Chapter 15 #2
I lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. "I miss him, Kaan. I miss our son so much."
"I know, hatun. I miss him too. Every second of every day." He presses his forehead to mine, breath shuddering. "But we'll get through this together. No more walls between us. No more unspoken pain. We'll honor his memory by living, truly living."
I nod against him, fresh tears spilling over.
We cling to each other as grief crashes over us anew, raw and terrible. But there's comfort too, in sharing this agony. In knowing neither of us is alone.
After a few moments, I pull back, swiping at my damp cheeks.
A knock at the door makes us both start. "Come in," I call, voice hoarse with tears.
The servants enter with our dinner, filling the room with tantalizing aromas.
I’m not sure I’m ready for food, instead I take a swallow of wine and when I glance up Kaan is watching me, the mixture of pain and happiness is such an odd contrast on his face. I want to say something but a steaming plate of food is placed in front of me.
“Thank you.” I say to the server.
I glance down at my plate, roasted lamb with herbs, jeweled rice. It looks appetizing. The servers arrange everything on the table without speaking a word, and after they refill our wine they withdraw leaving us alone.
I peek up at Kaan again from under my lashes to find him still watching me. I feel something ease in my chest. The wound is still there, jagged and aching. It may never fully heal.
But for the first time since I woke to a world without my son, I feel a whisper of peace. Of hope.
"This looks amazing," Kaan says, breaking eye contact and he inhales appreciatively. "I'm starving."
"Me too. Crying really works up an appetite." I spear a bite of tender lamb.
He snorts. "Ever the romantic."
"You love me for it." I bat my lashes at him.
"I do." His gaze is warm, affectionate. "Though your taste in weather conversation could use some work..."
I throw my napkin at him with mock outrage. "I'll have you know I am a scintillating conversationalist!"
He smirks. "Oh really? Do tell me more about our 'consistently nice' magically regulated weather..."
We both burst out laughing, the tension of the past few minutes dissolving. As we tuck into the delicious meal, trading quips and lighthearted jabs, I feel a knot inside me loosen.
We still have so much to work through, Kaan and I. So many wounds to heal. But for the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of hope. That maybe, just maybe, we can find our way back to each other.
And that feels as close to a miracle as the magic thrumming in my veins.
His bruise catches the candlelight—the one marring his cheekbone from his fight with Yasar. A violent reminder of all the fractures between them. Between us.
I rise from my chair and walk around the table. My healer instincts are taking over. He watches me, every muscle alert, but he doesn’t pull away when I lift my hand and touch the damaged skin.
“Why didn’t you heal this?” I ask. “You could’ve.”
He turns toward my palm, just slightly. “A reminder,” he says quietly. “Of a moment I couldn’t complete. Not yet anyway.”
My heart twists as I gaze into his eyes.
I let the healing magic flow from my fingers. His skin warms beneath my touch, the bruise dissolving—purple to red to nothing. His breath hitches, barely, like my magic brushes someplace soft inside him he doesn’t want me to see.
When the last of the mark fades, I withdraw my hand. But he catches it. And pulls me into his lap.
His kiss is immediate—hungry, claiming, a flame catching dry tinder.
I gasp into his mouth as his hands slide around my waist, lifting me with effortless strength.
He sets me on the table, pushing aside the wine glasses with enough care to avoid breaking them but not enough to pretend he cares more about the table than me.
His mouth trails down my throat. My collarbone. The delicate curve of my breasts. He parts my thighs slowly, deliberately, like a man reacquainting himself with territory he once owned.
"Kaan…"
He doesn't answer with words.
His hands grip my thighs almost painfully as he buries his face between my legs, devouring me like a man starved. There's an edge of desperation to the way he licks and sucks at my most intimate flesh, as if he's trying to crawl inside me. As if he wants to claim every part of me, body and soul.
"Fuck, the way you taste," he groans, the words vibrating against my swollen clit. "I could drink from your sweet cunt for hours."
The filthy words send a bolt of lust straight to my core. I'm so wet I can hear the obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of me, feel the evidence of my arousal dripping down my thighs. The whole room smells like sex and sweat and burning need.
He seals his lips around my clit and sucks hard, two fingers curling ruthlessly against that sensitive spot inside me.
