Chapter 2 Deryn, Fire & Meeting Fate #2
Deryn gulped down more beer. Not going there… Not yet. First, she’d have to ask her sisters about the identity of the woman. Ceridwen and Seren knew everyone, and if not them, Victoria surely would. Her aunt, the force of nature that she was, would not let her down.
A careless gulp sent Deryn into a coughing fit. She sputtered, trying to regain her breath, fighting for air, and for a second her vision went black at the edges, only to be replaced by deep amber, dark and smoldering.
Could it be? Deryn smiled between tears, then coughed again. Wouldn’t dying from choking on cheap beer be kind of ironic?
Oh, but what a way to go…
If those eyes waited for her on the other side, Deryn might just decide to take that path. A swift and sharp palm to her back—quickly supplemented by two more smacks—made her shake her head and, along with it, the vestiges of her own idiocy. The low voice that followed did the rest.
“Are all of you Crowharts always this careless?”
The tone was all derision and sarcasm, and it sent a frisson of excitement up Deryn’s spine.
She smiled, then coughed some more, then downed the dregs of her beer, hoping it would restore her breathing to a semblance of normalcy.
A semblance only, surely, since the proximity of the amber eyes also brought with it the perfume.
Not even the smoke that blanketed the town and its residents could hide the notes of sandalwood and burnt sugar.
Both tangy and gloriously sweet, the scent fit the woman.
As Deryn reached for the second beer Ionie had placed in front of her earlier, the eyes widening with something akin to speculation. Except that Deryn did not want to see any kind of speculation there. She wanted them to darken. Her smirk widened, and she drank again.
“Are you a glutton for punishment?”
Damn, that voice should be illegal. Probably was. A high-society drawl with power banking underneath. Like aged whiskey poured over cold, chiseled stone.
“I could be persuaded to be, if that’s your preference…
” Deryn showed her teeth and watched the woman’s eyes flash.
But it wasn’t anger this time. No, not the rage from the Atelier, not the derision of just a few moments ago.
This was something else. Something Deryn was very much shooting for.
Something darker. Hungrier. The stranger leaned in, the burnt sugar mixing with the scent that was all woman, and Deryn nearly lost her head.
“In fact, I could be persuaded to be and do anything at all, if that will please you.”
She marveled at the steadiness of her own tone, since their proximity was making her lightheaded.
“Is that what you do, Crowhart? Please?”
The voice lowered again, becoming deeper, filling Deryn’s thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
The emphasis on the last word was not lost on her.
She licked her lips and watched the eyes follow her tongue with, dare she say, avid attention?
Because it was both avid and very attentive.
Deryn felt her hands tingle, her blood running hotter.
Yes, her magic, attuned to her as ever, knew what it was sensing.
Interest. Curiosity. Hunger.
“It’s my greatest joy.” She leaned closer still and saw the pupils dilate.
“I know your type.” The woman reached up and tugged not too gently on a pink strand in the shaggy mass of Deryn’s short hair. Deryn closed her eyes and almost purred. When she opened them, the woman was smiling at her reaction.
“And what type is that?” Deryn caught the hand and lowered it to her mouth, biting on the pad of the index finger. The eyes stayed on her, the gaze never wavered. “Also, you have a remarkable poker face, I must say.”
“Your type? Weather vane. Fuckboi. As for the poker face? One develops whatever weapons one must.”
“Ouch.” Deryn let go of the hand and was pleased when it didn’t fall away, the fingertip touching her lips, slowly tracing the lower one back and forth.
“I’m not much for the wind. As for the weapons?
Do you really need more when you’ve got all this?
” Deryn lowered her gaze to the body standing too close to hers, looking at the striking lines of long, long legs, full breasts…
The woman did not shy away from her ogling.
In fact, if Deryn were to judge, she welcomed it, reveled in it.
Well, there was much to ogle. The body was… A work of art. As was the face.
Deryn smiled when the fingers, still on her skin, jerked her face up by the chin and held it still, their gazes meeting.
When the tantalizing full lips caressed the shell of her ear, she trembled, unabashed.
There was no point in hiding what this was doing to her.
And why would she hide? She might be Deryn Crowhart and notorious for her ways, but she was always honest about them.
About wanting what she wanted. And right now, she wanted this woman.
She almost begged as the lips bit her earlobe, and then sharp teeth followed.
The bar was dark, and they were secluded in the shadows from everyone. Deryn knew nobody could see them, but it still felt too intimate, too much…
“Um, ma’am…”
The woman’s laughter was like honey—languid, sweet, sexy.
“So polite. So handsome and so polite. And so very naughty. What should I do with you, the Wandering Crowhart?”
If Deryn had more of her wits about her, she would have questioned the appellation.
As it was, she sank deeper into the scent, and the eyes, and the touch, the whisper taking most of her rational thoughts from her mind and directing them downward, to where she wanted to rub her thighs together.
The voice could probably make inordinate masses of people do inordinately inappropriate things with just a few words.
Just lower that octave and go to town. Deryn would be among the first to comply.
This woman was making her so weak. But she had been asked a question, and so she had to answer.
“Would it be cliché for me to say that there is nothing you couldn’t do with me? What would you answer to that?”
The fingers holding her chin tightened, and Deryn held her breath.
A decision was being made; that much she could read on the face that didn’t give much away.
Then the hold relaxed, and the woman pulled away, slowly dragging the fingertips across her skin till they let go.
Deryn shivered, already missing the touch.
Without a word, the woman stepped back and then out of the pub, Deryn left behind, watching her.
“Aww, you look forlorn there, Der.”
Ionie, who had just stepped out of the back room, had blissfully missed the entire exchange, for which Deryn was thankful.
