Chapter 7
F or some, sleep is an escape. A respite from the struggles and trepidation of their waking hours. For others, sleep is a wretched thing. A stage for abandoned memories to perform, again and again, until they wake with a face wet from sweat and tears.
No. Sleep has never been my escape.
It has always and irrevocably been a ruinous bitch.
I was reluctant to retire to these quarters last night. There are separate berthing compartments for the men and women, and a private one for Sin and the few officers to share. Because whether they like it or not, Sin remains the Black Art of this isle, and even if the elves wanted to dismiss that fact entirely, it would be a death sentence to dismiss his tactical skill set. Sin was a warlord first, and right now, that’s exactly what we all need.
There are far fewer females than males aboard, and I am grateful for the extra breathing room in the quarters. The beds are stacked three high along either wall, but fortunately there are enough of them that no one snoozes above me. I’m in a bottom bunk, the cot rigid and unforgiving beneath my back where I lay with a couple of too-thin blankets. It’s cold, the gelid sea air whisking through the vessel like a midnight ghost, and a shudder rips through me.
It wasn’t the uncomfortable beds that left me hesitant to come here last night—it was leaving Sin. After his apology earlier, the Black Art and I separated to perform our individual duties. When I went looking for him during meal breaks, he wasn’t present. When I inquired, a few others told me where he was, either working underdeck, or going over strategies with the officers. Valid excuses, but I couldn’t shake the nagging itch in my bones that Sin was avoiding me. I saw the look in his eyes when we separated and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had not forgiven himself, nor did he have any intention to.
I’ve roused several times throughout the night already with no idea of how long I’d been asleep for any given stretch. Given the absence of light outside the small, circular windows, it’s either very late in the night, or in the wee hours of the morning. I flip the mostly flattened pillow to its other side and throw my head back on it, letting out a deep sigh as the chilled fabric soothes my nerves. The steady rocking of the ship combined with the low whistle of the wind in the sails finally pushes me over the edge, and I once more succumb to sleep.
Sleep dissipates as quickly as it found me again, consciousness slowly swimming in to take its place. I become aware of the cot pressing into all the wrong divots of my back, the gentle snoring from the other sleeping women, the wind that continues to howl outside like a lone wolf beneath the moon. I keep my eyes firmly closed, willing myself back to sleep, but instinct pinches me.
I go still, too still, as I listen for any sound out of place, rooting for the cause of the strange feeling on my skin like someone is watching me. Nothing disturbs the nighttime symphony, and I settle deeper into the bed, dismissing the warning bells ringing in my head as pre-battle nervousness.
A hand clamps over my mouth, and a heavy weight presses on top of me.
My eyes fly open, but it's too dark for me to make out more than a blurred silhouette. I reach for my magic, a surge of destruction tunneling through my veins, but it hits a smooth wall, my collective sliding down its surface as if it were ice.
They have a ward sprung.
I don’t bother reaching for the hand covering my mouth. The weight on top of me is immense, meaning the owner of that hand is inevitably stronger than me. Instead, I hike my leg to position it under their hips, while my upper half twists violently, trying to unglue them from on top of me. I reach for the knife tucked along the inner corner of the cot, while the weight on me shifts, a pair of muscular thighs tightening around my hips.
I jab the knife upwards, aiming blindly for their throat, and praying to Elysande that my swing is true.
The hand not covering my mouth grabs my wrist, halting the blade between us. Their thighs tighten further, and their hand twists my own, forcing my fingers to uncurl from the hilt, and the dagger falls to the cot.
“ Easy , little witch.” The voice is hushed, but the rasp is unmistakably Sin’s. He uncovers my mouth.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, my voice a decibel louder than appropriate for the late hour.
My eyes have adjusted some to the dark, enough to see Sin raise a finger to his lips. I obey without question, now wondering if there is a nearby threat. We’re in the middle of the sea for goddess’s sake, what could possibly be enough of a danger to warrant this?
He lowers his finger and reaches for the now tangled clump of blankets between us. He swipes them away, and the draft quickly accosts my skin through my thin, purple nightgown, the chilled air coaxing my nipples into tight buds that threaten to tear through the delicate silk.
My pupils must have dilated further because I can see Sin more clearly now. His attention is trained on my nipples, and his hand finds my left calf.
I startle when he gives it a slight tug.
He leans forward and drops his lips to my ear, inhaling as his nose skims through my unbound hair. “Sit up and put your legs over the side of the bed.”
