Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Rituals of Lust
Aoife fidgeted. She couldn’t stop fidgeting. What she needed was to run. To get of here. To be anywhere but here.
This temple was not a monument to the God of Lust. No.
It was a monument to what Aoife could never have.
Could never be. It was swimming in art. In passion.
In whimsy. Every movement of the priestesses was like a dance, soft and dreamy.
An invitation to move through life to one’s own internal music.
The air was spicy, rich. As if warming the blood, readying it for inspiration.
The walls were coated in murals, in paintings, fluid and fanciful.
A story on every wall as if the entire temple were a fairytale.
Then there was him. Shadach. A walking body of art, a man who believed dreams were worth dreaming. That they could be dreamed. No, not just could be.
Should be.
And yet, in this place of flight and fancy, with the spicy air melting her determination to be what she ought to be, Aoife couldn’t help feeling she could be something else.
Not always. Not forever. But here, for one moment, with this man who looked at her as if she were the most intoxicating woman he’d ever met.
You need to get out of here.
Aoife could hear Mum saying, “Do you know what happened to the last O’Donoghue who decided to be an ‘artist’?
” as if she were reliving the memory. At the time, Mum had used dramatic air quotes in reference to Aoife’s cousin, Saorlaith, who was two years Aoife’s senior.
“Probably dead on the side of the road,” Mum had said.
“Probably murdered. She boarded a plane with some hippie American chasing her ludicrous dream of being a painter. She hasn’t been seen since. ”
“We aren’t obligated to worship.” Shadach’s words stifled Mum’s mocking voice. His tone was hot. Heady. The richness of it set every part of her alight as he sat strong and sure on the pillow, his two-tone eyes watching her. Waiting for her to say something.
How long had she been quiet?
“I just …”
Aoife’s throat was dry, her lips tingling as she remembered the feel of his kisses and the way his fingers had dipped in and out of her. Her pussy clenched at the memory, her heart pounding. She gripped the pillow beneath her for support.
She needed to get out of here. Shadach was no good for her scientific mind. He had a terrible way of muddying it. Of complicating and confusing it. Last time, they had stripped and fooled around to stay alive. They didn’t need to stay alive this time. So they shouldn’t—
How did he look so gorgeous? They hadn’t even bathed yet. She bet he’d look even sexier with water running down his body.
Stop that. She needed to think about this rationally. About him, rationally. She needed to ask some questions, get some … some … some what?
His eyes. She couldn’t look away from his eyes. Those eyes that were impossible to say no to. Wait. She had been thinking about something else. But what? She couldn’t remember now. Something about not saying “no”?
“I could,” Shadach’s voice was hot enough to melt steel, “step outside if you want some time alone.”
“Don’t you dare,” she breathed. When did her voice get so raspy?
His lips. They were on hers before she could take another breath.
She melted into his strong arms like a damsel in distress, a damsel desperate to be freed from her cage of dull rationality.
A moan escaped her as his tongue caressed her lips.
She worked her hands into his thick hair, his hands running down her body.
When they’d kissed until they were desperate for breath, Shadach pulled away.
His lusty eyes were bottomless wells of desire and Aoife’s pussy clenched with renewed need.
How was he this gorgeous? This irresistible?
“Will we?” Shadach glanced at the room behind the curtains.
God, yes. “Absolutely.”
He flashed a raw, mischievous smile that sent goosebumps of anticipation running over Aoife’s skin.
In one, effortless movement he swept her into his arms and carried her through the curtains.
Aoife felt the change before she saw it.
The air was thicker here, more potent. The spicy notes from the rest of the temple faded into a richer, more erotic scent that made Aoife think of deep purple roses.
And sex. Lots and lots of sex.
The room was filled with candles: black, red, white.
On the wall were shelves holding candles and diffusers of different scents, and what looked like an assortment of berries dipped in chocolate.
In the centre of the floor were scores of pillows creating a giant bed.
It was simple. Unassuming. An invitation to indulge rather than a demand.
Shadach put Aoife on her feet, still keeping one arm about her waist. Aoife gripped his firm arms, unsteady on the mass of pillows as Shadach brushed the hair from her neck and pressed a single, agonisingly delicate kiss to her neck.