As the barkeep chuckled and reached for her glass, Deryn stopped her.
A strip of ivory plastic lay under it, and before the bartender could notice it, Deryn covered it with her hand.
“You’re still nosy, dear.”
“Would you like anything else, or can I go take care of my other customers?”
Deryn waved her away and clenched the key card harder, the golden numbers standing in sharp relief against the empty polished surface.
Just four digits, and Deryn could feel them burning the inside of her palm.
1326. As she flipped the plastic, a drawing of a tower with stars above it told her everything she needed to know.
Standing in front of room 1326 of the Astronomy Resort, Deryn felt her heartbeat in her ears.
She was nervous. She was never nervous. Dozens and dozens of women.
Hundreds of hotel rooms. Deryn Crowhart, celebrity pastry chef and occasional luxury brand model known for her debonair and suave ways and devil-may-care charm, did not do nervous.
Deryn Crowhart, winner of several seasons of Bake Your Heart Out and Best of Bake Your Heart Out, quadruple winner of Bake Now, and frequent guest pastry chef on Good Morning USA, did not need to be nervous.
Women, like sugar, like cream, were what she knew.
Women, like fire, were what she loved and loved to handle.
After all, Deryn Crowhart was a Fire Witch, and that alone made her irresistible to any and all.
So why were her palms sweating and her breathing shallow as she knocked on this door?
Deryn’s memory supplied the answer in the form of dark amber eyes filled with anger, loss, and embers. And the gasp that left her own lips upon seeing them, upon running headlong into that gaze. Upon feeling the burn of them.
She knew what she had seen. She knew what it meant. So why was she here playing with this particular fire instead of doing things the right way?
The door opened, and Deryn had to bite her lip to stop a second gasp from escaping.
Skin, skin, skin… Nothing but naked skin and high red heels and freshly painted crimson lips, looking like they had just been licking blood.
Deryn took a step, then another, kicked the door behind her, and got on her knees.
There was only one way to properly answer this siren’s call, and it was to worship.
And Deryn did.
Deryn pushed the questions to the very back of her mind. Yes, she should not be here. She should not be playing these games. She should be confessing and submitting to Fate, but… But. But. But… There was no way to stop or turn back. There was only one thing to do. And it was to start.
And so Deryn started slowly. Not because that was her strategy, per se, but because she did not know where to begin.
The expanse of skin, the long legs, those ridiculous four-inch red heels.
Deryn wanted to do everything. All at once.
And by the look in those dark, smoldering eyes, the woman wanted Deryn to do exactly that. Everything. All at once.
Deryn began by placing a kiss on the inner thigh and then simply allowed her desire to take over.
One kiss was followed by another, and then another, and in a moment, long, crimson-tipped fingers were diving into her hair, pulling her mouth higher, directing it where the woman clearly needed it the most…
But Deryn wasn’t ready. No, not yet. This feast would not end so soon.
She nosed around the dark curls, licked the crease between thigh and hip, bit the jutting bone, then laved it with her tongue before deciding that it wasn’t enough and this spot needed something more, something to remember her by, something…
like a blooming mark that was already forming under her attentive ministrations, spreading like paint, like ink under the soft, silky skin.
The woman gasped, moaned, and tried to push Deryn’s head downward.
“I thought… Mmm…” Another low moan as Deryn sucked harder on the hip bone. “I thought you pleased, Crowhart… Hurry…”
Deryn gave the now purplish spot one last lick before biting the tantalizing, trembling inner thigh to her left.
The moan turned into a whimper. Almost pleading.
Deryn knew that by the time their night was over, she’d be doing so much more.
She’d be begging, loudly, uncaring about how she sounded, or who heard.
The resort might be brand-new, but no wall was going to contain those screams. Deryn was just that good.
And this woman? This woman would be her masterpiece, her best work yet.
“The night is young, ma’am… I want to take my time.
And I want to take you.” Deryn slowly dragged a gentle finger between the now visibly wet lips, getting a reward of another whimper.
“I want to take and take and take…” She looked up even as she placed the fingertip in her mouth, tongue curling around it.
The dark eyes glazed over. Oh, what a delightful sight.
“And… I want to give. Will you let me? Will you let me give you pleasure? Will you use me? I’m here to be used… By you.”
She ran two fingertips up and down the wet slit before slowly circling the clit, hard and waiting for her.
Above her, the whimpers turned to whines.
For a second, Deryn believed she could get used to those sounds, get used to craving them, to eliciting them…
Then she pushed the thought away. It wasn’t the time.
Not now. As her fingers worked, the grip on her hair tightened.
“I’m going to lick your pussy now. I’ll do it slowly, first the outer lips, then the tender pink inner ones, then I will suck on your clit.
You’ll pull my hair and whisper for me to hurry again, to make you come…
” The whine turned into a curse, and Deryn sped up her fingers, feeling the thigh shake in her other palm.
“As my tongue flicks your clit, my fingers will circle your opening, slowly, gently, but you’re so wet, it will be nothing at all for me to thrust into you, two fingers, then three…
Will you take three, I wonder?” She could have sworn that got her a muttered “Fuck” and a nod.
Deryn kissed the skin next to her fingers; the thigh quivered harder.
“And then as I slide in and out of your tight cunt—”
“Oh god! Fuck me!”
That word must’ve done it, as the hands in her hair tightened almost painfully before her face was unceremoniously shoved into the wet and the soft and the salty sweet, and Deryn smirked against the tender flesh.
And then she went to work, exactly as she’d described.
She had promised to please, after all. And she did please.
Four imparted orgasms later, as she drifted off to sleep, Deryn knew the smirk wouldn’t leave her lips, nor would the taste of this woman.