20. Rose
Rose
I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, a shaft of sunlight poised on my face. I wince at the light, despite how good it feels, then roll over to see Valtu sleeping soundly with his back to me, his back rising and falling.
Holy shit.
He’s here. I’m here.
I’m here in his bedroom.
I glance around his room, curious to see what it looks like in the daytime.
The bed is large and draped in black sheets, the room is circular much like that torture chamber I found myself in from the other night.
Thankfully, there are no chains, but a few things that seem very Valtu.
There are a few bookcases crammed with old editions, some which I recognize from back in our London days, and a small velvet loveseat beside it.
There’s a fireplace but it doesn’t look like it’s been used in years and a couple of items on the mantle above: a venetian mask, an original printing of Dracula, a figurine of a raven, a tired looking music box, a human skull which I have no doubt is real, even some crystals, including a black tourmaline sphere and a gray lithium scepter.
Apparently, all of Dahlia’s crystal knowledge is deeply ingrained.
At that thought my eyes go over to his desk by the window.
The light that’s coming in is also hitting the desk, illuminating the book.
I feel it calling to me, something quiet yet persistent and I have to wonder if it’s looking for a new owner, if that’s even how it works.
I’m the one who destroyed its demon, its own personal guardian. Does that mean the book is mine now?
Of course I would never take it from Valtu.
I think it wants me to, I think it’s trying to promise me things, but Valtu’s attachment to that book is very real and very strong.
It means something to him still and I don’t want to fuck with that.
I just want to use it. There’s a chance that maybe the book will show new spells to me.
Maybe it trusts a witch. Maybe I just have to ask it properly.
Valtu stirs from beside me, shifting so he’s facing me. A strand of unruly hair falls across his forehead and I can’t help myself. I reach over and brush it off his forehead.
He lets out a small, sleepy moan and his eyes slowly flutter open.
I hold my breath, praying and hoping that when he sees me, he really sees me, that somehow all the events of last night rewrote the past and freed him from his spell.
His pupils focus and widen, his eyes bigger as he takes me in.
I hope I don’t look like a wreck first thing in the morning.
It’s not lost on me that this is the first time we’ve slept together in a bed, the first time he’s been completely naked, and the first time he’s fucked me with just a bit of affection.
“Hi,” I say softly.
He blinks at me. I don’t see any love in his eyes, but I don’t see any fear or anger either. I’m not a lover from his past, just a lover from the present. And that has to be good enough for now.
“Hi,” he says back, voice throaty with sleep. He gives me the faintest smile.
I trail my fingertip over his nose, his perfect nose, his beautiful lips, his strong chin where the ever-present stubble scratches my fingertip.
“Not a monster in the morning, am I?” he asks with a small yawn.
I grin. “Not even a little. What about me?”
“If you are, I wish all monsters looked like you,” he says. He shifts his head so that he’s lightly biting my finger. “And of course you taste like heaven,” he adds, placing a kiss on my palm.
Then he’s reaching out and cupping the side of my face and pulling me to him and kissing me.
It’s not the hard, demanding kiss that he’s been known to give, but a soft, easy one. It’s not a kiss of hunger or lust but one of lingering affection, and I’ll take what I can get, whatever he’s willing to give me. His softness stirs my heart.
His lips melt against mine, his tongue is gentle and warm, and even though we have yet to get out of bed, he tastes faintly like mint.
We kiss, slowly, deliberately. We take our time, as if we’re kissing each other for the first time, until the flames start to build between my legs and I feel a deep, hot ache inside me.
Our kiss deepens and my body shifts, thighs squeezing together to quell the throbbing that’s building and building.
His grip on my neck tightens and he tilts my head to take me deeper, and I moan into his mouth.
He pulls away, breathing hard.
“Get on my face,” he murmurs, eyes unfocused with lust. “I want you coming on my tongue.”
My mouth goes dry. “Okay,” I whisper.
He rolls onto his back, his head on the pillow, and I climb up over his face and hover over his mouth.
I feel his hot wet breath and I have instant goosebumps, every nerve in me dancing like a livewire and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
He’s using one hand to position me, the other stroking his cock slowly.
And then I’m sinking down, feeling his lips part slightly, the rough rasp of his morning beard scratching my inner thighs.
The sensation is so raw, so carnal, it makes me clutch the iron headboard.
