Chapter 4
“Are you lost?” The stranger’s voice drips through me like liquid silver.
I do not turn to face him. Instead, I keep watching the water and allowing the fury of the falls to fill my ears.
“Not lost. Alone.” I steeple my fingers, close my eyes, and turn my face up to the sky – where a slowly rising moon smiles down on me.
“Very well.” The stranger moves back through the undergrowth.
But I catch myself spinning around and saying, “Wait...”
I turn to look at him. He is still wearing his mask but my wings flutter as I take in his appearance. His gaze locks onto mine with a power that leaves me unable to move. His athletic frame is illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the trees. Around the mask, his hair is hidden by a hooded dark grey cloak that drifts down over his shoulders.
He takes a step closer, and I can’t help but admire the way his loose silver pants hug his lean hips and the way his thick leather belt accentuates his toned abdomen.
Inside my gloves, my hands feel hot and my fingers twitch with the sudden, overwhelming need to touch him.
Is that my need? Or his?
I am so intoxicated by his gaze, I can barely tell which emotions are his and which are mine. Especially when I take in his bare, sculpted chest. Moving closer still, he smirks at me. I know he is smirking because I feel it – the arrogance in his swagger. The glint in his onyx eyes that tells me he is completely aware of the effect he is having on me.
A flush of warmth spreads through my body as I drink in the sight of him.
It has been so long since I allowed myself to feel this way about anyone – so long since I felt seen or wanted or desired – but somehow this man, this stranger, exudes a primal energy that turns my entire body to liquid.
I move closer, allowing myself to revel in the way it feels to be near him. Allowing the sensations to drown out the ache in my heart that settled there when I realised the man I once loved and my best friend are in love with each other.
Closing the distance between us, I keep my eyes fixed on his.
The air seems to crackle with anticipation. I search for his wings, trying to discover which element he is aligned to. But he has retracted them, and shows no signs of setting them free.
“Are you an empath?” I ask, the words slipping out before I have a chance to stop them.
He pauses. His fingers twitch at his sides as if he is resisting the urge to reach out and touch me. “No,” he says. “But you are, si’thari. Aren’t you?”
“Si’thari? You speak the old tongue?” I frown but he laughs.
“Si’thari – beautiful bird – is all I know. My older brother taught it to me to impress girls.”
I laugh in return and shake my head. “It’s working.”
He tilts his head. “You didn’t answer my question.” His tone darkens.
Breathlessly, I nod. “Yes, I am an empath. Does that scare you?”
I worry the hem of my gloves. I yearn to have the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips, to lose myself in the depths of those mesmerising eyes. But I can’t.
I can fuck him, but I can’t touch him.
“You do not scare me,” he breathes. “You disarm me.” His hand lands on my hip and squeezes tightly, jerking a surprised sigh from my chest.
“Do you know who I am?” I stare into his eyes, searching for the murky grey mist that will tell me he’s lying.
“Varia,” he says. And he means it.
I begin to smile. His fingers move from my hip to my face, and he traces the edge of my mask as I lean into his hand.
Intoxicating anticipation turns to fiery passion in my core. My heart races, my breath quickening as I wait for him to speak, to reveal more of himself to me. To tell me his name.
But he does not. Instead, he takes my hand, turns, and leads me towards the waterfall. We cross the rocks with ease. While I use my wings to keep myself steady, he uses just his balance and his quick-moving feet.
He tugs me behind it and pushes me up against the cold, slick rocks.
For a moment, I worry about the dress. But as soon as he touches me, the worry fades.
“I can’t take off my mask,” I tell him.
He brushes a firm thumb across my lower lip, then pauses while my tongue circles it. “Neither can I,” he replies, watching me with a feral look in his eyes that makes my belly tingle.
I do not question him. I don’t need to. All I need is whatever is about to happen next.
Dragging his thumb from my lips, down my neck, and between my breasts, he slips his other hand around my body to feel for the laces at the back of my dress.
“Leave it on,” I tell him, meeting his eyes.
He blinks questioningly, but then nods. “As you say, si’thari. But your panties, at least, must come off or I won’t be able to make you come.”
The stranger’s brazenness lights me on fire. I do not want this to be slow or sensual or romantic. I want it to be all the things I have not had for so many years. I want it to be heat, and desire, and sweat, and bodies, and pleasure. Pure, all-consuming pleasure.
Because even though I cannot touch him without a layer of fabric between us, he can touch me.
And by the stars does he touch me.
Tugging my underwear roughly down to my ankles, he makes me step out of them and tosses them aside. Then he slides his hands up the backs of my legs, caressing my calves and the backs of my knees with a feather-light touch that makes me sigh and tilt my hips towards him.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, lifting my dress and inching his fingers higher.
