CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE #2
“Since you asked so nicely,” he hummed. “How would you like me? Should I tease you until you’re begging?
Lay you down and take you slow? Until you're mindless and whimpering? Mmm, but I suppose since time isn’t on our side, we’ll have to wait for another night.
” He took her bottom lip between his teeth and gently bit down, before he kissed her so thoroughly her knees nearly gave out.
“Maybe I should have you sink down onto my cock and take me how you please. Because I can’t tell you how many dreams I’ve had of you doing just that. ”
She nodded as infinite images flashed through her mind from the promise of his words. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a filthy mouth?”
“Only for you.” Dez grinned and slid her shirt off her shoulders. As he took her in, his breathing sped, his chest heaving with each one, undoubtedly fighting the thorns strangling him. “Let me taste you first.”
He gently helped her stand. Then his hands caressed her breasts, traced her sides, and as he travelled down, he kissed and licked her scars, her hip bones, and the puckered skin along her abdomen, until he kneeled before her. And she couldn’t catch a damn breath.
Dez untied her boots and peeled off her damp trousers, leaving her standing there completely bared to him. And then he gently took her ankle, sat her foot on his thigh, and spread her legs. He made a feral sound in the back of his throat as he took her in, slick, wanting, and waiting for him.
And she was already trembling at the sight of him on his knees for her.
He gently parted her with his thumb, grasped her hips, and licked up her center. Her head fell back as the warmth and softness of his mouth edged her toward oblivion, and she stared up through the sheer tent flaps, the night sky impossibly breathtaking. Like the stars shone just for them.
And Dez wasn’t teasing, slow, or tender—he was fucking hungry. Starved.
Desperately, her fingers wove into his hair, to ground her, to get a grip on herself so she wouldn’t float away, especially as he moaned and his hand slid to cup her backside.
Pleasure shot through her veins with each caress of his tongue, and her thighs quivered, her heart a thundering beast. He drove her toward madness as he dipped only his fingertip inside her.
So cruel. So damn cruel.
Her hips writhed, seeking more friction, more of him, and she mumbled some plea, a series of garbled words, though she must have made some sense because his finger finally sank into her.
A tiny, elated cry slipped between her lips.
She trembled like a feather wavering in the wind and removed her hands away from his hair.
Flames flickered at her fingertips, her body wound so tight she feared she’d shatter into a million pieces.
A tendril of black ice swirled around her raging power, and soothed her magic until it was—
Void.
Utterly mesmerized by how his magic nullified hers and hissed it out of existence, she flexed her hand and stared. “How did you—?”
“I’ve never been afraid of your fire. But setting my hair aflame may ruin the mood,” Dez murmured. He smiled against her flesh. “Now, should I make you come like this? Or with me inside you?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the moment his tongue found her sweet, soft center again, and his fingers caressed that spot, her every nerve ignited, and she lost her words.
“Both it is,” he hummed, and did it again.
He continued that relentless rhythm, winding her up and up until she could see past the sky, past the stars, the infinity of space stretching for her.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as everything drew together, like a knot pulled tight.
The stars collided overhead, rained down, and she cried out as her release crashed through her.
Dez moaned into her, only heightening it, only making her more boneless, killing her slowly, softly—entirely.
When she finally came back down to earth, he licked his fingers and grinned up at her. “I’m yours, Em. Take me however you please.”
He stood, and unbuckled his trousers, evidently in a rush as he struggled out of them and kicked off his boots. They both stood there, bared to one another, panting and burning and yearning as they took each other in.
And holy gods.
His body. All of it.
Her eyes skimmed down the muscled plains of his chest, took in his slim toned abdomen, the blood, the thorns, the edge of his scars, and the unmarred skin between his hips. And she swallowed hard as her eyes dipped and lingered.
She stared but couldn’t help herself. Because Dez was perfect in every capacity. He was perfect and beautiful and hers.
