Chapter 47 #2
“It’s terrible. Glorious. Frightening. Perfect.
” Languidly, he runs his lips over my throat as he speaks each word, every sound a spike along my nerves.
“It’s like you—sweet.” He tongues the hollow between my collarbones.
“Soft.” He kisses the spot two inches lower.
“Alive.” Lower. “Beautiful.” Lower. “You smell like your hands when the green clings beneath your nails from the glasshouse.” He cups my breasts and admires them, a lazy smile softening his flushed face.
“Like growth and soil.” Thumbs grazing my nipples, he plunges his tongue between my tits as if I’m something he needs to discover every inch of.
“Like jasmine blooming after dark.” He nips at my aching peaks.
I moan at the soft savagery of his teeth against my tender flesh. I could weep at the way he worships me with words. So much attention he’s paid. So many things he’s noticed. So many ways he’s chosen to perceive me.
He says my scent is intoxicating, but his voice drags me under into a delicious drowning, where his words are water, his touches are a rip tide, and I’ve given up trying to swim to shore.
He sucks and flicks his tongue over me as his hand planes over my backside and between my legs.
“Wait,” I gasp.
He stills, a question in his eyes.
He broke me apart beautifully our first time together—I remember all he did to me, for me. For some reason that feels important. “I don’t want you to think I only take.”
He chuckles, softly, darkly. “I don’t.”
“But I want… I want to do something for you…” I reach between us, relishing how his breath catches when my fingers wrap around his length.
“Let me…” I work my way down him, gaze holding his.
It isn’t something I’ve done much with men—the baker’s girl taught me how to make her scream with my mouth, but the men I’ve been with have always been impatient, choking.
Drystan is patient, though. A man. Not barely more than a boy.
“I want to.”
He catches my chin, gentleness in his eyes as he strokes my chin, my lower lip. “You really do, don’t you? My sweet little Avellan.” The corner of his mouth lifts, pressing a slight shadow into his cheek. “Very well. But I won’t have you kneel.”
I’m still processing the layers of his words when his hands wrap around me, the world turns and somehow he’s switched our places.
Carefully, he lays me upon the cushions, halfway between sitting and lying, hair fanned around me. He pauses there, taking me in. There’s a dreamy, wondering tone to his voice when he speaks again: “Laid out like a feast for a ravenous god. And I am starving.”
I’m exposed. Vulnerable.
Safe.
Still, as he comes and kneels straddling my chest, there’s a flutter of panic. I’ve only done this a handful of times. And my last… well, he lost patience because I struggled to keep going for long.
Drystan pauses, kneeling over me, fingers crooking around my jaw, pulling me back from another world, another time. “What is it, sweet one?” Head canting, he frowns. “We don’t have to do this, you know. You can change your mind.”
“I want to. I just…” I swallow, throat tight, mouth dry. “I’m not very good at this. I’ve not done it very much. I’m not sure how best to—”
“Shh.” He smooths hair from my face, touch cool, calming. “You just haven’t had the right direction. That’s all.”
I bite my lip and he smiles at the gesture, gaze caught on the movement of my mouth.
He bends down, kisses my brow, swipes his thumb over my lips. “I’ll teach you. Yes?”
My eyes shut, breath easing out. His voice is so lulling, so solid, I can’t help believing him. I nod.
“Annon.” He shakes his head in gentle reprimand. “Haven’t you learned by now? I need to hear you say it.”
“Please show me.”
His next exhalation is laced with a groan. “Your mouth is so pretty when you ask for it.”
His thighs burn either side of me. This close, his scent is overwhelming. That ancient familiarity. Something unknowable and yet right here. Knowing me.
He fists his hard length, pumps it once and eases closer. “If you want to stop, we can at any time. Just tap me here.” He presses my fingers into the precision-cut lines of his stomach.
I’m somewhat distracted by his dick mere inches from my lips. It’s thicker and longer than I’ve had before, and I’m suddenly unsure if I can take it all.
“It’s all right. We can just—”
I slip my fingers free and wrap them around him. The skin’s so soft—a delightful contrast with his hardness.
Then, holding his gaze, I place an open-mouthed kiss over his tip.
Another groaning breath out as his head falls back. “Annon.”
Hearing my name from his lips as I wrap mine around his cock is a strange kind of victory, but a victory nonetheless. One I need to taste more of.
“I want you to lie back and let me use that pretty little mouth.” He speaks in a low tone, gaze back on me with an intensity that lights me up.
He threads his fingers through my hair as I open, ready.
