Chapter 28 #2
Varro continued to cleanse my body, as if performing a ritual.
He stood behind me, washing my shoulders and back, then moved the sponge around to my front.
My nipples stiffened when he grazed them, then continued to run it down my arm, in between dips of it back into the bucket for more water.
When he had thoroughly removed every trace of my victim, he patted me dry and placed the clothing in my hand to dress myself.
After I was fully covered, he approached me. He cupped my face in both his hands and placed the gentlest of kisses on my forehead.
“I know she isn’t Versa, but she was still like a sister to you,” he said.
I pulled back in confusion. “Who is Versa?” I asked.
Varro’s golden skin paled. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed.
“What do you mean ‘who is Versa’? Your sister. Versa,” he stated flatly.
Suddenly, the scar behind my ear began to itch intensely, and I brushed aside my hair as I ran my finger along it.
More confusion set in. “I have a sister,” I told myself.
I knew I had a sister. My pulse began to race in sync with my frantic thoughts.
Why is this name so unfamiliar to me? Why does the sound of it feel so foreign?
Tears began to form in the waterlines of my eyes.
Versa, I repeated, over and over in my head, trying to force the image of a female with the name to mind.
But doubt overwhelmed me, because the female I pictured looked just like me.
Varro’s hands braced each of my arms and he squeezed, trying to draw my attention back to him.
“Your twin. Your twin, Versa.”
By the end of his statement, he was almost shaking me, trying to get me to recollect what had become lost to me.
I yanked myself out of his grasp. “I know,” I said in frustration. “I know now. I have a sister. I just…am struggling with the name.”
“It’s time. You know it is. You must answer the five questions.”
“No,” I snapped back in frustration. “It’s not like that. It…it can’t be.”
The plan to help ensure my mind was always intact was supposed to be a last resort. He knew even mentioning it would infuriate me, scare me, and possibly send me into a spiral.
“Maybe…” he offered, trying to pacify me.
“Maybe you’re just exhausted from exerting yourself after days of travelling and, from what I hear, taking down an entire canyon.
Perhaps all you need is sleep and a good meal.
But you made me promise you that if I ever saw even the smallest of signs, to ask you the questions. ”
Our plan was a promise sealed by a bargain. If he asked, there was no way I could refuse. It was our only way to measure how much, if anything, was lost due to the Drift.
“Please,” I said, almost sniveling, trying to avoid discovering if any more of my memories had become affected.
“You made me swear,” he replied solemnly.
Varro proceeded to ask me the questions we prepared with meticulous attention to detail.
Five questions spanning the events of my life.
Five answers I should know.
Five reasons to believe I was still me.
He gave no indication of if I was right or wrong after he asked each one, only proceeded to the next. No expression to drive fear or hope into me that might possibly sway the following answer. No judgement and no reprieve.
When the final answer was given, I awaited his reaction with bated breath.
“You passed,” he said, momentarily relieved.
I let out a deep sigh and closed my eyes briefly in acceptance.
Before I could relish in my reassurance too long, however, he added, “You passed, but something has affected you. I do not know why you struggled to recall Versa’s name, but it is concerning.”
Each time he said her name, it became less foreign and more familiar. Like pieces of a puzzle coming quickly back into place; even the memory of the tattoo behind my ear. It’s possible these first signs of the Drift had finally touched me, but their effects were waning and impermanent.
Despite answering all his questions correctly, Varro still seemed on edge.
“Do you want to talk about any of it?” he asked sincerely.
Discussing how I felt about the people I’d killed in the canyon, Nori’s passing, the brutal torture I’d bestowed on her killer, or these early signs of the Drift was the last thing I wanted to do now that I was finally alone with him.
All of the pent-up longing, the need for his very presence, and I was teetering on the precipice of my own self-control.
What little restraint I had was fading with every passing moment.
The sheer scent of my mate was intoxicating—maddening, even.
I reached for the belt at his waist and pulled him toward me. “I have better things to do with this mouth,” I teased, while beginning to undo the buckle.