“You’ll worship the God with me?” he whispered.
Aoife ran a hand up his arm and to his broad shoulders. “I could worship that body all day,” she breathed. Wait. What are you saying? You shouldn’t be saying these thi—
“Those clothes look heavy.” Shadach pressed a deeper kiss to her neck, just below her jawline, and Aoife swooned.
A proper, real-life swoon.
“They are a bit heavy,” she whispered.
He kissed her jaw, slowly, agonisingly working his way to her lips. When he was just about to kiss her on the mouth, he instead whispered, “Maybe you should take them off.”
Aoife’s heart sang in her ears. But even as she slipped off her cloak, letting the dusty fabric fall to the pristine floor, all she could think was how she wanted to see more of him.
As if reading her mind, Shadach stripped off his shirt, revealing his washboard abs and body awash in tattoos.
He kissed her, and Aoife lost herself in the strength of his arms around her, in the heat of his breath, in the passion of his kiss.
She felt high. Drugged. Like she had waited all her life to find her addiction and its name was Shadach.
Aoife ran her hands down his back, feeling the flexing of his muscles, the power in his body. What would he feel like inside you? The thought made her moan. And then, stop that. Stop this. Aoife mentally slapped herself, trying to bring herself back to sanity.
“I’m sorry.” She pulled back, light-headed.
He took her hand, keeping her from running away. She let him, knowing she shouldn’t.
“Sorry for what?” That raw heat still laced his voice. His hair was tousled as if they’d already made love. Aoife fought the urge to run her hands through it again.
“I’m not normally like this.” Aoife blinked five times fast, as if that would stop the blood roaring in her ears. It didn’t.
“Like what?”
“This. Throwing myself at someone.” Giving in to passion I didn’t know could be real.
“Oh?” The sound was half-growl, half-laugh. “Why ever not?”
“It’s unsightly.”
“I think it’s very sightly.”
Aoife’s stomach fluttered. “You shouldn’t.”
Shadach stroked the blade of Aoife’s hand with his thumb, his tattooed chest still on full display and making Aoife weak.
“Wherever did you get an idea like that?” His voice was gentle. Curious. As if the words were both a rebuke of Aoife’s internal dialogue and a genuine question.
“N-nowhere in particular.” She stumbled over her words, the intensity of his gaze making her words fail. “It’s just true.”
“Is that a fact?” He pulled her to him, the lusty edge in his voice suggesting he was daring her to say it was. So he could prove her wrong.
Oh, how she wanted him to prove her wrong.
His hard body pressed against her, his firm arm around her waist, his breath on her neck. Take me. Take me now, her body screamed.
No, no, pull away this is too—
The back of her dress came free and Shadach slipped the fabric down her body, his fingers on her skin making her tingle all over. He unlaced the back of her corset-bra with expert hands, tossing it aside, then sliding her underwear to the ground. She stood before him.
Naked.
Shadach’s gaze roamed her body like a ravenous wolf. “You’re breathtaking,” he said.
And with that one sentence, Aoife melted, the screaming in her body drowning out the admonishing voice in her head. He was gorgeous. He was here. He wanted her.
Screw the rest.
He swept her off her feet then took her to the floor, laying her in lush pillows. His formidable body lay against hers as he raked his hands through her knotted hair … reminding her what a sight she must have been. She was sweaty. She was dirty. She was a mess.
None of that mattered.
As if her hands had a mind of their own, she ran them up and down his muscled back. He could’ve put MMA fighters to shame with that body. Aoife wondered, again, what he would feel like against her, on her.
Inside her.
She slid her hands to his trousers and tugged at them, moaning in frustration.
She was naked. He wasn’t. She wanted him against her.
All of him. Aoife tugged at his trousers in desperate demand as Shadach peppered her neck with hot, wet kisses then whispered, “Patience, darling.” Aoife’s clit pulsed at the words.
Patience? She’d been patient too long.
Aoife threw her head back with a gasp. Shadach had brushed his finger against her clit, sending sparks through her.
