50
Let Me
Melody
The world spins and we’re in his bedroom. Caryan’s over me, his left hand pressed into the mattress by my head, his body pushing mine into the dark, silken cushions and sheets of his enormous bed.
I lie there, feverishly aware of the weight of his body, the hardness that holds me down. I look to the side.
It’s dark here, bathed only in the red glow of the blood moon—the second moon, visible only in his kingdom. The reason they call it the Kingdom of the Two Moons.
The tall windows stand open to the soft desert air, and everything about this palace is built for wings—lofty, soaring, indulgently open.
Stone rises and curves with deliberate elegance, shifting from sun-warmed sandstone outside to a gleaming, golden-veined stone within, its surface alive, changing color with the passing hours.
When I lift my gaze past his muscular shoulders and the vast span of his wings, I see the stars through the open ceiling.
His cool fingers trace the curve of my jaw, the silver of his eyes like a storm.
I want to wrench away, but he cages my chin in his hands. “Let me.”
It’s an order this time. I can feel his breath on my lips, his desire, the heat. The same heat and profound desire bloom beneath my flesh, low and inevitable, swamping my veins—whether I want it or not.
My heart shudders.
He lets go of me, resting his arms on either side of my head. “I promise that I’ll be careful,” he murmurs against my neck, but it sounds more like a warning.
Then his body presses flush against mine, hard muscles flexing under my palms when I dig my nails through the fabric into his flesh underneath while he licks my throat.
This is not what I want. Caryan is not who I want.
I should push him away. Should tell him to stop.
I should. But I don’t.
Instead, I grab his shirt with my fists, because somehow, every little remaining distance suddenly feels too far still.
As if he only waits for this, for my permission, he loosens the temper on his power and it rushes against my flesh, slipping under my clothes and over my naked skin, my own rising in answer, drawing on the edges of my skin.
A breathy moan escapes my lips. My heart beats in an unsteady rhythm.
My mind stops thinking as his hand starts sliding up my thigh.
My breath grows unsteady when his fingers slide closer to where I want them to.
Trimming the line of my waistband, the bare stretch of my flesh there.
I close my eyes. Because somehow, I know this is inevitable. Because his presence alone awakes the most carnal desire I’ve ever felt. Whenever he enters a room, I look at him. And he looks back.
Whenever he’s close, I feel it.
Whenever he’s gone, I feel empty.
I nearly lose my mind when his fingers trace me through fabric, unbearably slow.
The bastard laughs quietly. Then he leans down and kisses me.
Gently. Carefully at first. Just his lips, pressing and sliding against mine. And I kiss him back. His tongue slides into my mouth when he parts my lips with his, at the same time he pushes my legs apart.
I arch against him instinctively as he deepens the kiss.
Our bodies fuse like gravity itself has given up trying to keep us apart, his magic rippling along my skin while mine tears free in answer— twin to our hands and lips, tongues and teeth .
It’s overwhelming and still not enough. It will never be enough.
Desire shatters through me, frantic and feral, erasing every sensible thought until there’s only this aching, howling want. I feel undone, split open by need, trembling with it—terrified by how completely I’m losing myself and unable, unwilling, to stop.
I gasp into his mouth as his magic enters me between my legs, flowing into the deepest parts of my body. Gasp as it keeps filling me up, pushing mine out and out to claim me.
“Caryan,” I whisper when I feel it inside me. Hard. Thick. Solid and yet not. Pushing deeper and deeper, until it’s almost too much.
He growls into my mouth as if he’s really inside me. Maybe he is. The same way he’d once fucked my lips with his magic, getting off.
It sure as hells feels damn real.
Stop. No! I can’t. I tell myself that I can’t. That this needs to stop. I don’t really want this. He’s a monster. An absolutely devastatingly beautiful, cruel monster. It’s the bond that craves this.
But I’m too weak to resist as he draws me in, the moment stretching and blurring until it feels unreal, like slipping into a dream I don’t want to wake from.
The closeness between us deepens until it feels inescapable, when he slides deliberately, slowly, against my inner walls, setting every nerve alight.
My breathing turns uneven when I finally let go.
When I give myself to his steady rhythm inside me, probing against my core, to the way he fills the space, claiming every inch of me, slow and consuming.
