Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
DAPHNE
M onty’s laughter shatters whatever spell I was under, my cold confidence thawing and leaving only cracks in its wake. As soon as I sensed we were in danger, my inner hunter took over. Now that the threat is over, she’s retreated, and I’m left to come to terms with everything I said and did.
A coppery tang fills my mouth, and I recall the rage that tore through me when I ripped flesh from the fae’s hand. It’s a rage I’ve felt before, and it throws me back ten years in the past, when I tackled a girl to the ground and bit off her ear. The crowd had been cheering before, egging us on as we exchanged arguments. But as soon as I took it a step too far, they went silent.
And then, as shame caught up with me and I was forced to reassess what I’d done, I knew I’d made a mistake. Blood dripped down my chin—just like it does now—and drenched the other girl’s previously pristine white dress. She stared at me in horror, clutching her ear with a shaking hand. The mirth that had brimmed in our spectators’ expressions was gone, replaced with disgust. One person laughed. A dark and strangled sound. “She’s an animal,” she said, her amusement fading to revulsion.
And then my victim shouted up at me with tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re a monster. You may look like a lady, but you’re nothing more than a beast.”
Then all the young women joined in, jeering?—
Monty takes a step closer, and I flinch, whirling away from him. My mind shifts back to the present but my heart is still in the past. For the love of the All of All, I can’t bring myself to look at him. How will I manage it if he looks at me the same way those girls did?
He wouldn’t , says a calm part of my heart, but this frantic, panicked side is so much louder. It’s the side that’s protected me all this time, ensuring I remember my manners, say the right things, make eye contact at the right moments, modulate my voice, smile when I’m supposed to. Be what society expects. Fit in. Don’t get cast out. Retreat to the quiet solitude of my apartment to recover from the exhaustion that comes with pretending.
You’ve never, ever had to do that with Monty , that calm part reminds me.
I sense him before I see him, then he’s standing before me, gentle hands framing my shoulders. I keep my eyes down, the blood on my chin out of his sight.
“What’s wrong, dear?” His voice is a caress, but I bristle at it.
“Don’t look at me,” I bite out.
“Why not?” he asks, undeterred by the iron in my tone. “Why rob me the pleasure of looking when I like the view so much?”
His fingertip comes to my chin, and he lifts it. I could fight him. I could nip at his fingers or yank my head to the side. But I allow him to angle my face, bracing myself for whatever his expression holds. Tears glaze my vision as our eyes lock. I’m tempted to keep the sight of his face obscured, but I should know the truth. Can he really accept me like this? I blink, and his face clears.
His lips are curved in a sideways grin, eyelids heavy.
That isn’t disgust on his face.
No, it’s…
Desire?
“Tell me what you said before we were interrupted,” he says.
My mind goes blank. He…he doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t think I’m a monster.
“Not the part about fucking my brains out, though we’ll revisit that shortly. Tell me what you said before that. Remind me how you feel about me.”
I’m stunned. My heart softens, yet it’s still prickly. Still raw. Still unsure if he simply hasn’t seen the blood on my lips. The two halves of my heart collide, and I avert my gaze. “I said I love you, you idiot,” I mutter.
He presses his palm to my cheek and tilts my face again, forcing my eyes back to his. His grin is wider now, deepening his dimples. “I like what you added this time. Say it again. Call me an idiot with blood running down your lips. I want to watch.”
He does see the blood. And he isn’t at all put off by my surly demeanor. My heart slams against my ribs, its riotous rhythm filling my ears and clearing the clouds of the past. I swallow the lump rising in my throat, then croak out, “Idiot.”
Tears glaze his eyes, as if I just uttered the most heartwarming phrase. He runs his thumb along my jaw, over my bloodstained chin, then across my bottom lip. “Fucking beautiful.”
My lips part at the hunger in his eyes, but before I can marvel at the sight, he lowers his mouth to mine.
The kiss is so sudden, so startling, so desired and needed and desperately craved, I forget to react. I freeze in place, my eyes open, his face filling every inch of my vision. His kiss is hard and claiming, sending a jolt to my heart.
How I wanted this kiss so badly.
If we kiss, it’s real .
How I imagined it time and again, but never in a damp alleyway illuminated by mushrooms, with bruises marring his skin and someone else’s blood filling my mouth.
But this untamed kiss is ours. This is us.
