Chapter 19 #2
Red and pink streamers fall from above the door. There must be hundreds of roses. Vases are everywhere, crammed onto every surface, and velvety red blooms overflow from all of them. Magic, some are even floating in mid-air.
“Lambert.” I huff, not even needing to ask who could be behind this ostentatious display. “Of course.”
The petals are strewn everywhere, arranged painstakingly in a giant heart that covers the bed.
Dakari snorts. “Show off.”
He is, but I can’t help the secret smile that touches my lips as I head for my dresser, moving one vase out of the way so I can set my grimoire down in front of the mirror.
My makeup takes three spells, and taming my hair into soft, shiny waves that flow down my spine takes another two. I debate adding more length to the skirt again, but Eddy was insistent. The way Dakari’s dark eyes have dropped to admire the view as I bend makes me rethink the idea.
It’s nice to be the object of his attention. When he sees that I’ve caught him in the mirror, he offers me a rare, roguish grin.
“Did the others get you something for Valentine’s?”
My face warms. “Jasper woke me up with breakfast. Pierce brought me fancy chocolates while I was working, and North…” I turn scarlet as I remember the way he sank to his knees beneath my desk and ate me out while I tried to keep quiet. “He was a little more physical about it.”
There’s no need to mention the two beautiful foiled and leather-bound historical romance books that appeared on my doorstep. I know who they were from. The fact that he wrote a snám suad and tucked it into the first book gave it away.
Leo went to great lengths to find books set in the time period when I was born, then wrote me an obscure and tricky Ancient Irish form of poetry.
Urgh. He could’ve just slunk away and pretended not to exist. That would’ve been simpler. Instead, he found a gift that’s the perfect blend of both of us.
“Saving the best for last, then?” Dakari asks, drawing my attention back to him. I twist, looking over my shoulder, eyes widening as I catch sight of a silver chain hanging from his fingers.
His grip hides the pendant from view, but I catch a glimpse of blue before he tucks it behind his back.
“What is it?” I cross to stand in front of him, but he twirls the forefinger of his other hand instead of letting me see.
I do as he asks, letting him fasten the chain around my neck. It’s short—more a collar than a necklace—and my heart does a tiny skip as I read too deeply into that detail before I force myself to focus on the locket that rests in the hollow of my throat.
It’s a book, embellished with tiny blue crystals. I pop it open, craning my head to try to see what’s inside. It’s not a picture, just an engraving.
Dakari leans down, pressing his lips to the spot just below my ear.
“It says ‘mine’.”
His husky whisper sends a shiver running down my spine even as my heart resumes making a fool of itself in my chest.
“Am I?” I ask boldly.
His lips trail lower, and my head tilts to the side, giving him better access. “Are you doubting my intentions, baby girl?”
My head shakes before he can even finish talking. “No.”
His constancy is one of the most wonderful things in my life. I let the solidness of that bond soak into my skin, healing the fractures left by another man.
“I love you,” I whisper, the confession stark. He presses a deeper kiss to my neck, and I shudder. “You’re supposed to say it back.”
“You’re everything to me,” he promises, nipping at the over-sensitised skin. “I’ll spend every day of my life proving it to you, starting right now, if you let me.”
“We’ll be late.” The breathy objection is so weak that there’s no mistaking it for anything other than a token resistance.
He hums under his breath, hand coming up to rest right over the chain.
“No, we won’t.”
With his hips, he nudges me back to the dresser, pressing me forward until my hands rest on the surface. He guides my legs apart with his foot. The lace barely covering my thighs slips higher, and my whole body trembles.
“Watch yourself in the mirror,” he murmurs in my ear, carefully brushing my hair over one of my shoulders, then kisses the exposed skin of my back. “Don’t close your eyes.”
With that final order, he shoves my skirt higher still, until it bunches around my waist. His warm hands caress the exposed skin of my ass, each one a heated brand, but they’re gone too soon, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
The sound of a belt being undone is background noise, my focus consumed by the fingers skating over my hip, then between my legs, tracing the seam of my pussy.
They circle my clit once, then shift higher, pushing into my soaked sex…
scissoring as he pumps them in and out. Once. Twice. Too soon, he withdraws.
His cock is there before I can whine a complaint.
I’m not prepared. The foreplay was minimal, but the care with which he inches inside me tells me he’s more than aware of that.
I expect him to press deeper, to fill me, but his shallow thrusts never falter.
He’s fucking me with just the tip of his cock, sliding the mushroom head over the most sensitive part of my channel with devastating precision.
“Watch,” he chides, and I realise my head has dropped to rest on the dresser.
I lift my eyes to the mirror, but it’s hard to focus on my glazed expression. Instead, I watch him as he stares down at the place where we’re joined with flushed cheeks and a possessive tilt to his lips.
One of his dark hands is on my shoulder, thumb stroking just below the chain of my necklace; the other is on my hip, holding me in place when I might’ve rocked against him, trying to persuade him to go deeper.
I barely recognise myself. The woman in his arms is alive. Vibrant. Her face is soft with pleasure, lips parted as her breasts heave in tiny, tormented little pants. Both of us are glowing in the warm light of the room, our skin shining with sweat.
“Just like this,” he says. “I want you to come knowing I don’t even need to fill you up or play with your swollen little clit. You might own my fucking soul, baby girl, but your body is mine, and you’ll take whatever pleasure I give you, won’t you?”
I find myself nodding. My agreement catches in my throat and emerges as a moan. He might not be touching my clit, but his words seem to wrap around it, sparking the nerves there until my pussy ripples.
“Fuck. Keep strangling the head of my cock like that.”
“Deeper,” I whine, but he shushes me.
“Nope. Just like this.”
“Dakari.”
“Shhh, baby girl. Just feel.”