35. Chapter 35 #2
“Hotter,” he said. He wanted it to burn, to burn it all off—his failure, his sadness, Norah, the Shadow King, his hate. Everything.
The water heated to fire, to where he nearly couldn’t stand it. Perfect. He let it flame his skin as he washed his hair and scoured his body, his face, his lips. Then he sank deeper into the inferno, rinsing himself free.
When he was finished, he stood.
Essandra only watched.
He let her look at him. Did her eyes crave the look of his body the way his did hers? He stepped out of the tub and dried himself with the towel that hung on the wall, but he didn’t move to dress again. He only waited—a silent ask.
In silent reply, she unfastened the trail of buttons down the front of her gown and pulled it from her shoulders. It heaped to the floor, and she stepped from it. She moved to her chemise and the layers underneath.
He waited until everything was off, and they stood, looking at each other. He’d never been able to just appreciate the sight of her in her flesh before. She was beautiful. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the dark locks that hung down over her shoulders.
Cyrus stepped closer, close enough to touch her now, but he didn’t. He simply wanted to take her in, to etch her into his mind. Every piece of her, every detail—the smoothness of her skin, the high of her cheekbones, the way her emerald eyes sat large under her long dark lashes.
He saw it now—the look in her eyes. How had he not seen her love before? Perhaps because this was a woman hardened by hurt. She was a woman who guarded her heart.
And he wasn’t a man to be trusted with a heart.
Cyrus was driven by blood and vengeance. But in this moment, it wasn’t blood and vengeance he wanted.
It was only her.
He raised his hands to her face, brushing her cheeks with the backs of his folded fingers. Softly—so softly. He drew his thumb along her lips. The sweet warmth of her breath wrapped around his senses, pulling him closer, but still, he hesitated.
He’d wanted to kiss her for so long.
She leaned into his touch.
Closer still, he brought his lips, pulling her chin upward. But he stopped just short.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered.
“No,” he said softly. Nothing was wrong. Everything was right. Everything was right, and he desperately wanted to keep it this way. Forever.
But he was afraid. He was afraid that he would kiss her, then it would be over, and she would be gone, and things would go back to how they were before, leaving him wanting and needing even more than he was now.
But she’d said she loved him.
His mouth was but a whisper away from hers.
She loved him.
“Kiss me, Cyrus,” she breathed, dusting his lips with hers as she spoke the words.
The touch sent him over. He caught her mouth with his, and her taste was his undoing. They’d been together many times before, but never like this. This was different. She hadn’t been his before. He’d never kissed her; he’d never touched her.
He touched her now.
Cyrus threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back so he could drink deeper. And he did—drinking salvation from her lips. She was his Amoran Cup, bringing him back to life. A life he’d never thought he could have.
And he needed more. He pulled his mouth along the line of her jaw, grazing her skin with his teeth, and trailed down her neck, nipping gently.
“Cyrus,” she breathed, and it drove him mad.
He used his frame to walk her backward, his fist still in her hair, his head buried in the nook of her shoulder.
He pressed her out of the bath chamber and into the bedroom, and when the backs of her legs hit the bed, he released her so she could lie back onto it.
Then he prowled over her. She opened her thighs and shifted to move him between them, but he didn’t sink inside her.
Not yet.
He needed to kiss her. Again. And again.
He needed to cover every inch of her skin, claim every part of her with his mouth.
From her shoulder to the hollow of her neck and down between her breasts, he moved—kissing, nipping, licking.
Prickles rose over her skin, and it fueled his need more.
He swirled his tongue around a nipple before drawing it between his teeth.
She writhed as a groan escaped her lips, triggering an obsession to get her to make that noise again.
He moved to the other breast, and she shuddered.
Her scent was intoxicating, and he breathed her in.
Cyrus trailed down her stomach, her body driving him more fervent, more feral. He paused at her hip, trying to regain control, but he had no more control with this woman.
He dropped his head between her thighs, teasing her with his breath. Ever so softly, he brushed his lips against her.
“Cyrus,” she panted.
He needed her to say his name again—for her to yell it, to scream it. He slid his tongue over her.
“Oh gods,” she said hoarsely as she met him with small thrusts of her hips.
He wanted more. He needed more. And more. And more. Outside of her, inside of her. As his tongue found her most sensitive part, she arched against him. Her taste brought a hunger within him that couldn’t be sated.
It wasn’t enough to kiss her.
He had to devour her.
She threaded her fingers into his hair, clutching him tightly, and rocked her hips against him. Cyrus felt her pleasure building, and it drove him even wilder.
“Don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t stop.”
He had no intention of stopping. Her breaths came faster, and she clenched his hair in her fists. He was obsessed with her every sound, with every shudder of her body. She rocked her hips harder.
“Cyrus!” she cried as she fell apart. She twisted in climax, but he didn’t let her escape him. He chased her pleasure through the peak until she crashed, falling back to soft kisses when she couldn’t take it any longer.
And then he kissed her more.
She melted into the bed, her heavy eyelids falling closed, but he wasn’t finished with her yet. He flipped her onto her stomach, garnering a small squeal. Gods, everything about this woman…
Slowly, he worked his way back up her body. Over the backs of her thighs and supple mounds of flesh to the curve of her lower back, he drew his lips. He moved up her spine—kissing, reveling, relishing, breathing in her being.
This woman was his. She loved him, protected him, made him stronger.
She loved him and she was his.
Cyrus wove his fingers into her thick mane, gripping her tightly.
His body begged for his own pleasure, but he was still obsessed with hers.
Pushing the hair from her nape, he razed his teeth down the back of her neck and along the tops of her shoulders, sending another wave of prickles across her skin.
She moaned.
He pushed her thighs apart with his knees and shifted between them. She submitted, dipping her back and lifting her hips. The primal urgency to take her quickly was overwhelming, but he forced himself slow as he sank into her.
Her gasp nearly sent him over the edge. Slowly still, he moved, controlling himself so that he could feel every wave of pleasure that rippled through her.
He caged her with his body.
She was his.
Essandra raised her hips more, on her knees now, pushing back against him and taking him deeper. He moved faster.
Cyrus shifted back on his knees, pulling her with him so she now sat on top of his thighs.
He buried his face into the back of her neck and let her flood all his senses.
Wrapping his arms around her, he ran his hands up her stomach.
Up, up. He kneaded the smooth flesh of her breasts.
She panted as another moan escaped her lips, and her head fell back.
She loved him, and she was his.
He splayed his hands wide across her chest, holding her to him, then ran them up and over her shoulders, gripping her and pulling her down on top of him even harder. Faster. And faster still.
Cyrus dropped a hand between her legs, stroking her as he thrust.
“I can’t again,” she panted.
But she could. And she did. Her climax pulsed around him, wave after wave racking her body as she cried out, and he lost himself. He drove deeper as his own release ripped through him. Together, they came in a tempest of want and need.
As the storm passed, the quiet returned with only the sound of their gasping breaths. She sank back against him, completely spent, and he cradled her to the bed. Cyrus pulled her body close, wrapping himself around her.
She loved him, and she was his.
But as he lay with her nestled in his arms, he knew—he loved her, and he was hers.