I keen high in my throat, my back bowing off the table.
It's too much, almost painful in its intensity, but I never want it to stop.
I want him to ruin me, wreck me, until I'm nothing but a desperate, pleading mess.
"More," I beg, my voice ragged and wrecked. "Harder, please..."
With a dark chuckle, he complies. A third finger joins the first two, stretching me deliciously as he fucks me harder, faster.
His stubble scrapes the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, a burning counterpoint to the hot silk of his tongue.
Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my belly, my sex clenching greedily around his plunging fingers.
"That's it, let go for me," Kaan coaxes darkly, curling his fingers just right. "Soak my face with your come, Neslihan. Scream for me."
His teeth graze my clit and the world shatters.
I thrash mindlessly as my orgasm crashes over me, hands fisted in his hair, holding him exactly where I need him.
Wave after wave of ecstasy pulses through me, my muscles fluttering wildly around his fingers, my wetness gushing over his hand and mouth.
He works me through it mercilessly, wringing out every last aftershock until I collapse onto the table, twitching and gasping.
Slowly, almost gently, he eases his fingers from my sensitive flesh.
They're drenched, coated in my slick arousal.
With a wicked grin, he brings them to his lips and licks them clean, never breaking eye contact.
Before I can catch my breath, Kaan is kissing his way up my body, his lips and tongue leaving a fiery trail across my oversensitized skin.
He pauses to leave attention on my breasts, drawing each pebbled nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, grazing them with his teeth until I'm arching and gasping.
"Kaan, please," I moan, hardly recognizing my own voice, wrecked as it is with need. "I need you inside me."
He chuckles darkly against my throat, the rough stubble of his jaw a delicious burn. "Patience, love. I'm not nearly done savoring you, yet."
But I can feel the heavy proof of his own arousal pressing insistently against my thigh, the hard length of him searing even through the fabric of his trousers. I roll my hips desperately, seeking friction, and he groans, low and guttural.
With a muttered curse, he reaches down to free himself, shoving his trousers out of the way with trembling hands. Then the hot, blunt head of his cock is notching against my entrance, teasing me with the promise of fulfillment.
"Look at me," he commands roughly, one hand cupping my jaw. "I want to watch your face when I claim you."
I force my heavy lids open, meeting his molten gaze, and then he's pushing forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful thrust. A broken moan escapes my lips at the exquisite stretch, the feeling of fullness.
He's thick and hard and perfect inside me, like he was made to fill me just like this.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," Kaan grits out, his hips flush against mine. "So tight. So wet. Like you were made for my cock."
He starts to move then, driving into me with deep, purposeful strokes that send sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him deeper, harder.
The ancient table creaks beneath us with the force of his thrusts, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely through the room.
"Harder," I gasp, raking my nails down the sweat-slick expanse of his back. "Take me harder, Kaan, ruin me, oh gods..."
He snarls, seizing my wrists and slamming them down above my head, pinning them there as he pounds into me, fucks me so hard the breath is driven from my lungs on each thrust. It's wild and primal and utterly consuming, pleasure bordering on pain.
I can feel another climax building already, winding tighter with each drag of his thick cock against my inner walls.
"That's it, take it," he rasps against my ear, his voice a dark growl. "Take everything I give you. You're mine, Neslihan, now and always, mine..."
His hips piston faster, driving into me at a punishing pace, hitting that perfect spot inside me again and again until I'm teetering on the knife's edge of release. I'm so close, my whole body drawn tight as a bowstring, my cunt clenching frantically around his driving length.
"Come for me," Kaan demands, grinding against me, rubbing against my swollen clit. "Now, Neslihan. Come on my cock like a good girl."
His filthy words are my undoing. With a keening cry, I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me in a tidal wave of pure ecstasy. Distantly, I hear Kaan roar as my fluttering inner muscles trigger his own release, feel the hot rush of his seed filling me as he pulses deep inside me.
We cling to each other through the aftershocks, sweat-slicked and gasping, utterly spent. Slowly, gently, Kaan releases my wrists, brushing tender kisses across the reddened skin. He doesn't pull out, seemingly content to stay sheathed inside my still quivering body as we catch our breath.