Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
His eyes snapped open just in time to see her stretch onto her tiptoes. The length of her body pressed against his, sending a shockwave through him as she effortlessly guided him down to her. He was helpless. Utterly and completely helpless under her command.
Cecilia’s kiss was a bomb blast.
It knocked him down to his foundations and leveled all that he thought he knew. Whatever that first gentle touch in the alley had done to him, it was nothing compared to a kiss freely given.
Cecilia handled him like he was made of glass.
Her hands were gentle when they held his jaw, supporting him and guiding him to turn one way, then the other.
Her lips were as smooth as silk. They glided over his, occasionally accompanied by the brush of a hot, wet tongue.
It wasn’t just lust that roared through the empty landscape left by her cataclysm but a tenderness so sharp it was agony.
Sloane clutched her waist and nearly lifted her off the ground. He pressed his mouth against hers again and again, increasingly desperate for more, for everything. His lungs burned as he fought the natural impulse to suck in deep breaths of her, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him to her as sweet kisses melted into a frenzy. A strangled, breathless purr shook his chest. When her lips parted, he didn’t think twice about dipping his tongue inside.
Sweetness exploded on his tongue and instinct snapped its jaws around his throat.
Sloane didn’t make the conscious decision to throw himself backward.
It just happened. One moment he was snaking his tongue into the delicious well of her mouth and the next he crouched in the scrubby grass at the very edge of the cliff, his claws stuck deep in the earth and his chest heaving with frantic breaths.
Cecilia leaned against the Battery’s wall of windows, her palms pressed into the glass. She was wide-eyed and panting, her knees pressed together in a way that made it seem like she had trouble standing.
For several taut moments, they simply stared at each other.
“Come back,” she commanded, voice husky with what he realized was desire.
Desperate to get his bearings, he tried to focus on the call of seabirds and the crash of waves beneath him. “I almost lost control,” he gasped.
Cecilia straightened against the glass. “But you didn’t.”
He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it. “Kissing you is… overwhelming.”
A look of concern flashed across her face when she asked, “In a bad way? We can stop.”
“No,” he barked, claws flexing in the sandy soil. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to ever, ever stop.”
She squared her shoulders. Even from a distance, he could see the determined gleam in her eyes. Had he once thought she was made of cotton fluff and sugar? His consort was far, far bolder than him. Something in her was fearless — a warrior’s spirit disguised by pink glitter and blunt claws.
“Then come back here,” she ordered again. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
He’d always thought he was smart. At the very least, he was the best at what he’d been trained to do.
But Cecilia had made him into a fool. Every bit of training, every shred of restraint, and all good sense disappeared when she beckoned him near.
Sandy soil and bits of grass fell from his claws as he stood up from his crouch. Sloane’s chest sawed as he took in ragged breaths. Every step was a struggle — not because he didn’t want to be close to her but because all he wanted to do was cross the distance between them at a sprint.
It was a thing of his wildest dreams, seeing her open her arms to him in the glow of sunset.
“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life,” she whispered, fingers curling into his kit as soon as he was close enough.
Tugging him against her, she continued, “Seriously, Sloane, it didn’t even occur to me that you’d be— Good gods, no wonder you have to hide behind a helmet.
You’d be swamped if you left the house without one. ”
Even with the strong breeze blowing her scent toward the Battery, he didn’t dare risk opening his mouth to reply.
Not that he would’ve known what to say to that.
He was just glad his face appeared to please her.
And it wasn’t like she needed him to talk, anyway.
Cecilia barely stopped to breathe before she started up again.
“Not that what you look like matters, obviously. I mean, I liked you before. I just didn’t think you would be so…
so… this.” Cecilia yanked his kit, urging him to bend so she could more closely examine his face.
He imagined he saw stars sparkling in her big doe eyes when she traced his cheeks, jaw, and brow with the tips of her fingers.
In a voice he’d never heard before, she noted, “You have such a kind face, Sloane. And such sad, sad eyes.”
No one had ever or would ever say something as absurd as that to him except his Cece. That painful tenderness slid between his ribs as cleanly as the obsidian knife he’d given her — the very same one he’d used to execute his cruelest trainer when word reached them of Thaddeus’s execution.
