Chapter 14
Luzia
The river whispered secrets in the twilight. I sat on the cool, damp earth while the familiar scent of the water eased my aching heart. So close, yet so far.
The flowed through this city, a powerful, life-giving force, yet it couldn’t reach my sister, trapped beneath its surface, ensnared by the Encantado. The thought of her, imprisoned in the shimmering depths, tightened my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.
Is she still alive?
Caio sat beside me, close but not touching. The silence between us was heavy, charged with unspoken words and the echoes of the day’s discoveries.
I closed my eyes, trying to conjure the image of the Sussuron, the intricate carvings, and what it might reveal.
Hope flickered within me, fragile but persistent. It had to be enough. It was enough. But I needed it now, not sitting here wasting time, even though I was with him.
Caio shifted beside me, and I opened my eyes.
He was looking out at the river, his expression unreadable.
The last rays of the setting sun painted the water in hues of gold and rose, casting long shadows that danced and swayed like river spirits.
The beauty of it ached within me, stirring the turmoil in my soul.
“It’s peaceful here,” he said, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
I nodded, unable to speak. The river was peaceful, a constant, unwavering presence in a world of chaos.
He turned to me then, his gaze searching mine. “You miss it, don’t you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “The river. It’s your home.”
A lump formed in my throat. How could he understand? He was a creature of the land, bound by concrete and steel. And yet, looking into his eyes, I saw a flicker of understanding, a hint of empathy that surprised me.
I took a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“I miss… everything. The water, the trees, the silence. The way the moonlight dances on the surface of the river. The way the jungle breathes at night, the way the water sings through the t-trees.” My voice cracked.
I trailed off, unable to voice the fear that gnawed at me, the fear that I might be too late to save my sister.
“We will go back first thing in the morning,” he said, his voice a low rumble that resonated through me.
“And I promise I will get the Sussuron for you.” He put his arm around my shoulder, his hand warm and comforting through the thin fabric of my shirt.
He squeezed gently, a gesture of reassurance that sent a ripple of warmth through my chilled veins.
My heartbeat quickened. He didn’t realize what he was saying, what it truly meant if he succeeded.
He’d just promised to give me something my heart desperately desired, something that would bind us together inextricably.
And I needed the Sussuron, with a fierceness that consumed me.
I wouldn’t refuse him. I couldn’t refuse him.
“How… how is the Sussuron a map?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
“The patterns on the outside, I can read them,” I explained, the words feeling inadequate, unable to fully capture the complex interplay of symbols and energies.
“Are they… hieroglyphs?” he asked, searching for understanding.
“What?” I asked, the word unfamiliar.
“Words?” he clarified.
“No… sort of. It’s hard to explain,” I said, frustration building. “When the Seolais rests in its home, the carvings will no longer be mere patterns. They will become a living map, a path that sings to me, showing the way through the jungle.”
“That simple?” he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
“I hope so,” I whispered, a sliver of doubt creeping into my conviction.
I turned to him, drawn by an invisible force. The golden light of the fading sun danced on his skin, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the warmth in his eyes. Our gazes locked, the air between us thickening, charged with an unspoken energy.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leaned closer. The world narrowed, focused solely on the promise in his eyes. His lips brushed against mine, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt of electricity through my body.
Then, his mouth was on mine, a kiss that was both tentative and demanding, a taste of the connection I had craved since the moment I saw him in his home.
A soft moan escaped my lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
His tongue danced with mine, a slow, sensual exploration that mimicked the yearning in my soul.
I shouldn’t.
I can’t.
But the words were lost in the rising tide of desire.
I deepened the kiss, my hands moving to his neck, pulling him closer, wanting to erase the space between us.
My fingers brushed against the smooth wood of the Seolais hanging there.
A faint warmth pulsed from it, an echo of his own heartbeat against my palm.
His weight pressed against me, a delightful pressure I’d never experienced in the weightless embrace of the water.
He broke the kiss, his breath warm against my cheek, and trailed kisses down my neck. My fingers tangled in his hair, soft and dry against my skin. How is it possible a human could feel this good?