The second he starts to suckle my clit, I know I’m a goner.
You like that?
It’s his voice in my head. He’s projecting his thoughts, because of course he can’t talk with a mouthful of pussy.
“Yes,” I manage to say, shifting my hips against him.
Of course you do. You like your tight pink cunt fucked by my tongue. Look at you. You’re honey pouring into my mouth.
I smile, biting my lip, loving how he sounds in my head, loving how he fucks me with his mouth, his dirty fucking words. He licks slowly, deliberately, his tongue dipping in and out and over the cap of my clit and I’m gasping.
You feel me, sucking your sweet fucking honey down my throat?
Oh god.
This man, this man.
I’m panting and gasping, so full of desperate arousal, my thighs quaking. I slide my hands down into his hair and grip hard as I grind against his mouth.
He flicks his tongue over me, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks hard.
I’m so fucking close.
Let go Rose , he says.
But I don’t want to. Not yet. It’s torture to hold myself back when I’m such a hair-trigger with him.
I glance down at him and his eyes flash with stark determination. He sucks me harder and harder, his tongue swirling around and around until I might go insane.
You’re so goddamn wet for me. Look at you. You’re soaking my face, fucking drenching me. You love my tongue thrusting in your cunt, don’t you? Can’t get enough of it.
“Yes,” I moan, pinching my eyes shut as another wave of primal pleasure takes over.
He laps at me, quick and shallow, his tongue flicking over my clit.
I’m so fucking hard, swollen, and ready to burst.
“Yes,” I breathe. “More, please.”
God yes, yes.
Take it. Take it, Rose. Fuck, I could eat you for days and never get full.
He growls in his chest and his lips tighten around my clit and he sucks hard.
I arch my back, my body flooding with pleasure as my orgasm slams into me.
It takes my breath away, strips me of all control, until I’m a gyrating mess.
I’m sobbing, gasping, all my muscles clenching hard.
I moan and grip his hair, hips bucking against his face as he sucks every last drop of my climax into his mouth and I fall against the headboard, gasping and shaking.
I writhe on his face for a moment and then lower myself, feeling his tongue slide out of my pussy.
Then his strong hands are wrapping around my waist and he’s lifting me up and he adjusts himself so he’s sitting up, his back against the headboard and he’s lowering me onto his lap.
Right onto his cock, which is hard and thick, pushing into me as he slowly presses me onto him.
“Oh fuck,” he moans, fingers digging into my waist until it hurts.
I slide down, watching his jaw clench and his eyes glaze over as he sinks deeper and deeper inside me and I’m completely straddling him.
“Fuck,” he says again, his hands on my hips, holding me still. His gaze is intense and burning as it locks me in place and I’m unable to look away, our noses brushing against each other, our breathing hard and shallow.
Then he’s lifting me up and lowering me again, thrusting his hips up into mine until he’s in so deep I can’t breathe, I can’t speak.
I can only gasp, my hands clutching the hard curve of his shoulders, the taut muscles of his biceps, holding tight as I begin to rock back and forth on him, our bodies finding that easy rhythm.
Effortless.
When we’re like this, it’s effortless. As if we were made to be together like this, as if this is all we were ever meant to do, as if this is how we were meant to live the rest of our lives, if only they weren’t always cut so short.
I glance down at him and his eyes are shut firmly, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared.
He’s not just holding on to me, the way he’s digging his fingers into my hips. This is his way of holding onto himself.
His way of keeping his control, even though I can see for myself that it’s already slipping.
Just having me in his bed like this, our faces close, our bodies naked, after learning the truth…he’s giving me more than I thought he would. Last night when he banished me, I thought I was done for and would never see him again. I really believed that.
But he came for me.
He told me he wouldn’t save me, but he came to save me anyway and claimed me as his and despite my lies, despite our past, despite the fact that he doesn’t want to remember, I’m here.
I’m here with him in the most intimate way I know.
And we’re both going over the edge.
Together.
“I’m going to come,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire, his eyes wild as he looks at me. “I’m going to come so fucking hard.”
He kisses me, hard and deep, the taste of me still on his tongue, and thrusts up into me with a few final pumps, and then we both let go.
I pull back, my neck and back arching, and cry out his name as I come harder than I’ve come before, like I’m being torn apart on every level.