Chapter 32 Lavender and Ash #2
He was hard beneath me, pressing against my core through our clothes. The knowledge sent a rush of heat to my core.
“Your throne room,” I continued. I rolled my hips experimentally, drawing out a gasp from his throat. The friction sent a spark of pleasure through me. “All that black stone and silver flames. The shadows that wouldn’t touch me until you did.”
His hands slid lower to grip my hips, his fingers digging in hard enough that I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow.
“You told me I didn’t know what I was doing,” I said, leaning closer, my lips brushing his ear. A tremor ran through him when my breath ghosted across it.
“You didn’t,” he rasped.
“But I knew enough.” My teeth found his earlobe, nipping. His breath caught—a sharp inhale that I felt against my chest. “I knew how to make you lose control. How to make the King of the Underworld kneel for me.”
I pulled back to watch his face, to see the way his eyes squeezed shut as though he was fighting for composure.
“How to make you beg,” I finished.
His eyes snapped open, blazing with desire. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Tealeaf.”
“Am I?” I let my hands drift down his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing through his shirt. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one who looks like you’re about to fall apart.”
He made a sound low in his throat, almost a growl. “Mel—”
“I remember how you looked at me then,” I said. My fingers traced lower, following the line of muscle down his abdomen. “Like you’d waited a thousand years just to be ruined by me.”
His breath hitched when my hand reached his belt. I paused there, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric, his hard length straining against his slacks. A giddy rush flooded through me.
“You did ruin me,” he ground out.
“Did?” I teased, letting my palm press against the evidence of his desire, twitching through the layers of clothing. “Are you sure about that tense?”
“Fuck—” The curse tore from him as I stroked him through the fabric, learning the shape of him. My hand looked small against him, and a flutter of anticipation danced in my belly.
His hands slid beneath the waistband of my sweats, palms hot on my bare skin, fingers digging into my ass as he pulled me harder against him. The sudden pressure made me gasp.
I let my lips hover over his, close enough to feel every ragged exhale. “You’re so easy to unravel. All that power, all that control…” I stroked him again, and he groaned. “And it takes nothing but my hand on you to break it apart.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he rasped.
“Don’t I?” I sat back, giving myself room to work. My hands found the buttons of his shirt. I unfastened them one by one, kissing each new inch of skin as I exposed it. When I finally pushed his shirt open, I paused.
Jagged scars crisscrossed nearly every inch of his chest, raised and silver-white against brown skin.
Some were thin, like knife wounds. Others were broader, more brutal.
The kind that spoke of torture, not battle.
A flicker in the back of my mind wanted to ask about them.
But desire raged too loudly, drowning out everything but need.
I traced one of the scars with my fingertip, leaning down to kiss along the soft flesh.
He made a broken sound, his hand tangling in my hair, fingers tightening.
I kissed another scar, and another, working my way across his chest. He shook beneath me with each press of my lips, tremors running through his muscles.
“Melanie,” he breathed. “Please—”
I sat back on his lap to take him in. His face was flushed. His lips were swollen from my kisses, his hair mussed from my fingers. The sight made my core throb between my thighs, a deep ache that was becoming impossible to ignore.
I leaned in and traced my nails down his chest, hard enough to leave red lines, eliciting a hiss from his lips.
I pushed his shirt off his shoulders, reveling in the shudder that went through him when my palms skimmed across his chest. His skin was fever-hot under my hands as I slid them lower and lower.
My fingers found his belt buckle, the metal cool against my fingertips as I unfastened it.
His eyes were wild, tracking every movement of my hands.
I popped the button of his slacks, lowering the zipper.
The sound of it seemed loud in the quiet room, punctuated by our breathing and the soft crackle of the record player.
I slipped my hand inside his boxers, wrapping my hand around him.
The feel of him—hot silk over steel, thick enough that my fingers didn’t quite meet—made my breath catch.
“Mel—” He groaned, gritting his teeth.
I stroked him slowly at first, learning the weight and shape of him in my hand. Then faster, his face contorting with pleasure. His hips jerked upward, seeking more friction. I twisted my wrist on the upstroke, and he cursed.