Finally, my mind settles and sharpens, allowing me to sink deeper into this moment, close my eyes, and kiss him back. As soon as I yield against him, his lips part, and he sweeps his tongue into my mouth, sharing the taste of copper between us.
I can’t imagine Monty has ever tasted another person’s or creature’s blood. Not intentionally. As far as I’ve surmised, he’s never gotten to live in his unseelie form—if he knows how to shift at all. He’s never hunted prey or eaten raw flesh. Yet as his tongue continues to move against mine, as his arms wrap around my waist to pull me flush against him, as he tastes me as if he can’t get enough, I realize there’s a hunter inside him too. A beast that doesn’t shy away from that same part of me.
I throw my arms around his neck and arch against him, desperate to be closer. His hands move to my thighs, and he hefts me up, lifting me until my legs wrap around his waist. My fingers wind into his hair, still damp from the rain. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth before moving his mouth to my chin. There he drags his tongue over the very place I know is smeared with blood. I don’t shy away this time, instead letting him cleanse away my shame as he sees fit, luxuriating in the attention, the vulgarity of what he’s doing.
Then he pulls back and holds my gaze. I stare down at him, perfectly secure in his arms. I caress his hair back from his forehead, plant a kiss above the cut on his brow. When my gaze returns to his, he smiles.
“Do you know what this means?” When I don’t answer, he softly brushes his lips against mine.
I know what he’s telling me. This kiss wasn’t just a flight of fancy or an accidental stumble into temptation.
“If we kiss, it’s real,” he says. “And this is real.”
“It’s real?” The question comes out with a quaver of emotion.
“I love you,” he says, and my heart races even faster. “With blood running down your lips and a man crying at your feet. In a yellow dress and clumsy dance steps. With your skirt pulled up to your thigh and a rifle in your hands. With four paws and a cute little face. I love you, Daphne Heartcleaver.”
He loves me. It isn’t one-sided. It isn’t my imagination. He loves me back. Then his latter words send a ripple of amusement through me. “Heartcleaver? I thought you said my surname should be Hartford.”
“I changed my mind. Hartford doesn’t suit you at all.”
“But Heartcleaver does?”
“Yes, my vicious little love, it does.”
He hefts me higher, and I frame his face with my hands, lowering my mouth to his. I’ve never felt so seen, so accepted, so torn between wanting to cry and wanting to make love and everything in between. I want to taste every inch of him. I want to learn every expression his beautiful face can make. But before I can get too carried away, I separate my lips from his and study his bruised visage. I run a hand along his jaw, where Gabby struck her victorious blow. Then through his damp curls.
“We need to get you warm and dry,” I say, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice. The last thing I want is for him to put me down. To have to maintain even an inch of distance as we return to the main streets. Perhaps even part ways for the night, if it’s too soon for us to take this tenuous, precious thing between us further. “After everything that happened, you must be exhausted. I can’t imagine that’s good for your wounds. You may heal faster than a human, but half fae don’t heal nearly as fast as pureblood. And with the rain?—”
“Daph,” he says, his lips curling in a wicked smirk, “you don’t need to worry too much about me. It’s true heat is most healing for a fire fae, but there are other ways to generate it.”
His words spark heat of my own, simmering in my lower belly. Mischief infuses my tone as I rake my fingertips against his scalp. “Is that so?”
He nods. “We can go home if you prefer. Light the stove. Undress each other. Sleep in a nice warm bed. Or we can give in to what I think we both want.”
I know exactly what I want. Based on the rock-hard length just beneath my ass, I think he feels the same. But I want to hear him say it. “What is it you want?” My voice comes out breathless, and I lower myself slightly, rocking my hips, wishing to the All of All that I’d worn a damn dress tonight, something I could lift with ease.
He bites his lip, tightening his grip around me. “I want you right here, Daphne, right now. In this musty alley that’s flecked with rain and blood, where anyone could see us if they chose to walk by. I want you against that wall, propped on one of those weird fucking mushrooms. I want the danger of getting caught. I want us just like this, filthy, sweaty, and burning for each other. And I want to make love to you until I’m on fire.”
A spark of desire surges through me. I lower my mouth to his. “Yes,” I breathe against his lips.
Our kisses reignite, fiercer than before, a dance of tongues and teeth. I lick up the side of his face, tasting sweat and blood. He smells like rain and pungent ale from the air at the club, but beneath it all, he smells like him . Smoky Moonpetal and lavender, drifting on a current of lust.