For once in my life, I’m not weak, I’m not ill, I’m a woman having this effect on her lover. I’m widening my mouth, letting him slide in over my tongue.
Hips easing forward, he fists my hair slowly as I take him in.
It’s a lot. I can barely breathe. I certainly can’t take him all the way. Even closing my hand around the base, there’s still a couple of inches between my mouth and fingers.
I’m about to lift my head and try to push further when he nods, gaze hooded. “That’s so good, love. Just lie back for me.”
I do, letting the cushions hold me, letting my body soften into them. He’s positioned me perfectly, no effort required. I manage to suck in a fuller breath as he pulls halfway out.
“That’s it. Patience. This time, flatten your tongue.” It takes a moment for me to work out exactly how to do that, then he eases back in, further, further, until I drop my hand to his thigh. “Still with me, Avellan?”
I bob my head the tiniest amount, savoring the drag of him on my lips, the thickness of him nudging my throat.
He doesn’t make it all the way, but his half-shut eyes say he doesn’t mind. “Fuck. Aren’t you a picture?” His throat rises and falls on a thick swallow. “I’ve dreamed about this. Filling your hot mouth. Your lips wrapped around me. But this is even better than I imagined.”
My thighs tighten at the praise. Relief and pleasure flood me like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for his reassurance.
“Now, relax your throat. Let me in deeper.”
This part is easy—I have to do it when I take my tablets.
“That’s it. So perfect.” He smiles, dimpled, never taking his eyes off me.
For a while, there are no more instructions, just his controlled thrusts into my mouth, my hands resting on his thighs, noting how their muscles ripple with each measured movement.
I don’t close my eyes. I can’t. He’s beautiful. Glorious. The sway of his hair is hypnotic. The way he drinks me up, intoxicating.
The sun passes behind him, making him nothing more than a dark shape with a pair of glowing, golden eyes. It feels like I’m taking in a god. A myth. A being that’s more idea than flesh.
“Look at you laid out beneath me, taking it all so fucking well.” His chest heaves as he traces his fingers over my scalp, cradling my head at exactly the angle he needs. “You were made for this.”
This time, I moan—at the praise, at the throb of him on my tongue. Heat flares in my cheeks at how loud I am.
He answers with a wicked smirk. “My filthy little queen likes to be told how well she fucks, does she? And even better—she’s embarrassed by it.
” He gives a slow shake of his head. “Oh dear, Avellan. You never should have let me see you blush. So prettily. So perfectly. You make me want to praise you all the more.”
Oh fuck. I’m lost. Not safe. In danger. The worst of my life.
He’s tender and filthy. Pitching between the two, dizzying. He’s fucking my mouth, telling me how prettily I take him, and yet…
Laid out on the cushions, I feel like something precious sacrificed to a dark god. A willing, eager sacrifice.
He treats me like I’m sacred—kneeling astride me, hips flexing forward, my mouth full of him, hands gripping his thighs in a desperate attempt to cling to the world.
He sets the rhythm with quiet control, one hand in my hair, the other fisted in a cushion by my head. Not harsh. Not rushed. Pure control like this is an act of worship.
“You’re doing so well.” His voice is rougher now, the heave of his chest faster. “This time, when I pull out, I want you to use your tongue.” He withdraws, leaving just the tip in my mouth, allowing me to catch my breath and do as instructed, swirling over the head.
“Fuck. Yes. That’s it. Exactly it.” A breathless laugh escapes him. “Who told you you were no good at this? You’re…” The sentence dissolving into a groan, his cock twitches on my tongue. Under my hands, this thighs tense as his hips snap into me.
Control slipping. For me. In me. Because of me.
My eyes stream with the depth he takes and my need not to blink in case I miss a delicious moment.
“So pretty on your back.” He huffs, stomach taut, voice ragged, the grip in my hair tightening. “All mine. Doing so well.”
But there’s this tension in his abdomen that tells me he’s still restraining himself.
And I don’t want restraint. I want ruin. I want to feel him come apart on my tongue.
So I work that tongue on every outward stroke, take him as fully as I can, suck on the flared head, give up on breathing for a few wild moments.
And I am rewarded. Gods, am I rewarded.
He bucks into me, my name a moan in his throat, fingers wound into my hair, biting into my scalp.
I’m triumphant. Salt spills over my tongue and down my throat as he twitches in my mouth, hot and urgent and utterly undone.
He stares at me. Hair messy. Lips parted. Eyebrows drawn together as he bows his head—a true devout.