Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Roremar
Roremar thought his days of finding himself with Emmeline DeLeoste pressed against him were over. He held her to the wall in one of the alcoves, a winged statue masking their hiding place.
Her breath rattled against his neck, every exhale so much shakier than he’d expected it to be. And every exhale hitting his throat in a fucking tempting way that shot straight to his cock.
“Shh,” he soothed, trying to distract himself from the very real ache settling into his bones. The whistling grew closer, the tune jaunty and effortless, a folksong he couldn’t remember the lyrics to but that sounded so damn familiar.
It was likely a grave robber who found their way into the crypt, probably desperate for something to sell. The one saving grace was that he knew it couldn’t be anyone following them maliciously, or they wouldn’t be so fucking loud.
But if it was a thief, how had they found this place? He and Emmeline only had because her Fate ties led her here.
Whoever was out there couldn’t be here by accident. Call it schemes of the Fates, this all felt perfectly orchestrated. The haunting whistling mounted, and Emmeline trembled against him unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Her magic, he realized. It had to be driving her wild after that display.
When they were walking down here, she’d said it felt euphoric. Now, it was peaking, and she panted against him.
“It’s okay,” he barely mumbled, pressing the words into her hair. Fates, her sweet floral scent was alluring as it shrouded this tiny alcove.
The whistle shifted into gentle humming, and Roremar could tell by the low tone that whoever it was was in the cavern now. He wished he had his damn sword. Holy site be damned, he’d fight his way out of this if it meant making sure Emmeline was safe.
The humming carried past their alcove, drifting around the room.
Emmeline tilted her face up, her quaking stalling as she listened. Roremar met her stare, and…fuck.
She was right. They shouldn’t be this close.
He couldn’t look at anything other than her lips, full and parted and begging for him to take them. He remembered what they tasted like, how she moaned into him, and he dreamed about what they’d feel like wrapped around him. So fucking warm—
He wasn’t good for her, he reminded himself. He wasn’t good for her, no matter what she’d said in the mausoleum.
Their visitor’s song was slowly growing more distant, exploring one of the tunnels and taking all the time in the fucking realms, but they could turn back any second.
And he could still feel Emmeline’s every breath on his lips.
Could smell nothing but the lavender soap she loved and incense lingering on her skin and hair, slightly smoky tonight, not even the light rain enough to wash it away.
He never got a taste of her. Sure, there was the kiss in the seeing chamber—cut much too short for his liking—and there was the other night when he was on his knees for her and licked liquor from her skin.
There was the thing in his chest that tied them together that he knew she refused to acknowledge.
But he hadn’t gotten to truly taste her, to bury his tongue in her cunt and make her fall apart.
His skin was too tight around his bones at the thought.
None of it was fucking enough.
And here, right now, with her pressed against him and every breath pushing her closer, with her looking at his lips like she wanted him even half as desperately as he did her, he forgot every logical reason why he resisted.
He fucking ached for her.
Emmeline whispered, “Do you think—” But the words died on her tongue when their eyes met. She inhaled sharply, quiet enough that anyone in the cavern wouldn’t hear.
Roremar shook his head, the motion bringing them close enough his nose brushed hers.
There might be people outside looking for you. They could be City Guards who think you’re a murderer or Starsearchers who swear you’re dangerous for the woman you’re obsessed with—
Emmeline’s knees buckled, and Roremar looped his arm around her waist to steady her, shifting so his leg pushed between hers and…
Fuck.
Her heartbeat sped up as he pressed against her center, her cotton dress so damn thin, he could feel her heat. She blinked rapidly, biting down on her lip to stop herself from gasping.
Every dusting of her lashes against her cheeks came with a subtle, begging nod. Fates be damned, he didn’t need more of a hint than that.
Slowly, testing, Roremar shifted so Emmeline’s clit grazed his leg. She squirmed as if she was already sensitive. Her teeth sank deeper into her bottom lip to keep from moaning, but he could feel it vibrating up her chest, each hum of approval loud as if it were in his own bones.
Every bit of sense he retained was lost to that Fatesdamned lip bite. He was leaking in his pants at the sight.
Emmeline ground against his leg, and Roremar studied her. The pace she set, the rhythm and the dazed look in her eyes. He memorized every breath and sigh she fought as he watched her writhe against him.
