Chapter 19 Krath #2
"Who do you want to be?"
She considers the question seriously. "Someone who uses knowledge to help rather than control. Someone who chooses her own path instead of following someone else’s rules. Someone who’s brave enough to want things for myself instead of just surviving."
"And what do you want?" My voice drops to something rougher.
"You." Simple word, but it hits me with force. "Not because magic compels it or circumstances force it. I want you because of who you are—scars and all."
The kiss happens without conscious decision. Her lips are soft beneath mine, warm and willing and absolutely present. When I deepen the kiss, she responds with equal hunger, her hands sliding from my face to tangle in my hair.
We break apart breathing hard, foreheads resting as we struggle for control.
"We should—" She starts to say something practical.
"We should do whatever we want." I silence her with another kiss, briefer but no less meaningful. "For the first time in either of our lives, we have actual freedom. No one hunting us, no curses driving us, no coven restricting you or chains binding me."
Wonder blooms in her expression. "Whatever we want."
"Whatever you want." I correct gently. "I won’t push for more than you’re ready to give."
She studies my face, reading the sincerity there. Then she takes my hand and leads me toward the largest bedroom—her parents’ room, where a proper bed waits with clean sheets and afternoon sunlight streaming through windows.
"I want this." She turns to face me at the threshold. "I want you. Not because we might die tomorrow or because magic compels it. I want to know what this feels like when it’s just us choosing each other."
"Are you certain? We have time now—there’s no rush."
"I’m certain." She reaches up to begin unlacing her shirt, fingers trembling slightly but steady in purpose. "I’ve spent my whole life being careful, following rules, waiting for permission. I don’t want to wait anymore."
I cover her hands with mine, stilling them. "Then let me."
She nods, dropping her hands to her sides as I take over unlacing her shirt. My fingers are clumsy with clothing—armor and battle gear haven’t prepared me for the delicate work of ties and laces. But I manage, revealing skin inch by inch while she watches my face with intensity.
When I slide the shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, she shivers despite the warmth.
"Beautiful." The word escapes before I can question its wisdom.
"Your turn." Her voice carries a slight tremor, but her hands are steady as she reaches for the hem of my shirt.
I help her pull it over my head, revealing the map of scars that cover my torso. For a moment, I wonder if the sight will repel her—physical evidence of what I am, what I’ve done.
But she traces the scars with gentle fingers, not flinching. "You’ve survived so much."
"We both have." I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss her scarred wrist.
What follows unfolds with deliberate slowness. I kiss down her throat, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my lips. When I reach her breast, I take my time—circling with my tongue, testing the weight in my palm, learning what makes her arch and gasp.
Her skin tastes of salt and something sweeter, uniquely her.
The breast binding falls away, and I worship what’s revealed—soft flesh that fits perfectly in my hands, nipples that peak under my attention.
When I draw one into my mouth, sucking gently, she makes a sound that goes straight to my groin.
"Krath—" My name breaks on a moan as I lavish attention on her other breast, teeth grazing sensitive flesh.
Her hands aren’t idle. She traces scars across my chest, follows the line of muscle down my abdomen. When her fingers find the silver hair that trails below my waistband, my breathing stutters. She hesitates only a moment before unlacing my trousers with trembling fingers.
The fabric slides down my hips, and her eyes widen at the sight of me—hard and heavy, proportioned to match my size. She reaches out, tentative, then wraps her hand around my length. The touch sears through me, makes my hips jerk involuntarily.
"Show me," she whispers. "Show me what you like."
I cover her hand with mine, guiding her grip, showing her the pressure and rhythm that makes pleasure coil tight in my spine. When she strokes me with growing confidence, her thumb swiping across the sensitive head, I have to catch her wrist.
"My turn." I repeat her words.
I strip away the rest of her clothing, revealing her fully. She’s beautiful—all soft curves and lean strength, the silver tracery on her wrist catching moonlight. I settle between her parted thighs, pressing kisses up the inside of one leg while she trembles beneath me.
When I reach her center, I pause to breathe in her scent—arousal and warmth and everything I’ve been craving.
The first touch of my tongue makes her cry out, hips lifting off the bed.
I hold her steady, exploring with deliberate thoroughness, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hands fist in my hair.
She tastes divine. I lap at her, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her thighs quake. When I slide one finger inside her, feeling how tight and wet she is, we both groan.
