13. Ada
13
ADA
T he late afternoon sun streams through the library's tall windows, casting long shadows across the shelves. Rose's soft snores drift from the reading nook where she curled up with her favorite blanket after lunch. I've tucked her in, but now face a different challenge - finding the book about magical creatures she begged to read tonight.
My fingers brush the spine of what might be the right volume, but it sits just beyond my reach on the top shelf. Even on tiptoe, I can't quite grasp it. A wooden ladder leans against the far wall, but before I can retrieve it, warmth radiates against my back.
"Allow me." Dezoth's deep voice sends a shiver down my spine. His chest nearly touches my shoulder blades as he reaches up, easily plucking the leather-bound tome from its perch. The scent of forge-fire and night air surrounds me.
It's been a few days since that night in the kitchen, and there's been a new tension between us. I no longer feel nervous around him. I'm not ready to let down all my walls, but I'm not so worried about keeping distance between us. Which poses a new problem.
I've known the whole time that Dezoth is attractive. It's hard to miss. But I was more focused on not being able to trust him to let that get to me. But over the last few days, we've shared little touches, small moments that are filled with tension. Now, I'm not sure what to think.
Except that I am lonely. I have been for four years, and he is so, so handsome that it's hard to ignore it.
I step sideways, putting space between us. "I could have managed."
"With the ladder, perhaps." His golden eyes catch the sunlight as he examines the cover. "The Complete Guide to Magical Creatures. Rose's choice?"
"She wants to know if sparkle-minths really exist." I accept the book, careful not to let our fingers brush. "She insists they're real because Nova mentioned them."
"They are." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Though they're quite rare now. I caught one for my sister when we were young."
"You? Chasing thaliverns?" The image of the stern Captain pursuing delicate creatures makes me bite back a smile.
"Minths," he corrects, crossing his arms. The movement draws attention to the ritual markings adorning his forearms. "And I'll have you know I was quite successful. Vashti kept it in a crystal jar by her bed until it died."
"How very fearsome of you."
"I can be both fearsome and accommodating when the situation calls for it." His eyes sweep over my body, and he shifts a little closer. There's almost no space between us, and I find myself caught up in his thick arms and the way he's staring at me again.
My heart thunders. The book feels heavy in my hands, an anchor keeping me from drifting into dangerous waters. His golden eyes lock with mine, pupils contracting to thin vertical slits in the sunlight. The markings on his forearms seem to shimmer as he shifts, but neither of us steps back.
"I should-" The words catch in my throat. Up close, the sharp angles of his face soften, and I notice a small scar above his left eyebrow that I want to trace.
"You should what?" His voice drops lower, barely above a whisper. It only heightens the way he's making my body respond to him.
"I should take this to her room." My fingers tighten on the book. "Thank you. For the book."
"Is that all you want to say?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with everything we've been dancing around for nearly a week. Really, it's been longer, if I'm being honest. His presence fills the space, not threatening but overwhelming in its intensity. My gaze drops to his mouth, wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to give in. I might not fully trust him, but I think Dezoth would handle me the way I need - at least alleviate this pressure and loneliness a little.
"Dezoth-"
A strand of his obsidian hair has escaped its silver cord, falling across his face. Before I can stop myself, I reach up to brush it back. His skin burns against my fingertips, and I snatch my hand away as if scalded.
"Don't." He catches my wrist, his grip gentle despite the strength I know lies in those hands. "Don't pull away. Not this time."
The book presses against my chest, a barrier between us. My honey-blonde braid falls forward as I shake my head, but I don't try to free my wrist. "We can't-"
"Can't? Or won't?" His thumb traces circles on my pulse point, each touch sending sparks through my veins.
His hand cups my cheek with surprising gentleness, thumb tracing my jawline. Despite every instinct screaming to run, I find myself leaning into his touch.
"If you don't want this, I need you to say that." His voice is a deep rumble, his eyes searching mine. "But I can't pretend I don't want you."
My heart pounds against my ribs as he slowly lowers his head toward mine, golden eyes searching my face for any sign of hesitation. I tip my chin up in a silent invitation, knowing I could be in for a world of danger, but I'm dying for this. The first brush of his lips is tentative, a question rather than a demand.
The book slips from my fingers, thudding softly against the carpet. Instead of pulling away, I rise on my tiptoes, pressing closer. His arms wrap around my waist, lifting me until our heights match.
"Ada," he breathes against my lips. The sound of my name in that deep rumble breaks something loose in my chest.
My fingers tangle in his obsidian hair, pulling free the silver cord. His hands span my waist, strong enough to crush but holding me like I'm made of glass. When I part my lips, his teeth graze my bottom lip - not enough to hurt, just enough to pull my thoughts to him and not all the warnings going off in my head.
"We shouldn't," I whisper, even as I arch closer.
"Tell me to stop." His words ghost across my skin. One hand slides up my spine, cradling the back of my head. "Tell me you don't want this."
Instead of answering, I pull him back down, claiming his mouth with mine. He growls, deep in his chest, and the sound vibrates through where we're pressed together. His kiss turns fierce, possessive, yet still careful - like he's afraid I'll shatter if he pushes too hard.
My practical earth-toned dress rustles as he lifts me higher, and I cling to him. The last rational part of my mind notes how easily he holds me, how naturally I fit against him. His ritual markings warm against my skin where my hands have slipped to his forearms.
His lips break from mine, his breathing ragged. Dezoth’s golden eyes search mine, pupils dilated, his expression torn between hunger and restraint. My body still hums from the kiss, but the weight of what just happened crashes over me as he sets me back on the floor.
