Chapter 50
MERYN
It’s an immediate explosion for both of us.
The pleasure is overwhelming on its own, but being in Stark’s mind when he delivers it—it’s so much, so much.
I can’t think. All I can do is feel.
The heat of his slick tongue, gently caressing my clit, teasing. The fireworks of sensation, my body melting. And Stark’s own pleasure in response to mine.
The feeling of him getting hard, his arousal like wildfire moving through him, his cock straining as he tastes just how ready I am for him. I moan and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s almost too much.
He pauses with his mouth against me, and I know without asking that the riot of our pleasure rebounding back and forth between us is excessive for him, too. But then he starts to move again, starting with small, languorous sweeps of his tongue.
Heat riots through me, sharp pricks of pleasure so intense they’re almost pain. I’m in him and in myself when his tongue hits me just right and my whole body melts.
He fucking loves that he’s the one driving me this wild, and the knowledge keys me up even more.
He pauses, then starts in again, lapping slowly across that perfect spot until I’m cresting that wave of pleasure. Then he pulls back.
Slowly, gently, achingly. Pause. And again. Pause. And again.
I’m drowning in it: the sensation of him keeping me at that peak, right there, of intensity, but keeping it slow, so slow. So that I never tip over, just teeter there, my body falling apart under his mouth.
His tongue is my own as he does this to me, and his heady satisfaction is mine. Delicious sensation rockets through me, building and building with no release, echoing in us both.
I gasp at the taste of myself under his mouth, tart and sweet like the strawberries from the castle greenhouse mixed with a delicate white emberwine.
“My favorite flavor,” his voice rumbles in my mind, and I groan, licking my own lips.
I know his actions before he does them. There’s a split second of anticipation before he moves his tongue again, and then makes me wait, again. And then fuck—
The moment he decides to reach down and touch himself beneath his pants, his hand stroking roughly. Goddess, it’s so good, so good.
He shares images with me then, of what he’ll do to me once I come, the wet heat of me, the way it’ll feel when he pushes inside—
I’m sobbing and moaning and writhing, insensible of anything but being in Stark’s mind and what he’s stoking in me.
I know the second before he brings his other hand up to touch me. Sense his own excitement as his fingers brush lightly through my folds, swirling through my dripping cunt, then circling my entrance with the pads of his fingers.
Taking his time, enjoying every single sensation his touch is causing in my body. Dipping an index finger in, feeling me clench around it, feeling myself as I am simultaneously filled and ravenous for more.
His tongue moves away for a moment, and I cry out for its loss. But then he’s pushing a second finger inside me and slowly crooking both fingers, just a little, then pulling out, pressing against my walls as I clench around him.
He’s learning the sensation of every single spot inside me, memorizing what it does to me, the heat that floods through me as he crooks his fingers again, a little more this time, and drags the fingertips down. As I near-levitate from the sensation.
His fingers leave me, and I’m too senseless to form words aloud. But he’s right there in my mind, knowing what I wish I could say. His amusement is like a caress.
“Doing okay, princess?”
“Fuck it all, Stark, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” I manage.
Stark strokes himself, his arousal and mine mingling until I can’t tell one from the other.
He’s panting now, bringing himself closer so that he’s bringing me closer, and then he growls and bows his head back down to the apex of my legs, tongue stroking swift and perfect on that spot right there. He shoves both fingers back inside me, fast and hard—and then pulls back.
“I need—I need—” My thoughts are in pieces, words out of reach.
“What do you need, Meryn,” he says aloud. I’m in the movement of his mouth and hate that it’s not on my body. I’m sobbing, nonsensical, riding that edge, feeling his hand move up and down his cock, deeply aware of how hard he is for me.
I can’t put words together, just gasp. But Stark knows. He knows exactly what to do to get me right up to the peak, and he does it. His fingers, his mouth, the gentle brush of his teeth on my clit.
That spiraling pressure of pleasure and need and the buildup until—
He slows again. I’m crying now, tears of pleasure and frustration and want that leak down my cheeks and onto the mattress.
“Please, Stark,” I beg him in our minds.
“Please, what, princess?” he says back, his tongue back on my clit, and he slowly pushes his fingers back inside me as I sob and tremble beneath him. “I want to hear you say it.”
The pleasure is so intense it’s almost pain at this point, my body alight with wanting, on the verge for so long.