“You’re ready to worship, aren’t you?” he said in her ear as his fingers spread her open, feeling the slickness of her.
Aoife moaned at the welcome intrusion, one hand gripping his back while the other held onto his arm.
“I’ve never been more ready,” she said. And it was true. Aoife couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so wet, so on fire.
Shadach dipped one finger inside her and Aoife shuddered, digging her nails into his skin. He muttered something in his native tongue that needed no translation. The tone was dripping with lust and promises of what he was going to do to her.
What she couldn’t wait for him to do to her.
Aoife bit back a pleasure-scream as Shadach went deeper inside her, his finger delving in and out in slow, measured movements.
“Now that’s cruel of you,” Shadach whispered.
“W-what?” Aoife managed to choke out.
“Depriving me of your screams.” Shadach slipped a second finger inside her, and Aoife’s head fell back, a guttural moan rocking through her.
“That’s better,” Shadach whispered.
Aoife trembled. Her breath hitched as his fingers slid in and out of her, going deep and slow and then hard and fast.
Deep and slow.
Hard and fast.
“Oh god,” Aoife muttered in a pleasure-daze. Her body was getting tighter, her pussy clenching in anticipation of orgasm.
But then, he pulled his fingers out, the tips hovering at her opening, and Aoife groaned at the loss of him. She wanted him. No. She needed him. Her clit was so swollen it hurt.
Aoife put her hand behind his neck and pulled him close, his shadow and ice eyes staring straight into her.
“I need you back,” she said. The lust and honesty and passion surprised her. Frightened her. But Shadach grazed her clit with his thumb and the fear was lost in the waves roiling through her. Shadach slipped his fingers inside her again and the sound that came out of her barely sounded human.
God, did it feel good.
Shadach pulled out and pushed in again, faster. How could anything feel this good? Aoife gripped his back, his expert fingers making heat and tension swell inside her. He lavished her neck and chest with kisses as he moved: in. Out. In. Out. Deeper, hotter, heavier.
The pressure built with each thrust of his fingers, her hands gripping his back so tight she was certain her knuckles were white. She felt outside of herself and yet never more within herself as he thrust deeper, her body trembling from the ache that was drowning her.
“Is this what you want?” he whispered in her ear.
Yes. Oh god, yes. But wait … no. She shouldn’t … she was being too passionate. Too irrational, too—
He pounded his fingers into her and her head fell back into the lavish pillows, the heat inside her bringing her close … so close.
“Is this what you need?”
Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Wait no. No, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be calculated. Practical. Did he even have a steady income? Or a—
He pushed his fingers. In. Out. In. Out. She was ready. So. Ready. He paused, and her body raged at the sudden loss of sensation. She was shivering. Sweating. Desperate.
“Is this what you want?” he said. Again. This time it sounded more like a genuine question. He was slowing. Possibly stopping. Aoife’s body screamed against the cessation of pleasure, against the thought of him not pushing her over the edge. But she was being too illogical. She needed—
She needed him to keep going. Her clit was so swollen, her breasts begging for his hands. Her pussy was dripping wet and her body was so riled up, she was straining not to grab him and demand he fuck her every way to Sunday.
“I want this so god damn bad,” came out of her mouth before she could analyse the pros and cons of her words. And then, she said, “Fuck me, damn it.”
Shadach obliged, his hard body against hers as he fit a third finger inside her.
Stretching her. He grabbed her breasts, rubbing her sensitive nipples between his fingers and sending shocks of pleasure though her from head to toe.
Aoife’s desperate moans filled the room as the heat, the need, the exhaustion of the past few weeks exploded through her, catapulting her into wave after wave of unadulterated bliss.
But he wasn’t done yet. Neither was she. Shadach sat up, his long, thick cock between his legs hard and ready. Aoife moaned at the sight of it, at the sight of him, sweaty and wild with lust. He spread her legs wide, positioning the tip of him at her opening. He was so big, so thick.
This was going to be incredible. Beyond incredible.
Shadach pressed the tip of himself inside her and—
The room flooded with harsh light. A panicked priestess burst into the room, her robes askew.
“Aristen’s men,” she panted. “They’re here.”