42. Enna
Chapter forty-two
Enna
Wicked, I can show you right now how well we fit.
My body relaxes as the dizziness washes over me. He tucks me against his chest, murmuring sweet nothings in my ear. His teeth catch my earlobe and, despite myself, I shiver and wonder where else those teeth might glide next.
His hands slide over my waist, warm through the silk. The fabric slips over my skin, deliciously soft, and my core heats. Too much fabric. Too much space between us. My bottom presses against his erection straining against those goddessdamn leather pants.
What was I doing? Leaving? There’s a pouch of stolen Coral goods strapped to my thigh, ready to carry me all the way to the Rime.
No, that can’t be right.
“This dress,” he moans. “Gods, as soon as you walked in wearing this, I knew I was done.”
His fingers rise to trace the deep V neckline, a knuckle slipping beneath the hem and skirting over the swell of my breast, across my collarbone. His thumb rests in the hollow beneath my neck. My pulse pushes angrily against the pressure of him, battering with the strength of my blood, but it’s not enough.
“Nervous?”
I push my elbow back into his ribs, and he catches my wrist, clicking his tongue in disapproval. His thumb passes over the silk of my glove, and my spines lift to meet him, the thin membrane of silk stretching. His fingers stroke the tips of my spines, and another rumbling moan escapes his lips. With a quick pinch of his fingers, he slips the glove off.
“Off with these silly things. Don’t hide beneath them for my sake,” he says, and the other joins the first in the sand below. He brushes the fading marks of my bruise. “You’re beautiful.”
My spines quiver in their new freedom, glinting in the light of the moon. My spines are beautiful—one of my favorite features, right along with my fangs, my claws. I am a wicked beast of the Drink, sharp and cold as the darkness from whence I came. And this prince—somehow—sees their beauty, too.
Soren grips me firmly by the ass, pulling me securely against his lap, and pressing his erection against me with a moan, my name quivering on his lips. The satin of my dress slips between us, soft against my bare skin. I want it gone—off, shredded, I no longer care. His large hand cups my ass and takes hold like I’m the only thing keeping him afloat in a vast drowning sea.
“My little moon goddess,” he whispers.
His bulging cock nudges my center, and I moan, dragging myself along its mound, coating my dress with my arousal.
His fingers trace my upper thigh, slipping along the silk. His thumb hooks into the slit, finding my skin in the secret passage to the evidence of my betrayal. If Soren discovers the contents of that pouch, this will all end in an instant, and I’ll be cast out for the snapperfish.
I need to distract him.
“You okay, Wicked?” His voice rumbles in my ear, his thumb retreating.
I nod, then rotate back into his arms. My nipples harden into tight buds as my breasts skim over the expanse of his chest. The dark green scales embedded in his skin rise at my touch. His jaw flexes, one singular blood vessel straining against his pretty skin. I run my claws up his arm, then tangle them in the hair at the base of his neck, pulling myself higher. I steal a quick nip on his collarbone. He smells of salt and sun and driftwood. Delicious.
“Soren,” I breathe, attaching his name to this heat building deep in my stomach, threatening to consume me with flames. “I need you.”
Growling, he lifts me up, hoisting my skirts over my legs. I clench my thighs around his hips, using a claw to snip the strap of my pouch. I toss it into the darkness, out of view, just before his hand slides over my bare skin, cresting my cheek and slipping into the pool of heat between.
“Are you not wearing undergarments?” He chuckles. “You wicked thing.”
His knuckle swipes through my wetness, nudging my already swollen clit. I gasp, clawing at his shoulders for purchase as I attempt to bring him closer still. He grunts, the tip of his finger swirling over me.
Who is distracting whom, I no longer know.
“You’re already an ocean for me,” he murmurs. “I could swim in this heat forever.”
I claw at his shirt; his skin warm beneath my touch, smooth as the silk he was just wearing. His hair hangs loosely over his shoulders, swinging into his face.
“The pretty prince is all talk, no action.” I snap my teeth in his ear.
With a grin, he dips toward the ground. My stomach flips with the shift in gravity, and I cling to him with all my limbs. He lays me flat on my back. I loosen my death grip around his neck.
“I’m going to devour you.” He settles between my legs, gripping my thighs as he parts them and lifts me to his mouth. His breath caresses my skin, cool against my heat. “You consume me with your very existence. Now, I will consume you until my name is the only word left on those lips, and you can tell me if that’s action enough for you.”
Over the swell of my stomach, I watch him as he studies me, his eyes darkening with lust. My core clenches, craving him in the spot only his breath touches. I ache to absorb him into my heat, to pull him inside of me until we can no longer tell where he ends and I begin. I moan, nudging him closer with my knees. And then his tongue seeks my wetness, drinking deep.