I pull back just enough to undo my waistcoat and blouse, tearing the articles from my body and throwing them to the ground. I don’t know how he’s managed to hold me up this long without so much as a twitch of fatigue in his muscles, but maybe what he said about heat is true. Passion blazes between us, igniting our hearts, warming the rapid pulse of our shared breaths, and pooling between my thighs. I roll my hips against him, biting my lip at the agonizing distance my trousers create. Then I feel my back press against a rough, cold wall, and a wide shelf of blue-green fungi brightens above my head. Our personal spotlight.
He releases my legs and gently sets me down, and my fingers fly to the bottom of his shirt. Together we pull it overhead, baring his chest. I take in the sight of it, my palm roving wherever my eyes do. He winces as my hand grazes his ribs, which tells me he must have sustained injuries from his fight there, but there’s no sign of bruising. Already he must be healing.
His lips return to mine, and this time he’s the one exploring my torso, smoothing over my belly and my waist, then over my bralette. I arch into his touch, and he slides his hand beneath the silk, palming my breast. He spreads his fingers, rolling my nipple between them, and I breathe out a whimper. As he pulls his hand from beneath my bralette, I tug the entire undergarment over my head, tossing it aside. Then I work my trousers, undoing the top closure. Monty doesn’t aid my efforts, instead bracing his hands against the wall on either side of my head and staring down at my body, my hands, watching as I slide my trousers down my hips, then my undershorts.
He sucks in a breath at the sight of me bare before him, and I realize this is the first time he’s seen me naked. The last time we engaged in this sort of activity, I kept my dress around my middle. There was something erotic about that, yet this—being completely bared to him—is a whole new layer of vulnerability.
“Blazing hell, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, gaze sweeping up and down my form. I’m about to pull him against me, to reach for his trousers next, but before I can, he kneels on the ground before me.
I suck in a breath as one hand moves to my calf, urging me to part my legs and lift one.
“What are you doing?” I ask, bracing my hands on the two nearest mushrooms beside me. Thankfully, they’re strong and don’t give way beneath the pressure. I turn the rest of my weight over to the wall behind my back and let Monty guide my leg over his shoulder.
“Getting on my knees for you and groveling,” he says looking up at me. Then he lowers his lips to the apex of my thighs and presses a kiss there. Still holding my gaze, he says, “I’m sorry I was too afraid. You were right about me.”
I make some unintelligible sound that turns into a moan as he parts his lips and drags his tongue over the center of me. If not for the way he braces my hips, the way my leg is cradled over his shoulder, the sturdy wall beneath my back, I would collapse from the shock of pleasure that tears through me. The stroke of his tongue is so different from how his fingers felt. A sensation that’s entirely new to me.
He licks me again, his gaze unwavering. “I love you, and I’m not going to run. I’m not going to push you away again.” With that, he buries his face between my legs, licking, sucking. Eliciting sensations that send stars to my eyes. I roll my hips against his mouth, and he moves one of his hands from my hip to tease my entrance, painting it with the shared medium of his saliva and my arousal. Then he thrusts the finger inside me, all the while flicking his tongue over my swollen clit.
It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever felt, and soon I’m riding his mouth, his fingers, cresting the wave of my release. I throw my head back, crying out as the wave barrels through me. His tongue swirls over me, dancing with the pulse of my orgasm, until my hips cease rocking.
Slowly, he slides his fingers out of me, then plants a kiss to my inner thigh. He trails a line of gentle kisses up my body until our lips meet. I breathe in the heady scent of my own sex, then taste it as he slides his tongue over mine. Every move is slow and soft, and I’m filled with the dreadful thought that this is over. That, like he did in my hotel room, he’s only going to deliver my pleasure.
Before he can consider such a ludicrous thought, I hook my fingers around his waistband and tug him closer. “More,” I manage to say through my panting breaths. “I need more.”
He quirks a brow, his smile cruel and taunting. “What did I tell you, Daffy Dear? Sex isn’t always transactional.”
“Grovel more for me, then,” I say, holding his eyes as I undo the closures of his fly. With trembling hands, I shove his trousers down, then his undershorts too. Then I grip his length, solid and ready beneath my palm, and give it a squeeze. “Grovel with your cock. Fuck me against this wall like you said you would.”