Varro grasped my hand tightly, protesting my pursuit. “Cress,” he said breathily, hanging his head reluctantly.
But before he could say another word, I ordered him to shut up and pressed my mouth to his, biting his lower lip and causing him to let out a groan.
Varro released his hand from mine in surrender, allowing my fingers to resume their quest. I greedily pulled the leather belt off him and dropped it to the floor, then began to undo the buttons on his trousers in between more kisses. Both of us growing more restless.
Having now fully given in, he placed rough kisses all along my neck.
With my hair bunched in his hands he tilted my head, bending me to his will with each fervent kiss.
I ran my hand along the outside of his pants, feeling the length of him harden below my fingertips, and squeezed for good measure.
He let out a deep and possessive growl, causing my insides to warm.
The feeling of his arousal in the palm of my hand made my mouth water; my desire to please him growing as I continued to run my hand across the thin fabric that separated us.
I lowered myself to my knees before him and looked up into the eyes of my mate.
His molten blue gaze steeled at the sight of me below him, eager and ready to please.
I slowly lowered his pants to the ground, letting my fingertips graze the sides of his muscular thighs.
Face to face with his hardened cock, I licked my lips in anticipation.
I grabbed him firmly with my hand and began to stroke, causing him to stiffen further against my grasp.
Varro reached a hand down and pushed my long hair over my shoulder, gathering both sides in one fist. I leaned forward and teasingly ran my tongue from the base up the shaft, flicking it along the tip before removing my mouth entirely.
His hips shifted forward at the absence of my mouth.
I looked up at him, watching to see his reaction.
“You’re cruel,” he said breathily, staring down at me.
“Tell me you like it then,” I instructed, goading him to say what he wanted.
Varro grinned and tugged tightly at my hair, as if to teach me a lesson for my games.
“Do you like this?” I said before squeezing tightly and fluttering my tongue along his tip, tasting his arousal.
I paused, looking up again for more confirmation of his approval. His nostrils flared and his jaw ticked.
“Yes,” he answered huskily.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Moirai!”
At his response, I plunged my mouth downward along his entire shaft, working to accept the full length of him into my throat.
I braced my hands on his hips, pulling myself deeper with each dip and bob of my head.
He bucked against my mouth, causing me to struggle, but I relaxed and resumed my focus on running my tongue up and down in perfect coordination with my hand while using the other to cup him from below.
At the feeling of my other hand, his head leaned back, lolling in ecstasy.
His chest heaved and muscles contracted while I continued to work him.
Occasionally, I lifted one hand to grasp his firm rear end, a masterpiece in its own right.
When I began to feel the throbbing of his excitement, I slowed my pace intentionally, dragging out my languid and fluid motions.
The wet space between my thighs ached with a desire for his hands, his mouth, anything to fill the void.
I released my mental shields to ensure he knew just how much I wanted him; how much I enjoyed pleasing him this way.
There was only so long I’d be able to continue with the charade of delaying his gratification.
I tilted my gaze back once more, looking up at him through watering eyes.
He ran his thumb across my lower lip, tugging it down and smearing the saliva from my chin as he pulled me away.
“Cress.”
“Yes,” I gasped, exasperated.
“I’m going to fuck this mouth…” I nodded at his declaration, that ache turning to a throb. “Be prepared to come with me.”
Anxious to discover how he’d accomplish such a feat, I turned my attention back to his slick cock.
My pace picked up gradually, and his hand still holding my hair squeezed so tightly that it caused a painful sensation.
It was quickly countered, though, by the feeling of Varro’s Siren Song sending the sensation of a firm touch sliding back and forth across my slick apex.
His magic met my own rhythm, and together, we drew forth the most intense pleasure from one another.
The likes of which caused me to whimper and cry against him, still undulating in my mouth.
The faster he worked me, the faster I worked him.
Sounds of our back-and-forth pleasure filled the silence, matched by the sound of the rowboat rocking against the slip.