I back away, my fingers trembling as they brush my swollen lips. He doesn’t reach for me, though his hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge.
“Ada.” His voice is rough, like gravel, and something in it makes my chest tighten. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to steady the storm inside me. “I don’t know. I want to trust you, Dezoth. I really do. But every time I start to, I hear that voice in my head telling me to run. That I’ll only get hurt again.”
He steps closer, but stops when I flinch. His jaw tightens, the muscles working as he studies me. Then, slowly, like he’s approaching a skittish animal, he kneels in front of me. My breath hitches as he looks up at me from beneath those dark lashes, his golden eyes blazing with something that makes my knees weak.
“Let me show you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “Let me prove you can trust me. That I’d never hurt you.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “How?”
His hands slide up my thighs, the heat of his palms searing through the fabric of my dress. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push. He waits, watching me, giving me every chance to stop him. When I don’t, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of my knee. My fingers twitch, wanting to touch him, but I keep them clenched at my sides.
“Let me show you how well I can treat you, Ada,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath warm.
I nod, though my throat feels too tight to speak. His lips move higher, trailing slow, deliberate kisses up my leg. My dress bunches in his hands as he lifts it, exposing more of me to the cool air of the library. His gaze flicks up to mine, searching for permission. I bite my lip, then nod again, my heart racing.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t make promises he might not keep. He just shows me with every touch, every kiss, that he’s here for me. That he’s not going anywhere. His hands are steady, his movements careful, like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
When his mouth finds the apex of my thighs, a soft gasp escapes me. My fingers tangle in his obsidian hair, not pulling him closer, just holding on. He pauses again, waiting for me to decide. My hips move of their own accord, urging him on, and a low growl rumbles in his chest as he pulls my underwear to the side and his tongue teases my clit.
He’s thorough, patient, his tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes that send sparks shooting through me. My legs tremble, and I lean back against the bookshelf for support. His hands grip my hips, steadying me, grounding me as he takes me apart piece by piece.
Every touch is a promise, and every sound he draws from me is a surrender. I don’t know when I let go of my fear, but it’s gone now, replaced by something bigger, something brighter. My breath catches, and I clutch at his shoulders as the world narrows to just him and me.
“Dezoth—” His name is a plea, a prayer, and he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, his hands firm on my hips, his mouth relentless, until I shatter in his arms.
My body is still humming from his touch, every nerve alight. I can’t stop myself - I don’t want to. My hands move to the collar of his shirt, fingers trembling as I undo the first button. His golden eyes lock onto mine, burning with something raw and unspoken. He doesn’t stop me, doesn’t move, but his chest rises and falls faster with every button I free.
When the last one slips loose, I push the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His chest is broad, his skin warm under my palms as I trace the ridges of muscle, the faint scars that tell stories I’ve yet to hear.
I tug him up to his feet, marveling at the expansive of his torso, and he stands before me, looking so handsome that I can't deny myself. My fingers slide down to the waistband of his pants, and I glance up, searching for any hesitation in his face. There’s none - only hunger, and something deeper, something that makes my stomach flip.
“Ada,” he growls, his voice rough as I start to undo the lacings. His hands settle on my hips, his grip firm but not restraining. He’s letting me lead, giving me control, and it’s that trust that makes my heart race even faster.
Once I get the laces undone, I push his pants down, my hands brushing against the hard length of him as I do. He sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into my hips, and I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that curves my lips. I stroke him once, slowly, feeling the heat of him, the way he pulses under my touch.
“You’re going to kill me,” he mutters, his head falling back against the bookshelf behind him. His obsidian hair spills over his shoulders, and I use my free hand to push it back, needing to see his face, needing to see every reaction I draw from him.
“Not yet,” I whisper, my voice shaky but firm. I step closer, pressing a kiss to the base of his throat, feeling the way he swallows hard. My hand moves again, stroking him in a slow, deliberate rhythm that has his breath hitching.
His hands slide up my sides, pulling my dress higher until it bunches around my waist. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand - he waits, even as his body strains with the effort of holding back.
"You're right." I stroke him again. "I want you."
He lets loose a growl, lifting me up in his arms. He walks to the seating area, settling on his couch with me on his lap. Feeling bold, I pull my dress over my head, full exposing myself to him, and his eyes roam over me.
"You look…incredible." He can't seem to linger on one spot for too long, and it makes me feel bold as I slip my underwear off, savoring the way his gaze heats.
I move to straddle him, my knees bracketing his hips, and he helps me lift up, his hands steadying me as I grip him and sink down onto him.
The fullness of him steals my breath, and I pause, letting my body adjust, letting the sensation wash over me. His forehead presses against mine, his breathing ragged, his hands trembling where they grip my hips.
“Ada,” he says again, my name a plea, a prayer. I move, slowly at first, testing the rhythm, finding the angle that makes both of us gasp. His hands tighten on me, fingers digging into my skin as I start to ride him in earnest.
The intensity builds with every movement, every thrust, every brush of his body against mine. His lips find my neck, his teeth scraping lightly against my skin as he growls, low and deep in his chest. I can feel the tension coiling in him, the way his body tenses beneath me, and it only drives me harder, faster.
“Let go,” I whisper, my voice breaking as my own climax threatens to take me under. He does, his hips bucking up into me as he finds his release, his grip on me tightening almost painfully. My own pleasure crashes over me a moment later, sharp and overwhelming, leaving me trembling in his arms.
And for the first time in years, I know peace.