Reaching down, I scrape my fingers through his hair and bring his face closer to the apex of my thighs. I want to feel his tongue, and knowing I can’t because of his mask makes me want it even more.
His fingers pause just short of my core, hovering, waiting to unleash their power. I can feel the heat emanating from his skin, the sweat that clings to his body, the strength it is taking for him not to speed up and devour me.
The smell of the forest, of dirt and damp leaves and earthy moss, mingles with the scent of his skin. The waterfall is loud, so loud it drowns out my thoughts until all I can think about is the way he is not touching me.
Gently, he strokes one finger through my wetness, starting at my clit and ending at my opening. He stops, makes a slow circle and then slides the tip of his finger inside me. As he does, my legs dip and a low moan escapes my lips.
He holds his finger there for torturous seconds, not moving, completely still.
When I brace a hand on his shoulder and ever-so-slightly tilt my pelvis, he tuts and roughly holds me still with his free hand.
I whimper and reach up to scrape my fingers through my hair.
Suddenly, I am desperate to free myself of my clothes. I want to feel the spray of the falls on my naked body. I want him to look up and worship me.
But then a second finger joins the first. After making a small torturous circle just inside my entrance, he growls and plunges them deep inside.
I cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he curls his fingers forward while thrusting with a strength that makes the veins on his arms bulge and his breath hitch in his chest.
While he fucks me with his fingers, his other hand grips my thigh, holding me open for his exploration. A part of me is desperate to pull away, to escape from the intensity of it all, but it’s too late – he is inside me, his fingers splayed wide as he thrusts them in and out in a frenzied rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart.
“Touch your clit while I fuck you,” he commands, looking up at me.
“I don’t just want your fingers,” I murmur, grinding down onto his hand.
There’s that smirk again – audible in his voice and tangible in the air. “Soon,” he says. “But I want you to come for me first.”
“Oh, fuck,” I murmur, slipping my hand down to do as he says.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “Show me how you like to be touched.” He hesitates, then adds, “You want to keep those gloves on? Does the fabric feel good against your pussy?”
I whimper in response, unable to lie when I’m so completely trapped in the web of my own desire. But unable to tell him the truth either – that if I touch him when I’m losing control like this, I might break him.
I start to make frantic circles with three of my fingers, coaxing throbbing, trembling pleasure from my pussy.
As the stranger sits back a bit on his knees so he can watch me, still fucking me with his fingers, he studies my hand like he’s trying to learn the exact pattern and rhythm that will take me over the edge.
My orgasm approaches, the pressure building deep inside my body. I lean forward and brace my weight on his shoulder, my knees becoming weak. “It’s okay,” he mutters, “I can take it. Use me.”
My nails dig into his naked back, but he hardly seems to notice. His eyes are black with desire, and I can feel the sheer force of his arousal coursing through every movement.
“Keep going, please.”
“You’re in control,” he says. “I won’t stop unless you tell me to stop.”
He continues his relentless thrusting, each movement driving me further into a swirling inferno of desire. My heart beats so wildly I feel like it’s about to crack my ribs.
I cry out again, desperate for more.
Without missing a beat, he keeps fucking me while I rub my clit. I release a loud, unrestrained cry of pleasure. It mixes with the torrents of water running down the rock face beside us and echoes off the damp walls of the cave. As I uncoil for him, the way he wants me, he wraps around my limbs and squeezes me tight, putting me back together even as I fall apart.
Shaking, I collapse forward, body trembling uncontrollably with the force of my climax. My skin feels electrified, every nerve lighting up with pleasure. But he catches me. He holds me steady, then pulls me down into his arms and keeps me close while I return to my body.
“Si’thari, you are incredible,” he whispers against my ear, his voice muffled from inside his mask.
“So are you.” I run my fingers through his hair, desperate to take off his mask. Smiling, I stroke his earlobe and he leans into my touch. “If I can’t see you, I should at least know your name.”
He looks up at me and something flickers around him. Sadness. Frustration.
I feel as if he is about to speak when something shatters the moment.
It is a scream. Distant. Somewhere beyond the falls. But it is not a scream of pleasure.
I stand quickly and run to the entrance of the cave. More screams. And then... a wave of pure, unadulterated fear hits me smack in the chest. It is so forceful I almost collapse back to the floor. There is another, then another. A tsunami of terror pummelling through me so hard I can barely breathe.
“Something bad is happening,” I whisper. “We have to go.”
But when I turn around, the stranger has already gone.