“Tell me what you want,” I commanded, moving my hand along his length.
“You,” he choked out. “Gods, I want you. I want—”
I silenced him with a fierce kiss, swallowing whatever he’d been about to say.
He yielded, letting me take control. His mouth opened under mine, and I swept my tongue inside, tasting him properly now—tea and something darker, uniquely him.
My hand continued to stroke him as I trailed kisses along his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against my lips.
His head fell back against the couch as I kissed down his throat. I bit down gently on the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and he bucked into my hand, groaning as I stroked him harder.
“You like that,” I observed, tracing the spot with my tongue. “I remember now. You always liked it when I marked you.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “Gods, yes—”
I claimed his lips again, swallowing his moan. My tongue teased, then retreated, drawing him out until he was chasing me. Every time he tried to deepen the kiss, I pulled away, smirking at the frustrated sound he made.
“You’re tormenting me,” he growled, half-laughing.
“Good.” I licked at his lower lip, stroking him from base to tip. “I think you enjoy it.”
He caught my wrist in a firm grip, pulling my hand from his slacks. His other hand tightened on my hip, grinding me down against him with more force. I gasped as pleasure sparked through me. His eyes glinted as he did it again harder, each movement sending waves of sensation through every nerve.
The power was dizzying. His breathing was ragged, his control shattering piece by piece, and I’d never felt so alive, so wanted.
I moaned as his length pressed against my throbbing clit through my sweatpants.
The pressure was perfect and not nearly enough.
He took advantage, pressing hot kisses along my neck.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, whimpering as he bit at the junction of my throat and shoulder, sending pleasure-pain shooting straight to my core.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Riding the wave of power and desire, I whispered the words I knew would break him: “Take me, Hades.”
His mouth claimed mine in a kiss that was all hunger and centuries of wanting compressed into a single moment. He surged upward, rising from the couch in one fluid motion. My legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me down the short hallway, his mouth never leaving mine.
He stumbled once when my nails raked down his back, drawing another feral sound from his throat. The bedroom door hit the wall with a thud that rattled the frame, and then we were falling. He twisted at the last second, landing on the bed with me on top.
For a beat, we stared at each other, both breathing hard. His eyes held something dangerous and possessive now.
“Last chance,” he rasped. “Tell me to stop. Tell me this is too fast and I’ll—”
I cut him off by grabbing the hem of the sweater I’d borrowed, pulling it over my head, leaving me in only my bra. The air was cool against my heated skin, raising goosebumps.
His breath left him in a rush, his eyes raking over me with an intensity that made me feel stripped bare.
He growled low, his hands sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the lace, sending sparks through my body.
His hands moved to cup them, fingers grazing my nipples through the fabric.
They were already hard, aching points, and the friction made me arch into his touch.
He sat up, bringing us chest to chest, and kissed me again.
His hands were everywhere now, mapping my body with a thoroughness that made my head spin.
My bra fell away with the flick of his wrist, shadows curling around the clasp before it vanished.
He leaned forward, his mouth finding my neck, kissing and biting his way down to my collarbone.
His mouth moved lower, kissing down my chest. His lips closed around my nipple, and I cried out, my fingers digging into his hair.
The wet heat of his mouth, the gentle scrape of teeth, and the swirl of his tongue were overwhelming.
He lavished attention on my breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp nips that made me gasp.
He peeled my sweats down my hips. The fabric caught on my thighs, and he made an impatient sound before snapping his fingers. The sweatpants vanished into the shadows, leaving me in my underwear.
His hands slid back up my legs, palms rough against the smooth skin of my inner thighs. When he reached my hips, he went rigid.
“What—” I started, but then I followed his gaze down.
My tattoo. The skeleton key on my hip, its ornate teeth crowned with narcissus and pomegranate blossoms, dark ink stark against my skin. His thumb brushed over it as though he was touching something holy he’d never expected to find.
“What is this?” His voice cracked. “When—how long have you had this?”
“I got it sophomore year. I thought it was pretty. A key for freedom, flowers for transformation, and cycles. I didn’t know—” I stopped, meeting his blazing eyes. “I didn’t know it would affect you like this.”