His body deserved to be worshipped, but she was already soaked with need, the pulse between her legs louder than her heart. So loud she could barely think through it. And if she didn’t have him now, she’d surely go mad.
Later. There would be time to do everything else later.
She took him into her hand to find him throbbing, aching for her as much as she ached for him.
His lips parted as he watched her stroke him, long and luxurious, savouring the smooth, hard skin.
An unrestrained groan ripped from his throat as his head fell back, and his hips bucked into her touch.
Black ice seeped from his fingers, misted the air, coated the grass, and glazed over the tent flaps overhead.
“If you keep touching me like that,” he panted, “this will be over. Very quickly.”
Dez's words only fueled her need to watch him come apart, but she let him take her hands and lace their fingers. His magic caressed hers, black meeting gold, ice melding with fire. She sat him down on the bench and straddled him.
A ragged breath swelled his chest as he lifted and guided her hips. Aligned them. He held her gaze with hesitation, with desire, with such vulnerability, she had never been more sure of anything in her life. Her lips crashed into his.
She lowered herself and sank down and down, stretching and complete and breathless, until she didn’t think she could take him any further.
But as he thrust up and fully seated himself, they gasped into each other’s mouths.
The fullness and pressure were almost too much, seeming to touch everything inside her, down to her soul.
He rested his forehead against hers and moaned, husky and completely undone.
Her hips rolled, testing, playing, and his lips parted, brows pinched from the white-hot pleasure.
It seemed the bond amplified everything, or maybe this was how they were destined to collide, insatiable and hungry and utterly flawless, though it killed her she could barely touch him as the thorns wrestled and he gasped for air.
He gripped her backside, and rocked her against him, giving her exactly the intoxicating rhythm she sought. And they became lost in each other, never capturing enough. Never wanting to leave this moment.
As she gained confidence, she leaned back, braced her hands on his knees, and her body moved.
He took in her swollen breasts, her hips writhing, his own hands helping her chase her impending release, his fingers sliding between her legs to rub slick circles until she saw stars.
Simultaneously, he hit that spot inside her that left her teetering on the edge of the world.
A tingle trailed her spine, pooled in her belly, and wound her tightly around him as her climax built. Then maybe she was calling out to the gods or him or both in an incoherent mess of ecstasy. But it was too much and she stood at the cliffside, afraid of the plummet.
She’d never done this. Never been face to face and unnegotiably vulnerable with someone this way. But he gazed at her like she was the answer to every question he’d ever begged the universe for.
As if he saw her struggle, he captured her mouth, kissed her long and slow as her back bowed and his ice embraced her flame. He chuckled softly as his lips brushed her jaw. “Let go, Em. I’ll always catch you.”
As if his words released her, the build, the peak of pleasure crested, and she tumbled over that cliffside. She tightened around him, her body quivering and, as promised, he matched her through each wave, keeping that toe curling pace, and her fire contained by his magic.
He had her fully and for once in her life, she could let go.
Dez promptly followed and buried himself inside her to find his own release. Their magic pulsed together in a way that seemed impossible. A power large enough to rewrite the history of this world.
Emmery leaned her brow against his, and whispered, “Not even death.”
He nodded in agreement and repeated her words.
A promise between them for whatever was to come.
As they compared their identical votai scars, their palms side by side, she found a saber tangled intimately with her phoenix, not quite his crest nor her Shadowheart. The image was familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
The side of her hand where the halved blood-red text had been, now ran down her little finger, wrapped around her wrist, and continued up the length of her thumb. The crimson had faded into an iridescent hue, like it held the world’s colours in its depths.
She traced the thin, looped lines identical to Dez’s handwriting. “What does it say?” she asked.
As he studied the inside of her wrist, he shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
She wiggled her fingers, so filled with joy and fire and life, as he pressed his lips to her forehead.
The permanency of everything she’d tied herself to and the future problems looming ahead should have frightened her, but as she gazed at the marks on his hand to match hers, they were undoubtedly her favourite scars.