“Please let me come,” I whine, dignity gone.
In answer, he fastens his mouth to my clit and sucks, at the same time adding a third finger so that I’m stretched around him, so full.
I come apart.
I shatter into a million pieces, my body an explosion of pleasure that whites out my vision. Stark’s hand grips the base of his cock firmly as he rides it out with me, mouth moaning against my clit as my orgasm goes on and on and on.
“Keep touching yourself,” I half-gasp to him in my head, and he does. And my orgasm, impossibly, keeps going. He’s so close to exploding, and it keeps my own pleasure peaking endlessly.
“Stark,” I say in his mind, “Stark, oh, goddess, Stark.” He pants, biting down hard on his lower lip to keep himself from coming. All while he pleasures himself for me, giving me his pleasure as my own so that I’m still free-falling through my climax, sensation never-ending.
It’s only once I start to come down that he puts both hands to my hips, yanking me to the edge of the bed so that my legs straddle him. His cock finds that nub of pleasure, and the jolt it gives both of us at once buoys me back up until I’m thrashing and moaning again.
“Please, yes, please, please, please,” I beg him, and he’s right there in my mind, aware how impossibly close to the edge I am again.
He can’t deny me, not anymore. With one hand, he positions himself against my entrance, and then I lose sense of reality for a moment as he pushes inside.
Hot, wet, tight, he’s so close already—
Stark pulls out and then thrusts inside again. He’s in me and I’m in him, as my slick walls tighten around his aching cock. The pleasure is blinding, he’s almost—
He picks up the pace; I clamp my legs around him. What the fuck. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this good—
“Fuck, Meryn!” Stark shouts, and I come again alongside him, a firestorm rocking through me.
He slams into me once more, twice, and he floods me with his release. I’m in his mind, drowning in his ecstasy as he comes harder than he ever has before. His pleasure and mine bind us closer and closer together until I can feel nothing else.
White-hot waves crash over him, both of us trembling, struggling for air through the intensity of it.
Slowly, my mind comes back, still joined with his, and for a second neither of us can form words. The warmth and the shared bliss of what we just did runs through us both in small aftershocks, and Stark reaches his arms around me and picks me up off the bunk, all while keeping us joined together.
He carefully spins me around until he can lie back on the small bunk mattress, with me straddled on top of him. I collapse into his chest and almost lose it again when his cock twitches inside me.
“Meryn,” I hear Stark say softly. My head is pressed to his chest, and his heartbeat gradually slows.
He lifts a languid hand up to my hair, stroking it, trailing fingers down my back.
“Mm-hmm,” I reply, nestling closer in.
“Next time you get the urge to sacrifice yourself, just remember what you’d be giving up,” he says, and I snort.
“Nobody is allowed to die until we have had the chance to do that at least a hundred more times,” I agree.
“A hundred thousand,” he counters, and I smile against his chest.
We let our minds stay entangled as we lie there, two hearts beating, two chests rising and falling with breath. I know the moment that he drifts off into sleep.
The next morning, we all gather on the deck once more, staring out at the lush green island that used to be barren. The tower is now almost hidden by green. Everyone’s focus keeps drifting back to the explosion of life, as if by looking at the island long enough, it’ll give up its secrets.
Lucien stands on the upper deck. His arms are crossed at the wrists, resting on the railing. His dark clothes drape from a golden pin at his shoulder and down over the long line of his body. His pale hair and skin glow in the morning sun.
Lucien clearly intends his figure to be dashing, but it’s his eyes that steal my attention. He stares out at the endless expanse of water through eyes that match its waves in hue. I struggle to read what’s hiding behind his gaze.
He doesn’t look smug or amused. He doesn’t look frustrated or annoyed.
He looks… empty.
“Lucien,” I say, climbing the stairs to stand next to him.
He doesn’t even turn his head. I join him, leaning on the railing. The sound of the constant frothing of the water below us fills the air.
My seasickness still hasn’t returned. Perhaps it’s the magic of the new Tear. If so, I’m never giving it up.
I give up on trying to read his mind. “So are we in agreement about what we do next?”
His eyes slice over to me. “Well, since it’s pretty clear that marrying me for the strength of my army and the political sense it would make is not at the top of your priorities—”
Holding up a hand, I say, “Shut it, before tossing you off this boat moves to the top of my priorities.”