The Black Art slides off the cot, his movements deliberate and silent, and he sinks to his knees. I watch him carefully as he kneels beside the bed. Surely he doesn’t intend to do what I think he does?
When I hesitate, Sin grabs my right leg and tugs me towards the edge. Alright, apparently he does. I scan the room to see if we’ve woken anyone, but the compartment remains quiet except for gentle snoring. Something that can change very quickly, given the elves impeccable hearing. But courtesy of Sin’s preternatural ability to pussyfoot, he stalked through the vessel, through the berthing quarters, and straight to my bunk without waking a soul.
Sin is a predator. And goddess help any foe that forgets that.
Careful to not rustle the blankets, I sit upright and swing my legs over the bed. I stare down at the Black Art, the sight of him on his knees before me igniting a heat that goes straight to the juncture of my thighs. He peers up at me through long lashes, the slight smirk on his mouth a devious thing. Sin likes having this kind of power over me, knowing how needy I’ve been for his touch. Bastard .
His lips tick upward as if he snatched the thought straight from my head.
And it’s in this moment that I vow to fuck that smirk right off his gorgeous, arrogant face.
Sin grabs me under the thighs and pulls me towards him so my backside rests on the edge of the bed. Slowly, his hands glide downward, his calloused fingers rough against my skin. He hooks both hands under my knees and props them over his shoulders, forcing my chest to fall backwards as I prop my upper half up on my elbows.
A sigh falls from my lips as he skims his nose along my inner thigh, his mouth pressing featherlight kisses along the way. He repeats the action, again, and again, each time his mouth coming closer to where I ache to feel him. As he makes his next trek, I arch my hips upward, and a low growl rattles deep in his chest. His fingers dig into my hips, his hold possessive, and I feel my arousal slowly leaking from me, coating my thighs in slick.
Sin reaches up and grabs the seam of my underwear, sliding them down my legs and over my feet before hiking them over his shoulders once more. I watch as he drinks in my bare pussy, now glistening with liquid arousal, and I jerk as something sharp pricks the backs of my thighs. His hands adjust immediately, his fingers splaying farther apart so the tips of his claws no longer pierce me.
“I like it,” I whisper. His eyes snap to mine, his expression dark, and something about it sends an ache pounding through my center. “I like the pain.”
Another low growl, and Sin dips his head between my legs, stopping mere inches from my cunt. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring wide as his entire body softly vibrates, and I’m certain he’s fighting to wrangle his beast, despite my confession that his predator makes me perversely wet. Not that I needed to speak the words aloud. Not when he can surely smell the perversion in my arousal.
The plea slips out without my consent. “Please.”
And like a merciful god, the Black Art lifts my hips and dives into his feast. He works me slowly, dragging his tongue through my delicate flesh in deliberate strokes.
The effect is blinding.
Pleasure mixed with insurmountable pressure pulses through me, straight down my legs and into my toes. I squeeze my thighs tighter, desperate to ride his face, but his grip on me tightens when I begin to writhe. I try again, and a muffled cry slips through my lips as his teeth find my clit. A warning.
I search for him in the dark again and find him watching me intensely, the threat in his eyes unmistakable. I nod meekly, and Sin releases my clit from between his teeth.
He pulls away, and I whimper. One hand finds the back of my head, and he pulls me toward him, resting my forehead to his. Even in the dark, it would be impossible to miss the need burning in his eyes. This has to be as torturous for him as it is for me—maybe even more so.
Good. He deserves to suffer for sneaking in here and making me fall apart like this. I smile to myself, calling out my own thought for the bullshit that it is, knowing damn well I’m resisting every instinct to reverse our positions, pull Sin’s cock out, and suck on him until he’s gagging me with his cum.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice a low, graveled thing.
Why is he asking this? “Yes,” I answer, my voice breathless from the pleasure.
His eyes flicker between both of mine before he kisses me, my arousal sweetening my lips. And then he’s breaking the kiss as his hands find the side of the bed, and he hunches forward, lowering his head between his shoulders. I’m about to ask him what he’s doing when his head snaps upright, but this time, it isn’t Sin that finds me in the dark.
It’s his beast .
His pupils have dilated into vertical slits, the irises now gilded, and his lips part just enough for me to glimpse those elongated teeth. My cunt thrums with need as I imagine what those canines would feel like sunken into my clit.
Only one way to find out.
I grab a fistful of his hair and shove him down.