She exhaled, head tipping back, and Roremar ducked to whisper in her ear, “You have to be quiet.”
Her only response was a breath that nearly cracked into a moan. He wanted to swallow it. To drink in every gasp and capture some part of her.
Roremar pressed a kiss below her ear, and she sped up, as if the touch of his lips against her skin affected her as much as it did him. She was practically riding his thigh.
His hips were snapping forward now, too, his body reacting entirely of its own accord. He wasn’t going to complain, though. Not if she was going to let him have her in any Fatesblessed way.
Even if it was a forbidden secret in a cramped alcove off the Angel’s personal seeing chamber beneath a haunted graveyard, he’d take it without question. Give her whatever she wanted—what no one else could give her.
“You can be good for me, Huntress,” he practically begged, so quietly no one would hear. “And I can be good for you, see. This? This is so good.”
Her response was between staggered breaths as she chased a release both for herself and her magic. “More.”
“Use me, Emmeline.” Please, Fates be damned, use me.
Their breath clouded between them, as hot and sinful as what they were doing in the Angel’s sacred space. And, fuck, did it feel good to defy the Fates like this. He hoped they all saw—saw them together. Saw him—the reviled pariah of their clan—worshiping her—their starsblessed favored.
Kissing his way down her neck, he rocked her harder against him, picked up her pace. His skin burned. He was ready to explode at a single touch, and he didn’t give a damn if he came right here, without even taking his clothes off, as long as he took care of her.
Emmeline clung to his shoulders, head dropping back. Roremar traced the column of her throat with his lips, listening to her gasp and lingering when her breath stuttered, timing the pace to the rock of her hips to draw out every sensation possible.
“Not enough,” she breathed.
“For now, it has to be,” he said, words softly panted against her neck. “One day, I’ll give you what you truly want. My fingers? My cock? Fates, every part of me is yours.”
We only ruin each other.
Well, if this was ruin, he’d die a happy man.
Her limbs trembled against him. He wrapped one arm around her tighter, teasing her nipple with his other hand, pinching her over her dress so she gasped.
“That’s it, Emmeline. You’re doing so good.” His voice was so rough, it was getting hard to keep quiet. And while he wanted to stay here with her forever, he knew the person looking for them could be back soon. “We have to hurry, Huntress. Can you come for me?”
Emmeline whimpered.
He dropped his head, sucking her nipple over the fabric of her dress. When he flicked his tongue at the same time he pressed her down against his thigh, Emmeline gave him what he so desperately wanted to see.
She came with her entire body trembling. Her teeth sank into her lip again, and Roremar had to press his mouth to her shoulder to stifle his groan. He barely stopped himself from toppling over that ledge, feverishly rocking her against him until she was done, completely sated in his arms.
Fuck, it felt so good to hold her as she finished.
He hadn’t gotten to do that part before.
To feel her skin against his, her rapid breath warming the crook of his neck.
He still wasn’t getting to feel all of her the way he yearned to, but at least every one of her panting breaths rolled through his own body.
Angels, he was Fatesdamned addicted to this woman. He felt the withdrawal when she wasn’t around, became more possessive every time he touched her.
And he couldn’t have her.
That realization had his eyes slipping closed. His shoulders dropping as her breathing stilled and he reminded himself of their reality.
Roremar held Emmeline to his chest, memorizing every perfectly timed beat of their hearts and wringing every bit of longing from his soul. It felt like too much for one body, but he took it.
Fates, he fucking took it.
As their heart rates calmed, the whistling returned. Roremar tried to peer around the winged statue, but the thing was so large, nothing was visible.
They waited until the visitor left again, then waited even longer, Emmeline tangled in his arms, only their shallow breaths filling the silence.
It took Roremar longer than it should have to compose himself, but Emmeline wanted to wait until they knew the threat was gone rather than try to sneak out, and he wasn’t about to push her away.
She tried to tap into her Fate ties to get any information about the intruder or where they went, but, of course, the celestial beings shared nothing but trivial comments now. Fucking helpful fortune tellers they were.
“We should go,” she finally whispered, her hands still knotted in his tunic.
“We should.”
Neither of them moved. Roremar barely dared to breathe.
He didn’t think she was breathing either, like neither of them wanted to shatter this moment.