Chapter 25 Ignite
IGNITE
CEDRIC
Four hells, she’s so fucking soft.
I seal my mouth on hers and we are nothing but a clash of lips and tongues and all-consuming need. My fingers dance down her skin, snaking into the waistband of her stars-forsaken leathers, pulling at the strings binding them to her.
She is wearing far too much clothing.
Elyria lets out a breathy moan against my mouth, and it’s almost enough to undo me right here and now. One hand is fisted in my hair and—
I groan. Fuck. With her other palm on my chest, she’s pushing me back, breaking our kiss, dragging me from her.
Adding inches to the space between us when I want there to be nothing.
Nothing but that almond scent that permeates every moment of my day, every thought in my head.
Nothing but her skin against mine, her softness against every one of my hard lines. Against my hard—
The loss of her against me is a searing brand.
My hands grip either side of her waist, refusing to give her up, to let her push me away again. My fingers dig into her so hard that I think they might leave marks on her porcelain skin.
She doesn’t seem to care. Were I a betting man, I might even venture to say she likes it. The slightest smile plays at the corners of her mouth. She’s appraising me, those sea-deep emerald eyes piercing, seeking.
What she is looking to find, I don’t know. I’ve already left myself bare for her.
Like she can read the very thoughts in my head, indecision furrows her brow.
She sucks her bottom lip in between her teeth.
My eyes immediately track the motion. Heat flares in my chest. It should be my teeth grazing those perfect lips.
My tongue dancing between them. I move, trying to close the space between us.
She holds me in place.
Fucking hells. I always forget how strong she is.
“What are we doing?” she says.
I arch a brow. “Was it not obvious?”
“This is a bad idea.”
“I disagree. Fervently.”
“You’ll regret it tomorrow.” Her iron hold on me loosens.
I test it, pushing back against her, and she allows me to reclaim a few precious inches. Close enough to graze my nose against her neck, inhaling deeply, her sugar-and-poison scent sending a rush of blood straight to my cock.
“Fuck tomorrow.” And I crush my lips to hers once more.
She melts into me this time, her hand gripping the back of my neck, pulling me closer. Possessive. It lights my blood on fire. My fingers find their ways back to the laces of her breeches. I tug at the ties, a man desperate.
“Something I can help you with?” she says against my mouth, humor lacing every word, but I am not playing anymore.
My left hand moves up her side, lifting the hem of her blouse to reveal more of the soft skin of her abdomen. I splay my right hand against her stomach, fingers slipping below her waistband. Gently, I push her back, and—all blessings to the Five—she lets me.
Lets me press her flush against the wall. Lets me press myself flush against her. Lets me undo those infernal laces, tugging her breeches down just enough to be able to slide my hand inside.
My fingers brush soft curls. Her breath hitches. I lower my head and press a kiss to the dip between her neck and her shoulder. The whimper she releases in response raises something feral from deep within me.
She swallows hard, as though steeling herself.
“We still—This isn’t—We shouldn’t—” I cut off each of her attempted protestations with another kiss at her neck—licking, sucking, nipping.
And even as she continues her futile attempts at coming up with a reason to stop, she doesn’t release her grip on me.
She only holds me tighter.
“You leave tomorrow,” she finally manages to get out between breaths, and I pull back to see her looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes.
I ignore the pang in my chest at the reminder. “So, let me give you something to remember me by.”
I glide my fingers lower and—Noctis fucking take me now—find her absolutely, gloriously, wet for me.
“There she is,” I say, my eyes never leaving her face as I locate that tiny mound of nerves, rubbing a single fingertip over it in slow circles.
She gasps, arching against the wall, her breasts heaving against my chest. The sight of her, the sound of her, the feel of her alone is nearly the end of me.
My other hand moves around her waist, settling on her perfect ass, digging in, holding her tight against me as my finger starts circling faster. I slip my two middle fingers directly into her wet heat, stroking her slowly, and her answering moans are the most magnificent torture.
“Cedric—”
My name breaks from her lips—a sinful prayer. I feel her clamp down around my fingers and an earthy, guttural growl rumbles up from somewhere inside me.
The sound does something to her. She inhales sharply before crushing her mouth back to mine, catching my bottom lip between her teeth.
She nips at it before moving to my neck, inhaling deeply through her nose.
There’s a singular moment of suspended silence, and it feels like we’re teetering on the precipice of something dangerous, something irrevocable.
I’m not sure I’m fully in control of myself when I angle my head, giving her access to my neck, my fingers still stroking her, inside and out. She shudders. Then, she bites down, her teeth clamping onto the soft divot between my neck and shoulder.