I cry out at the rush of pleasure. His tongue laps at my entrance. With every stroke, my need burns hotter.
“Soren,” I moan.
He hooks my knees over his broad, muscled shoulders, lifting my bottom fully. My head thumps against the ground, and the stars crackle above my head, as bright and colorful as the pleasure coursing through my core. One of his hands grips each cheek of my ass as I squeeze my legs together, mounting the heat of his mouth. The tip of his nose nudges my pelvic bone, and I grind against it, faster, faster.
Swirling his tongue in a torturous rhythm, he devours me thoroughly, deliciously, just as he promised. With muffled moans, his voice rumbles through me, vibrating and warm.
An all-consuming pleasure swells my stomach. Soren hums deeper until it feels like my entire body might explode from the vibration. Then his teeth are on me, firm and hard, as he sucks my clit with the pressure I need. My orgasm batters me, body and soul—wave after wave crashing in ceaseless rhythm—and I’m sucked in, spit out, left whimpering, and drenched on the shore of my pleasure. If this is what being devoured feels like, I don’t want him to ever stop.
Soren doesn’t stop.
Green light slithers out of his mouth, slipping across my belly to tease the swollen buds of my nipples. I gasp as the magic passes over me. Soren lifts his head, grinning, evidence of my arousal dribbling from his chin. He swipes his tongue to catch every drop.
Wide-eyed, I stare at him as the magic continues to swirl. Soren twists his magic around my right breast, teasing the tip with excruciating delay until finally it squeezes. A giggle bursts through my lips, and I suck in an embarrassed breath.
Soren crawls over me, caging me with the bars of his forearms. His face is dark before the light of the moon, the silver light streaming through gaps in his hair. White teeth flash into a smile. “Do that again,” he says, and my eyelids close as my mind scrambles into mush.
He cups my cheek, drawing my focus back to his face. “Your laugh,” he says. “It’s beautiful.” His touch traces the planes of my face, catching the bottom line of my lip. He leans in close, leaving only a scale’s breadth between our lips. “Do it again.”
Through the fog of my lust, I prepare a witty response, gasping for breath. “You’re gonna have to make me, pretty prince. I don’t take orders during sex; I give them.”
I crave the weight of his cock, need it inside me, need it filling every inch of me.
His eyes alight with mischief. “Challenge accepted.” Humming once more, he ignites his magic, and those soft tendrils slither over my body, slipping, teasing every vulnerable part of me. Green light swirls inside my navel, tugs at my hips, weaves between my toes. I watch the display with a mask of indifference while my ego rears and purrs, enjoying the careful attention. He covers every inch of my body, save the apex of my thighs. The closer the magic slithers to my clit, the more I squirm in anticipation.
He then slips out of the leather cage, cock springing free. The green scales on his chest trail down in a glistening path, clinging to his heavy balls, skittering down the impressive length of his cock. At the crown of him, a ring of larger scales forms a hardened ridge, wet with his wanting.
“Soren,” I moan, my mouth watering. “Please.”
His magic lashes my clit, worrying the sensitive bud with perfect rhythm. I buck my hips, riding the next wave of pleasure as it rebuilds deep in my stomach.
“That’s it, Enna,” he purrs. “I’m not done with you.” He parts my legs and seats himself between them. “I’ll never be done with you.” The thick head of his cock presses against my entrance, hard and slick with his own arousal, even as the light continues to play.
It slides inside me, and I shift to accommodate his girth. That ridge of scales drags into my depth, eliciting ripples of my pleasure.
Soren grabs my hips, pushing deeper inside me. Then he launches into a frantic rhythm, thrusting hard and needy. My name spills from his lips, again and again, like a prayer.
I can’t help myself. Another giggle bursts through my lips as pleasure wracks through me, and my soul lifts into a joy I’ve never experienced. I’m floating weightless in a sea of green light. He shudders and bucks. My core clenches around him, the waves of my orgasm carrying me into a sea of bliss.
Finally, the last wave passes and my eyes pop open. His face hovers over me, his hair unkempt, and he chuckles when he sees my expression. “You sure you want to run from this, Enna?”
I blink, steadying my mind as the post-orgasm dizziness settles in. As I study his face, the kindness in his expression, the care in his eyes, a fragile feeling in my chest breaks open, a splinter wriggling loose at last. I look at Soren, and for the first time in my life, I feel seen—not as my father’s daughter. Not as an unlucky half-breed, or death-dealer, or trench-scum. Not as handmaid or shadow-guard.
Just me.
And when the familiar fear rises from my gut, poised to protect me, I brush it away. “No,” I answer him, matching his smile with one of my own.