Chapter 70 #2
Zadriel pretended to lunge for her, loving the way her startled giggle twirled around him like music. Filling the meadow, the cadence calling to everything, including the daisies—they leaned in her direction, their petals reaching for her when she bolted.
Exactly as he’d wished, Mora ran around the Mother Tree, her dark curls bouncing with each hurried step.
Lips tipping into a smile. It wouldn’t take long for him to catch her, but that was the point.
A way for her to escape as she’d requested, and for him to replace the image of Cillian chasing her, a look of fury in his eyes when she ran into Zadriel’s arms. He’d rather dream of this.
Rather not think of his brother and his mate in the same breath.
Pushing his robe off his shoulders, he let it pool around his feet on the ground, blanketing some of the flowers.
“Am I to run alone?” she called after him.
Zadriel laughed and shook his head before he sprang forward, long legs carrying him closer within a few short strides, but Mora hurried away. Back to the other side of the Mother Tree’s giant trunk.
Perfect, he thought, slowing his pace and pressing against rigid bark.
Golden leaves shuddered above him, slivers of moonlight playing their own games among the lush grass and gilded daisies.
Mora did her best to keep quiet, but he could hear every careful step, every sip of air, her dress catching on the ridged trunk.
One slow, quiet step and Zadriel drew closer. Dark eyes locked on Mora’s back. His pulse fluttering at the sight of her while heat prickled his skin. He ran his tongue over the sharp point of a canine, adjusting his breeches, his aching cock pressing painfully against his laces.
Zadriel needed to be inside her again. To be enveloped by her wet heat. Wished nothing more than to please her, and to experience the sound of those sweet whimpers once more before their night ended.
The wilder part of him—the Fae in him—loved the idea of filling her with his seed, entwining their scents in another way. Marking her. Claiming her.
His woman.
His mate.
His.
Even if it was only in his dreams.
This was the perfect escape from what awaited; a small part of him wished he’d never wake.
Careful to avoid the giant roots crawling over the earth until they sank below, burrowing down into the Mother’s well, Zadriel remained a few paces behind Mora. Savoring the hunt.
It was impossible to ignore how his purgatory had changed from something haunting to a haven he’d happily lose himself in.
The meadow alive again, bathed in gold, exhaling power like it had before he’d ruined it.
A gilded halo pulsing above while all the daisies and all the branches pointed to her, his Little Witch.
Mother damn him, he would give anything for this to be real.
Hell awaited in Eden, he knew... but when Zadriel imagined a future for himself—when he allowed himself to long for something different—this was what he desired most. Arcadia. Home. And the woman who called to his soul.
Grass rustled in the breeze, brushing against Mora’s feet, her palm scraping over the side of the Tree. “Fae?” she asked, a softness to her voice, as if she worried he’d abandoned the chase and left her alone in their meadow.
He lunged, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her feet off the ground to pull her closer.
“Caught you,” he said, nuzzling her silky hair, her startled laugh bringing a smile to his face.
He breathed her in, filling his lungs with her, a delighted rumble in his chest. “Does that mean you’re mine? ”
“It means you’re the better hunter,” she chuckled, gasping when he pressed her against the bark.
He ground himself against her rear, letting her feel every hard inch of his length—the ache nearly unbearable.
“Don’t lie to me, Little Witch.” His palms glided over her hourglass curves until he reached her shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the thin straps holding up her dress.
Slowly guiding them down. “I know you’re as impatient for me to be inside you as I am. ”
Mora shifted so her dress could fall off and pool around her waist. “Then why are you keeping me waiting?”
“I would never.” Zadriel’s touch lingered, his fingertips exploring the length of her spine, loving the way she trembled with anticipation. He pressed a kiss to her lower back, his hands bunched in the fabric of her dress. Tearing it free. “Bend over and brace your hands on the Tree trunk.”
When he pulled away, Mora whimpered. He couldn’t help his prideful smirk, especially when she did as he asked, pressing her hands against the tree and baring herself to him.
Her arousal glistened on her thighs and that warm feeling in his chest pulsed as he imagined adding his release to that delicious mess.
“Just like that.” A pleased growl rumbled in his chest when he palmed her ass. “Gods, you’re beautiful.”
She hummed in response to his praise, arching her back and pressing into his touch.
Zadriel nudged her heels, spreading her legs further, then made quick work of untying his breeches, kicking them aside.
Wrapping his hand around his hard length, he guided himself to her wet heat, slipping through her arousal.
“Tell me, Little Witch, do you crave me like I crave you? Are you haunted by my scent enveloping you in your dreams? Do you imagine all the ways I could take you, over and over again until the only word you remember is my name?” She trembled as he gathered her wetness and dragged the head of his cock over that bundle of sensitive nerves. “Do you want to know my name?”
Mora’s nails scraped on bark, her breath sawing in and out as she attempted to push into him—to end his relentless teasing and force him inside her.
“So eager,” he whispered, grabbing her hip with his free hand. Holding her firmly in place. “But I asked you a question.”
“I thought we already agreed,” she said, her voice pitching until it was almost a whine.
“What did we agree to?”
“That in this meadow—our meadow—I get to call you mine. That’s all I need.”
Zadriel stilled, drowning in bittersweet agony.
Once again she’d called him hers, yet...
There was a squeezing pain in his heart, a tightness in his ribs. Closing his eyes, he took a slow breath and focused on the warmth weaving through him, thrumming with his pulse.
This was enough.
It had to be.
“As you wish, Little Witch,” he said, notching himself at her entrance.
“Gods divine,” she gasped as he worked himself into her, her back arching while he filled her so perfectly.
Zadriel pulled back slowly, watching himself glide out of her sex, nearly to the tip before he thrust again, a little harder. Filling her inch after inch. Shuddering from the sheer pleasure—sheer rightness—of their connection.