I give myself to his lips, to his tongue all over my neck, my collarbones. Licking, teasing, sucking.
Fabric tears and I cry out when his mouth finds my hard nipple. His hand on my small breast. The way he growls again makes me feral. I sink my hands into his black hair, grab his chin, and pull his gloriously beautiful face back to mine.
I kiss him as if he’s air and I’m drowning, pushing my tongue between his absurdly soft lips and drinking in the perfect taste of him. Smoke. Whiskey. Elderberry. Abyss, I could do this forever. Feel his mouth on mine, taste him. Drown in him.
I spread my legs wider as his magic surges, claiming more of me than I’m sure I can give.
It pounds into me faster, relentless and overwhelming—until thought splinters and all I can feel is heat.
Want. Him, buried deep, moving inside me.
Taking me harder, pushing even deeper, until I’m shakingunder him. Gods, it feels too good, too much.
Caryan pulls back just enough to watch me shatter completely beneath his gaze.
The magic inside me grows faster. Harder. Wilder. His large wings flare behind him, and he growls again, kissing me at the same time I feel him coming too. Abyss, this is beyond hot.
We lie still for a moment, him on top of me, breathing fast against my neck. What the hells just happened? Did he fuck me with his magic? Did he come?
Oh my gods. Did I just magically fuck Caryan? Was that—like a real fuck? Or was it just his magic somewhere inside me?
His thumb brushes my lips gently, his eyes the bluest blue I’ve ever seen when he takes me in. And a part of me wants nothing more than to shred his clothes and drag my nails across his marble-white skin. Lick those ridges and muscles and more…
Feel him, the real him, deep inside me. As deep as possible.
But then I blink back to reality, and my senses come crashing over me in a deluge. The last time I was in these rooms, he forced his magic into every inch of my being. He literally shattered parts of me, in order for me to accommodate so much magic. He hurt me.
And he would have done it again and again and again.
Until he deemed me strong enough, no matter how, every time, it felt so painfully like he was tearing apart a piece of my soul.
He’s a monster. And I can’t forgive him for what he did. Certainly not when he never even apologized. And honestly, the day Caryan apologizes for anything will be the day the sun stops rising.
I push my hand against his absurdly hard belly to shove him off me.
He hesitates but then lets my body free.
I get up, still fully clothed, though my t-shirt hangs more or less in shreds.
Caryan watches me with his usual bored amusement, as if I’m some kind of funny animal that annoys him mostly, though sometimes manages to do something unexpected.
And definitely like something he’d actually like to crush under his heel but can’t.
Oh yes—and something he liked to fuck from time to time. Obviously.
Yeah, that pretty much sums up the essence of our pretty much fucked-up bond.
I’m really not sure how I feel about this. And even less sure how I feel about letting him, despite all the things I just listed.
His gaze drips over me in a way that makes me look down. I resist the instinct to cover my bare breasts. “Give me a t-shirt please.”
“I quite enjoy the sight,” he drawls, his gaze lazily going to my breasts and then back to my swollen lip from where he kissed me hard.
“Well, good for you, but please give me a shirt,” I quip.
He gets up from the bed and slowly draws closer. And it takes everything not to retreat. But the way he’s looking at me, with a dangerous darkness entering his eyes, goosebumps rise over my whole body again.
He cages my chin with his hand, tilting my head up to him. “I actually would like to shred all of those,” he murmurs.
Something must be wrong with me, because hells—I want him to.
I want him too much. The closer his body comes, the harder it is to ignore the scorching heat low in me, spreading fast and uncontrolled like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
Again. Always again. The insane urge to grab him, to scratch him raw, to wreck him completely.
I want him pressed flush against me, sweat-slicked, skin on skin. No space. No distance between us. I want him breathing even harder than before. Just him—every dangerous inch—and the terrible, thrilling certainty that I don’t want to stop myself.
What is this insane attraction? And does he feel it too?
He steps up to me and kisses me again. And the way he does it, the way he’s claiming my mouth like I’m his salvation, while his really impressive hardness grazes my belly, tells me he does.
I bite down his lips until I draw blood, and yes, something must be clearly wrong with me because I actually swallow it and savor the taste like a feral beast.
And he, monster that he is, growls with pleasure. The sound better than anything I’ve ever heard. Weird.