Isla
Somehow, until now, they had never done this in a tub.
They had been on the floor. Then, he had put her on the counter. Now, they were inside the porcelain bath. He draped her over the side and took her like this. She gripped the edge, knuckles white as she fought off another wave of pleasure. She didn’t want this to end. Ever.
Grim had meant it when he said they were going to put this room to the test, and they had.
The bed’s sheets were ripped apart. The headboard was in splinters.
There were feathers scattered all over the floor.
The floor itself was pocketed with gashes from Grim’s shadows, which had clawed up the ground with his release.
He hadn’t been deterred. He had simply carried her out of the mess, pressed her against the wall, and started again.
And again.
She felt so full of him, she could barely breathe. “This is the best night,” she gasped, as he took her in long strokes, “out of all of them.”
His breath was hot against her neck, sending a chill down her spine as he said, “It’s not over yet.”
Suddenly, she was off her knees and against a wall, her sensitive chest flush against it.
He was still behind her, a shadow far taller than hers.
Slowly, he lifted one of her hands up high above her head, uncurled every finger with aching slowness, brushed his thumb across her palm, then pressed it against the wall, placing his own over it. He did the same with his other hand.
Then he was moving again, and she cursed against the smooth rock, because this was the best she had felt in weeks. His shadows swept down her heated skin, and she gasped as they moved with purpose, sliding everywhere Grim had already explored with his tongue.
“Do we do this often?” he asked, his voice a ragged rasp in her ear.
“All the time,” she said.
“Well, at least I did one thing right,” he said, and then he went faster. She met him stroke for stroke, back arched so he could take her deeper, and he hummed his approval against her neck. Her nerves were all so sensitive, so attended to. He didn’t leave one part of her wanting.
Grim reached down now, sensing she was close.
He learned her completely from just one night, and she cried out as he found exactly what she needed.
His body curled over her, skimming his teeth across her shoulder, shadows stroking her chest, then took her even harder.
His long fingers flexed over hers, one hand still pinned over her head, and he held her firm against the wall as he went faster, knowing she needed this, needed her entire world to be narrowed to the feel of him.
His other hand worked her center until the toes she was standing on started to curl, and she gripped the stone like it could keep her from falling over the side of this infinite bliss.
She wanted to live in this moment. She wished it was endless.
Her head dropped back as her lips parted, her spine a bolt of lightning, her pleasure cresting.
His teeth grazed her throat. She gasped her release, pulsing around him, before he groaned, and followed her over the edge.
His body was warm and heavy as he slumped around her, spent. For now.
She was still against the wall, pulse racing, when she heard the tub being filled.
She turned, but he left the room before they could get started on another round, which was likely for the best. She washed herself, relishing in the fact that he had touched every inch of her skin.
She had missed this. This insatiable need.
He came back with a towel and clothing.
“Here,” he said. His voice was a little gruff, and he didn’t meet her gaze. She didn’t mind. His eyes had been locked onto hers for hours, telling her how good this felt, how perfect she was, how well they fit.
Now, it seemed hard for him to look at her.
“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks heating as she remembered what he had said again about her politeness. Maybe he was right.
“Don’t—this doesn’t change anything,” he ground out. “I won’t go easy on you in the arena. I won’t let you win.”
“I know,” she said. Finally, he allowed their eyes to meet, but only for a moment. And she saw all the feelings he had tried to bury come flaring to the surface.
She searched, almost desperately, to see if a shred of that bond was there on his side. After everything they had done, she dared herself to hope.
But it wasn’t.
He walked her to the door. Before she could say a word, he slammed it shut.
In the cell, she felt a bite of unease. Maybe she had gotten this all wrong.
They had spent the entire night together. And she had sworn it had been more than physical. He had touched her like he cared about her pleasure. He had looked at her like she was a goddess to be worshipped.
She knew him. She clung to that belief that she still did, as she turned toward Lark’s ragged shadow.
She had barely reformed after being turned to a pile of ash.
The feather, which was gripped in her hands, had most certainly helped speed up the process.
Isla plucked that feather from her ancestor.
And she got to work.