"More," she gasps, rolling her hips against my face. "Please—"
I add a second finger, stretching her carefully while my tongue continues its work. Her inner walls grip me, slick and hot, and I can barely comprehend how good it will feel when I’m inside her.
She comes with a sharp cry, her body clamping down on my fingers as pleasure crashes through her. I work her through it, gentling my touches as she becomes oversensitive, pressing kisses to her inner thigh.
"Now," she demands when she can speak again, pulling at my shoulders. "I want you inside me now."
I move up her body, positioning myself at her entrance. The first press of my cock against her makes us both gasp—she’s slick from her release, but still incredibly tight. I push forward slowly, gritting my teeth against the urge to thrust deep.
"Breathe," I remind her as her body resists the intrusion. "Relax for me."
She does, and I slide deeper, inch by torturous inch. Her breath comes in short pants as she adjusts to my size, nails digging into my shoulders. When I’m halfway seated, she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper.
"Don’t stop," she gasps. "I can take it. I want all of you."
I push forward until I’m fully sheathed, buried to the hilt in her heat. We freeze, both overwhelmed. She’s so tight around me, gripping me like a fist. I can feel every flutter of her inner muscles, every shift of her body beneath mine.
"Move," she demands. "Please—I need—"
I pull back and thrust forward, setting a rhythm that’s slow and deep. Each stroke draws sounds from her that drive me higher—breathy moans, gasped pleas, my name broken by pleasure. Her body moves with mine, meeting each thrust, taking everything I give.
"Harder," she gasps, nails raking down my back. "I won’t break."
I let go of the careful control, thrusting deeper, faster. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the room, punctuated by her cries and my guttural groans. I can feel pleasure building at the base of my spine, tightening in my balls.
"Touch yourself," I growl against her ear. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
She slides a hand between us, fingers finding where we’re joined before moving up to circle her sensitive nub. Her inner walls immediately flutter around me, and I know she’s close.
"That’s it," I encourage, angling my hips to hit deeper. "Let me feel it. Come for me."
She shatters with a scream, her body clamping down on me with force that triggers my own release. I thrust through it, spilling inside her with a roar, pleasure whiting out everything except the sensation of her body milking mine, taking everything I have to give.
I collapse beside her, pulling her against my chest where she fits perfectly. We lie tangled in sheets and each other, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat and satisfaction.
"That was—" She starts, then seems unable to find adequate words.
"Yes." I press a kiss to her hair. "It was."
She’s quiet for a long moment, fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Is it—was it different? From before?"
"Before was duty, necessity, sometimes just physical release." Honesty compels me to give her the full truth. "This was choice. That makes all the difference."
She tilts her head back to look at me. "For me too."
We drift in comfortable silence as afternoon light shifts toward evening. Eventually, necessity drives us from the bed—hunger, thirst, the practical needs that accompany survival.
We dress in clothes from trunks, moving around the kitchen to prepare a simple meal. The domesticity of it—chopping vegetables, stirring soup, setting the table—feels surreal after everything we’ve endured.
"I could get used to this," Rhea says as we sit down to eat. "The quiet. The peace."
"It’s unsettling," I admit. "I keep waiting for the next attack. Peace feels temporary."
"Maybe it doesn’t have to be." She reaches across the table to take my hand. "Maybe we’ve earned the right to just... live."
The concept is foreign, but looking at her face in the candlelight, seeing hope reflected there, I find myself wanting to believe.
That night, we return to the bedroom and learn each other again, this time with less urgency and more thorough exploration.
She shows me what she likes, guides my hands to places that make her gasp.
I discover that she’s sensitive behind her knees, that she makes the most intoxicating sounds when I use my mouth between her thighs, that she’s surprisingly bold when given permission to take what she wants.
The second time we make love, she’s on top, setting the pace, learning her own power. The sight of her moving above me, head thrown back in pleasure, is something I’ll carry forever.
Afterward, as we lie wrapped in each other with moonlight streaming through the windows, I understand what we fought for. Not just breaking curses or defeating enemies. We fought for the chance to have moments exactly this—quiet evenings and shared meals and the freedom to choose what comes next.
"What do we do tomorrow?" she asks sleepily.
"Whatever we want." I tighten my arms around her. "That’s the beauty of freedom—we get to decide."
She makes a sound of contentment, already drifting toward sleep. "I choose this. Every day, I choose this."
"So do I." I press a kiss to her forehead.