Sin licks me again, and this time, it sends a shockwave rippling through me. My grip tightens, nails digging into his scalp, and suddenly, I know why he asked if I trusted him. Why he was seeking permission to partially shift. Sin’s tongue is rough against my flesh—abrasive like sandpaper, with the sting of a thousand tiny fishhooks.
And it is undeniably feline.
He pauses, looking up at me from between my legs, and I read the unspoken question in his bestial gaze. He’s asking if this is alright… if I want him to continue working my cunt this way.
I arch into him, driving my pussy against his mouth.
The Black Art growls against my wet center, the vibration there nearly enough to undo me. He continues to lick me in slow, measured strokes, and I moan deeply as I grind against his face, fucking his barbed tongue.
My head lolls to the side, and through my own fluttering eyelids, I find him watching me, his gaze heady with lust. Another thrill shoots through me as I imagine how stiff his cock must be, and just as I’m about to careen over the edge, Sin collars my throat and shoves my shoulders back onto the bed. He pushes my thighs forward with his other hand, forcing my knees to bend near my ears, while he continues to devour me in that steady rhythm he’s perfected.
I grip the blankets, desperate to clutch something, anything , as control bleeds from my fingertips. Breathy moans slip out of me, and the pressure around my neck increases. Another warning, this one a reminder that we are not alone. I quiet, and just as I do, Sin gives my throat another squeeze.
That’s when he sinks his teeth into my clit.
Thank the goddess he’s clutching my airway, or I’m certain I would be howling as release takes me in a voracious wave. My legs quiver around his head, and I thread my fingers through his dark hair as he continues to lick me, lapping up my release as if it were the sweetest of creams.
As he continues tending me, I consider his words from earlier, when he asked if I trusted him before he allowed himself to partially shift, and understanding sinks into me.
This was Sin’s way of apologizing for earlier—finding another purpose for his tongue since it often struggles with words. I lean forward and tilt his chin up, shifting onto my knees. I stroke his face, gliding my thumbs over his sharp cheekbones and down into the valleys beneath them.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper.
Something swirls in his feline eyes, and his hands wind around my waist, pulling me closer against him. I moan softly at the weight of his thick cock against my thigh, and I drop a hand to grab him there through his pants. Sin growls, the sound ravenous, and my grip tightens. I reach for the ties of his trousers with my other hand but pause as he vices my wrist. “I beg you to stop before you make me ruin these pants,” he pleads darkly.
“So take them off and ruin me instead.”
Another deep growl rumbles in his chest. Sin runs a hand down his face, then through his long hair before placing it back on my hip. He captures my mouth with his, and I open for him immediately, moaning against his lips as I taste my cum on his tongue. The kiss is messy—hungry and desperate—and I reach for his ties again.
This time he grabs my wrist with more force and wrenches it to the side, his breathing much heavier now. “If you come anywhere near my cock, little witch, I’m going to come. So, I am begging you, stop trying to take my pants off.”
“Then I’ll take them off with my teeth so my mouth is ready for you.” I kiss the underside of his jaw, his light scruff rough against my face. He tenses beneath me, and I pause as I sense the shift between us.
Sin is denying himself his release.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, guiding my hand to place it on his chest. “It is taking all of my self-restraint to not grab your hair and feed my cock down your throat, but that is not a luxury I am affording myself tonight.”
“You don’t need to punish yourself,” I say, keeping my voice hushed. “Please let me take care of you. I want to.” I twist my fingers into his shirt, but the battle is already lost. I feel it, the weight of his decision between us. Sin is a glutton for self-punishment, always has been.
We will be changing that.
If he is to be my Mate, he will quickly learn I do not leave my partner unsatisfied.
But that is not a conversation to be had with so many elven and transcendent ears nearby. We were careful not to wake anyone, but a perverse part of me warms at the thought of the shifter from the river having been stirred and daring a peek out of her cot to find the Black Art tongue deep in my pussy.
“Tonight was about you, love. I knew what I was doing to myself by coming here, and even with this torture, it is my privilege to serve you. If the gods truly do exist, may I never find myself spending a night without these gorgeous thighs splayed around me.”
His smirk is downright indecent before he kisses me again, his lips gentler this time. I grumble when he pulls away, and his grin widens. “Get some sleep, dearest. We have a long journey ahead.”
With that, he turns and fades back into the dark quarters, his footsteps as silent as they were upon entering. With a sharp exhale, I settle back into bed, knowing the voyage isn’t the only long journey in our future.