“We need to go find the final Tear.”
I nod. “Killian and Alistair cannot get their hands on the power of destruction. But we need to figure out where it is first. Which is a total mystery to me. Unless you’re holding on to some crucial piece of information you’ve been saving for this moment?”
He’s silent. His hair flutters in the wind, strands catching on the branches of his crown.
I guess that’s a no.
I sigh. “Have you ever gotten a vision from the Tear you wear as a necklace, like the visions we received from our crowns?”
Lucien straightens, pushing away from the railing slightly. Then he reaches up and dips his hand beneath the fabric at his breastbone and hooks his finger around the chain there. His Tear catches the morning sun, and rainbow light darts over his face.
“No,” he admits. “Never from this one.”
“It’s the same with my mother’s necklace,” I say. “I’ve been wearing it for more than a week now. Not to mention other times I’ve worn it, before the coronation. No visions. No revelations. Nothing.”
“You think the visions are going to lead to the last Tear?” Lucien’s voice is contemplative.
I shrug. “They might not. It’s worth a shot, though.”
After a pause, my mind jumps into motion. Lucien seems to notice and lifts a brow at me. “What if we switched the necklaces?” I propose.
“Switched them,” Lucien repeats as if I suggested we toss them into the sea.
“Exchanged them. Maybe the necklaces need to be worn by someone outside our particular family lines to activate the memories they hold?”
The eyebrow remains raised, but he shrugs.
“We’re running out of options,” he admits.
“Let’s go down to the lower deck,” I suggest as he lifts the chain over his head. If I’m going to faint again, like when I put on Lucien’s crown, I’d rather someone were around to catch me.
Someone besides the infuriating Siphon king.
He wraps the chain of the necklace around his fist twice as if to secure his grip on it. “Feeling separation anxiety from your loyal guardian?”
Warm satisfaction floods me as I look down on Stark, his face upturned. He’s watching Lucien closely for signs of treachery.
“Sure,” I say lightly. Not even Lucien’s taunts can upset the deep contentment I’ve felt ever since waking up this morning with Stark’s arm tight around me.
Down on the lower level, Lucien holds tight to his necklace, eyebrow raised. “Show me yours.”
“Ready,” I say, holding up my opal.
Lucien frowns slightly as we complete the exchange, necklaces settling on each of our necks. My heart thuds heavily as I wait for a vision to take me. I can tell that Lucien is bracing for just the same. His eyes are shut, his brow is drawn, and his head is tilted to the side just so.
But nothing happens. The Tear remains warm but silent in my hand. Lucien opens his eyes and glares at me like it’s my fault our magic rocks aren’t listening to him.
I think back to the coronation ceremony, the source of so many of my theories. For some of the anointments, the priestess gave me just one swipe of oil. If I’m right, and the one over my breastbone was meant to symbolize these necklaces…
She anointed me twice there, two firm swipes of oil.
It can’t hurt to try it. “This might sound kind of stupid, but what if I try wearing both necklaces? Maybe the two Tears have to be together? Like—maybe like they’re two halves of a whole?”
“Nice try,” he says dryly. “If you want to give me both necklaces, though, I’ll give it a shot.”
I grunt in frustration. “Where exactly do you think I’m going to take your necklace? We’re sort of stuck on this ship.”
He shakes his head, unwilling to budge.
“Look. How about we try it together?” I offer. “I think the chains are both long enough to go around both of our necks. Then neither of us has to worry about the other getting information first or whatever it is you think is going to happen.”
I’m aware it sounds desperate and weird. But we need more knowledge, and the Tears could hold the key.
He looks dubious, but he nods. “Sure, if it’ll make you happy, darling. Although if you wanted to get close to me physically, you could just say so.”
Lucien’s right; we have to get uncomfortably close to make this arrangement work.
Stark’s eyes are on us as we hunch awkwardly together, stretching our necks out to get our heads closer to each other without actually touching. Lucien has to hunch down even more since he’s taller than me.
From a few paces away, Venna snorts. “You look like two birds doing a weird mating dance.”
“You’re welcome to come over here and give it a try,” says Lucien. He manages a lascivious look toward her even in this awkward position.
I huff out an exasperated breath. “Ready?”
Lucien just holds up his necklace in answer, settling it around us. I put mine on top, and instantly—
I’m tumbling into a vision.