
“For as long as time and Fate give us.” I tapped my glass lightly against his and took a drink, tasting notes of black fruits, spices, and smooth tannins. The aroma—jam, cherries, and wood smoke—was also lovely. “Now, as I said before, shall I begin the conversation?”
“Please do.”
I took another drink, then jumped in feet first. “What do you know about the Eljin Lavigne pictured in the article Treasa sent me, and how is he related to our Eljin?”
A smile tugged at his lips, but his gaze became wary rather than warm. “I feel obliged not to answer that question, given we are courting the heart of the same woman.”
“Given one of you will never have my heart and the other can’t take it even if he wanted to, that’s not an acceptable reply.”
Something flared through the wariness. Something that was almost... victorious? Propriety? “That is an answer that leads me to hope that you and Eljin are no longer an item.”
“Let’s just say that he and I will no longer be spending any alone time together.”
While I tried to keep my voice even, anger must have seeped through, because his gaze narrowed dangerously. “Why? What has he done? Is he the reason your chin is scraped and bruised?”
“My chin is bruised because I hit the ground a bit too hard escaping an explosion. As for Eljin, we’re in the process of dealing with the matter, but it would be handy if we knew more about him. Mathi’s lost access to the IIT system, and I don’t want to involve Sgott. Not yet, anyway.”