The wind buffeted his back as he swooped down on her like a bird of prey. Cecilia gasped into his lips when he pressed her back against the glass. Her arms draped over his shoulders and her fingers dove into his hair. They knotted the strands, tugging sharply as she gave as good as she got.
He had no idea what he was doing, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Cecilia made soft sounds of approval when he hoisted her up by her ass and squeezed himself between her legs.
Her tongue snaked out to lap at his mouth, seeking a way in despite the threat of his fangs.
Powerless to deny her anything, he parted his lips and braced himself for the taste of her.
He wasn’t normally a fan of sweet things. Elves were carnivores, so even small amounts of sugar in drinks or flavored meats tended to be more than many could handle. Some, like Cesare, seemed to take masochistic pleasure in torturing themselves with foul desserts, but Sloane wasn’t one of them.
Cecilia was the exception.
She was as sweet and complex as finely aged syrup. Every brush of her tongue against his brought new nuances of her taste to the forefront — strawberry, vanilla, and a hint of salt. He wanted to gorge himself on her. He needed to.
In the back of his mind, a tiny, weak voice reminded him that this was a terrible idea. Tasting her wasn’t exactly far off from breathing her in. Bit by bit, the Pull was sinking its claws into him to drag him under.
But he couldn’t stop. Even when his lungs began to burn, he couldn’t drag himself away from her.
Somehow sensing his need for air, Cecilia did it for him. She yanked his head back with a rough pull of his hair. When he growled, elvish instincts rising in a vicious wave at her silent show of challenge, she did the worst possible thing.
Cecilia bit him.
Sloane’s hips jerked reflexively into the soft cradle of her thighs when her blunt little teeth clamped down on his exposed neck.
“Fuck!” he snarled, pressing her hard against the glass and rutting against her. His head was drawn back so he could only see the blush colored sky as she licked the crescent-shaped indents in his throat. “Cece, you can’t—”
“Why?” she asked, breathing hard into his damp skin.
His eyes nearly crossed when she switched to the other side. Her bite wasn’t painful, since it would take far more than her dull teeth to get through his tough skin, but the symbolism of it made the beast that existed inside all elves roar with the need to claim.
Choking on instinct, he tried to explain, “Because elves— Necks are sensitive— Because it makes me want to fuck you, Cece.”
Her teeth scraped down the taut cords of his neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Then fuck me, Sloane.”
She was on her feet again in a flash. Cecilia staggered, arms reaching for him as she cried out in protest, but he didn’t run away again. Sloane turned his head to suck in a large lungful of air even as he dropped to his knees before her.
She steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders when he raked his burning claws down her jeans. “You have got to stop destroying my clothes, champ,” she breathed, widening her stance as he ripped the shredded remains of her pants away.
Sloane waited until he’d slit the sides of her panties to reply, “Heard.”
Her pale purple thong fluttered to the ground between her white boots.
Sloane hurriedly stuffed them in his pocket before he turned his head aside for another risky breath.
The wind blew against his back at exactly the right moment, almost like a gift from the gods.
Permission, maybe, to fuck her with his tongue until he passed out.
What he couldn’t claim in experience, Sloane knew he could make up for in sheer enthusiasm. There’d never been a skill he couldn’t master. Making Cecilia come on his tongue would be no different.
Her grip on his shoulders tightened when she croaked, “Sloane, maybe going down on me can wait until you don’t have to hold your breath?”
“If I pass out, I pass out,” he growled, lifting her supple thigh over his shoulder. Cecilia squeaked as she was forced onto her tiptoes to make up for the considerable height difference.
Her cunt bloomed before him, rosy and wet and luscious. His swollen lips parted as he watched a bead of moisture escape and ran down the length of her inner thigh, leaving a perfect trail for him to follow.
Before he lost any more of his precious air, Sloane caught the drop with the tip of his dark green tongue.
Her skin was unbelievably soft, and the taste of her cunt was unlike anything he’d ever had before.
Sweet like her tongue but with an undefinable tang that made his mouth water with hunger, it immediately rocketed up to the top of things he’d die to keep.