The momentary jolt of pain is the single most exquisite thing I fear I will ever experience in my life.
It is excruciating joy and the feeling of coming home.
Ineffable. Inexplicable. The thread in my chest pulls tight, tugging me even closer to her.
She releases me, tipping her head back, ecstasy written in her emerald eyes.
Heat floods the spot where she bit down.
I release a low groan, burying my face in her neck as I continue stroking her, drinking in her almond scent along with her sweet cries.
She tenses beneath my hands, around my fingers, pleasure coiling her muscles tight.
I dip my head, kissing my way down the column of her neck, her collarbone, up the slope of her breast, until I’m taking one peaked nipple between my lips and sucking it through the thin fabric of her blouse.
She arches her back, then releases another whimper as I move to her other breast.
Mine.
The word rings in my head—a chorus, a clanging bell. I don’t consciously think it. It comes from a place deeper than my mind, sliding down the tether that’s tied somewhere behind my ribs. Mine. Mine. Mine.
I lift my head.
Our eyes lock.
“Mine,” I growl, and she shatters against me, shadows twisting from her palms and wrapping around me, wrapping around us—a cool embrace that pins me to her.
As if I would be going anywhere.
She bucks against my hand, writhing with pleasure, and I capture her moans, her cries muffled against my mouth. I let her ride out every last wave, curling my fingers up, languidly stroking her inner walls. Like we have all the time in the world.
If only. There’s so much I need to say, so much to tell her. I’m overcome with the sudden burning need to tell her everything. Every fear and every hope and every thought I’ve ever had, but one in particular. It blares loudly in my head, the words circling my mind, begging me to give them voice.
Elyria takes a few deep breaths as she comes back down, her shadows fading, dissipating into the ether.
Her cheeks are flushed, and I decide right here and now that this particular shade of pink might just have replaced purple as my favorite color.
A sheen of sweat decorates her brow, slicking baby-fine strands of periwinkle to her forehead.
I have to restrain myself from licking it away—what the fuck is wrong with me? —as I extricate myself from her.
It takes even more restraint—nearly more than I possess—not to bring my fingers directly to my mouth, to taste her, to savor her, but I know that if I do there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to keep my wits about me long enough to say anything, let alone what I want to—what I need to.
I plant a gentle kiss against her temple and help pull her breeches back into place. “Regretting it yet?” I say with a grin.
She narrows her eyes, though the intended effect is somewhat lessened by the glaze of desire still clouding them. “Don’t be an ass.”
I swallow, pulling back slightly so I can look at her properly. Soak in every beautiful inch of her. How in the quartered hell am I supposed to go in the opposite direction of her—again—come the day after tomorrow? How am I ever supposed to say goodbye?
The tug in my chest throbs at the thought. “Elle, I—”
She reaches for my waist, her eyes flaring as they lock onto the side of my neck, and I wonder what kind of mark her bite left behind. Just the thought of it has blood rushing to my still-hard cock.
“What are you doing?” I ask, adjusting my stance.
“Returning the favor, of course.” A wicked grin spreads across her face as she curves three fingers around the edge of my waistband.
I inhale sharply, my cock twitching. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to.” She tugs on the drawstring. “I want to.”
“Hold on, just wait—” Inwardly, I’m cursing myself for stopping her as I pull her back up to face me. But there are things I need to say before I’m too far gone to be able to form coherent words. Before we part. Again.
“You have to allow me to settle the score,” she says, a playful pout on her swollen lips.
“What score?” I laugh. “We are not playing a game.”
She smirks. “This is the precise definition of a game.”
The callback to our heated conversation from before the Crucible began—our first real exchange of words, in fact—is not lost on me, but I won’t fall for the deflection. No matter how much my heart warms at how well she remembers it.
I gather both her wrists in one hand, holding them still with gentle pressure.
“Please,” I say. “I need to—”
She goes completely still, her eyes lingering on my neck. “You don’t want this?”
What in the quartered hell is happening? Of course I want this. I’ve never wanted anything more. I smother the instinct to laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion. “That’s not it, I just—”
Something flashes across her face—vulnerability, inexplicable hurt.
It’s gone so fast, though, that I’m left questioning whether I even saw it.
I know what I see next though. The moment that whatever thought she’s glommed onto settles in her mind.
That cool, detached mask sliding back into place, painting her face with stony indifference even as her cheeks still bear the flush of pleasure.
“Your loss, Sir Knight,” she says. Then, she steps into a shadow and is gone.