He kissed the exposed skin at the edge of my clothing, sending shivers down my spine. Emboldened, I began to explore his body, my hands tracing the broad lines of his shoulders and the muscles on his back. I pulled him down onto me, reveling in the delicious pressure of his body against mine.
I wanted more.
I needed more.
I pulled up his shirt, my fingers brushing against his skin.
It was hot, soft, and surprisingly strong.
I tugged at the material, wanting it out of the way, wanting to feel him against me, skin to skin.
But he was kissing me again, his mouth finding mine, and I arched into him, lost in the sensation.
His elbows braced on either side of me, supporting his weight, allowing me to feel the full force of his desire.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer still.
The pressure of his growing hardness against me sent a wave of bliss throughout my body, and my hips moved instinctively, seeking friction and release.
If I let this happen, if I accepted the pleasure he offered, and he gave me a gift, and we… well then, we could be considered bonded. The thought echoed in my mind, a warning I should listen to.
I should tell him.
I should stop.
Instead, I kissed him deeper, pushing my tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste more of him, wanting to lose myself in the sensation. He groaned into the kiss, our lips moving together in a dance as the last vestiges of sunlight faded around us, cloaking us in shadows.
His hands slid up under my shirt, his fingers brushing against my skin, sending shivers of delight rippling through me. My breath hitched, and a gasp escaped my lips. The sensation was intoxicating, unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I didn’t want him to stop.
His hand glided higher, brushing the underside of my breast, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot through me, tightening my muscles and quickening my pulse.
He pushed the fabric aside, the elastic band of my bra tight against my skin, but I didn’t care.
His hand cupped my breast, his fingers squeezing gently, then teasingly circling from base to tip.
My mind swam with the sensations, the tension coiling within me, building, intensifying. I rocked my hips against him, the friction of our clothing a sudden, frustrating barrier.
“Get it off.” I gasped, the words more aggressive than I intended, raw with need.
He didn’t seem fazed. He moved back slightly, sitting up on his knees, his eyes burning into mine.
“Shirt,” he said with a playful wink before pulling it off over his head. The Seolais pendant lay against the smooth expanse of his bare chest, the dark wood a stark contrast to his skin. A pulse of warmth emanated from the stone, or maybe it was from him, I couldn’t be sure.
The sight of him—powerful, real, and marked by my world—sent a wave of heat through me. I sat up, my hand reaching out to trace the lines of his chest, enjoying the way his skin prickled beneath my touch.
My fingers drifted lower to the waistband of his jeans, dipping inside the denim to explore the soft hairs beneath. A surprised gasp escaped my lips.
He smiled, encouraging me, but the material proved to be a frustrating barrier. He made no move to help me remove it.
Eager to explore, I touched him through the denim, pressing against his hardness. A low moan rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated through me, intensifying the ache between my legs.
I stroked him softly, then gradually increased the pressure, my fingers mimicking the rhythm my body craved. He grabbed my hand, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
I looked up at him, my eyes locked with his. All I saw was pleasure and need, a reflection of the desire burning within me.
He stood up, his movements fluid and graceful. “Shoes,” he murmured, kicking them off. He then unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down his hips. “Jeans and jocks,” he added, a husky edge to his voice.
I gasped as his cock sprang free, thick and hot, pointing toward me. The need to touch him, to feel him against me, was undeniable. I reached out, my hand closing around him. The heat, hardness, and sheer size of him in my hand sent a wave of liquid heat pooling between my legs.
I needed him inside me. Now.
But instead, I lowered my head, my lips parting as I took him into my mouth.
A long, guttural groan escaped his lips, his fingers tangling in my hair as I took him deeper, holding him tight, then pulling back slowly, deliberately.
His breath hitched, and his body swayed slightly.
My tongue flicked across the tip, savoring the salty taste.
He gently pushed me away, his eyes glazed with desire. I wanted more, wanted to taste him again, and he was already reaching for me.
“Shirt,” he said, his voice thick with need.