His eyes darken, and that’s all it takes to end his teasing. He steps between my legs and kisses me hard, then drags his tongue down my neck, across my collarbone. Lowering his head to my breast, he flicks his tongue over my nipple and takes it into his mouth. I gasp, once again learning just how incredible his tongue feels on my most sensitive places. With a final graze of his teeth, he releases my nipple and brings his mouth back to mine. I spread my legs wider, and he hooks one around his hip, angling me. The head of his cock meets my entrance, and I’m already wet for him, eager to feel this next new sensation between us.
“You want this?” he asks, guiding his cock more firmly in place. I stare down at where our bodies meet, and I realize just how big he is. I may not have ample sexual experience with humans, but I’m still shocked at his girth, how huge he looks as he runs the head over my slit.
I lift my gaze back to his and nod. “Yes.”
He pushes into me then, and I cry out as I feel my walls open around him, resisting at first, but taking him in one inch at a time as he pulls out and slides back in. Then, with a final thrust, he’s seated to the hilt. I bite back a whine, and he kisses the tip of my arched ear. “You all right?”
“More than all right,” I whisper back.
“Can I fuck you hard?”
I whimper. “Please.”
He pulls out and thrusts back in, but this time he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. My shoulders scrape against the wall, but I like how it feels, such a contrast to the pleasure building between my legs.
“Oh my God, Daphne, you feel so good,” he says, voice tight. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I say with a gasp, and he quickens his pace. Already I can feel another climax building, sparking hotter and hotter as every thrust reaches deeper inside me, hitting a place I’ve never felt before. Stars fill my vision, and I lower my mouth to his shoulder, my teeth grazing his salty flesh. Then I open my mouth wider, settle my teeth just a little firmer?—
“Don’t…”
He halts his thrusting, and terror runs through me as I realize what I was about to do. I’ve bitten a lover during sex before and it shattered the mood—and our relationship—at once.
Before panic can fully drain my lust, Monty speaks again, his voice strangled and breathless as he whispers in my ear. “Don’t bite down all the way until you’re ready for me to come. Because I won’t be able to hold back.”
Euphoria surges through my blood.
He isn’t disgusted by my yearning to bite him.
He’s turned on. So much so that the feel of my teeth will drive him over the edge.
If I wasn’t already building to another climax, I am now. He resumes his motions, slamming into me again with renewed vigor. I keep my mouth on his shoulder, tasting every quiver of his muscles, every ounce of restraint he’s utilizing to keep this going. My fingers weave into the hair at the base of his neck. He slides a hand between us, working my clit as he drives harder, faster. Just when I’m starting to unravel, I bite down on his shoulder. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt.
He moans, his pace stuttering. “Oh, fuck, Daphne. Where can I come?”
“Inside me,” I gasp. I’m already on the tonic and I’ll be damned if he robs me of the experience of him filling me up in every way.
His thrusts regain their steady rhythm as his fingertips continue to circle my clit. I whimper against his shoulder and bite down harder, marveling at the taste of his skin, the scrape of the wall against my ass, the fullness of him inside me. At his next deep thrust, my vision blurs, and I pulse around him, my release melting around his cock. I cry out his name, muffled against the skin I’m still biting. He comes next, filling me with a wet warmth that draws out my orgasm so long, it feels like it might never end. Our rhythm slows with his final pulsating thrusts. As we go still, our bodies quivering in an echo of our shared climax, I lick the place I bit and cover it with a kiss. He aids me down the wall, sliding out of me and setting my feet on the ground. There we press our foreheads together until we catch our breath, shuddering and sweat-slicked.
I don’t know how much time passes. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
Then Monty slants his mouth against mine, and I feel him smiling against my lips. As he pulls away, his eyes dance with mirth. I’m shocked to see no sign of the bruising on his jaw. The cut over his brow has closed too, leaving only dried blood where it had been.
He steps back, slicks his hands through his messy hair, and heaves a joyful sigh. “Blazing hell, Daph, that was fucking incredible.”
I can’t agree with him more. Maybe not everyone would fancy their first time with the man they adore taking place in an alleyway, but I love everything we just did. Everything that we are together. Everything we might be. A scared part of my heart continues to shy away, reminding me our worries aren’t over yet. I still have a handfasting to sever, and Monty has a loan to pay, not to mention a familial relationship that holds him back. But those are worries for another day.
Monty must feel it too. He returns his eyes to mine, his smile softer now, but still genuine. “Let’s go home.”
“Home?” I echo.
His expression turns bashful. “It’s time I showed you my place.”