3. Make Me Safe
SOUNDTRACK: Pompeii MMXXII by Bastille and Hans Zimmer
~ GRACE ~
The light continued to dim as the sun slipped behind the mountains under the cover of storm clouds. The wind whipped the leaves, and rain pattered overhead—a sound I adored. Yet, it was only music in the background of my pounding heartbeat.
The little room was dark enough to dilute color into shadow, and blur sight. With eyes open, I could see shapes, dark and light. But in the deluge of sensation, sight seemed unnecessary. All my other senses heightened.
The rush of heavy breath blended with the patter of the rain.
His trembling touches raised goosebumps on my skin, while my palms and fingers blistered with the heat of his skin. All of it buoyed by his kiss—deep, slow, insistent.
I barely felt my own weight on my feet because my body thrilled as it all combined to overwhelm, each sense amplified by the others.
Hands and breath on skin, in my hair. Lips and tongue teasing and drawing me nearer. Sensation heightened, and coming from every direction.
And through it all, his eyes. Black, with pinpoints of light.
Watching every shift. Every flutter. Keen.
Bright with admiration. At first, cautious and questioning—watching my face when he touched, or stroked, questioning.
Then blazing need when I pressed into him, fueled with something I might have called love.
I shivered as his hands raised pebbling on my skin.
The rustle of the breeze and raindrops outside mingled with the hush and rasp of our quickened breaths. All of it, cocooning me in his warm strength, in that dark space, in the sensation of his touch.
Voski loomed over me, a blacker part of the growing dark.
He should have been frightening. Yet, he whispered my name and opened his mouth on the sensitive skin under my ear.
My head fell back to give him better access, and my eyes fluttered closed again, as he held me to him, bending me backward over his arm.
Outside, the dragons crooned and called. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always an unseen presence.
My breath quickened to his touch—and to the images that flashed in my head of sliding scales and twined tails, and stretched wings. Koa’s images of Kham, and how he fanned the flames of her need.
And I understood. For the first time, I understood.
Time had disappeared. My cloak was on the floor, as were my jacket and leathers.
I stood, barefoot, only the cotton shirt still hanging from my shoulders, but open.
And when he bent me back, Voski rasped a groan, pressed the linen aside, and sank, kissing his way down to open his mouth on my nipple, sucking, then flicking with the tip of his tongue, so that my body jolted and I grasped for him.
Memories of that first night when he’d held me, touched me, kissed me, before he ran, braided with images from Koa, and the passionate burn of his touch now.
I should have been embarrassed. Afraid. Unsure.
But Voski moved slowly—so slowly, that each new touch brought relief. Because I ached for it, my body rose to it, before he gave it.
I pushed his shirt and jacket off, sliding my hands all over the mountains of his shoulders, marveling at the bunch and roll when he moved—the effortless strength when he pulled me hard against him.
But then our skins met. I quivered. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his belly against mine, his hand on my breast, the sheer heat of him.
It radiated from him as if fire ran under his skin. Like the dragons.
The longer we touched, the more that desperate tugging that had been present in my chest since the night Koa chose me became a cord of unrelenting light. Light that filled the chasm behind my ribs. It glowed in my veins. My heart bathed in it.
With each shift, each new caress, I wanted more.
His kiss drifted then, to tease at my other breast, and I sucked in, burying fingers in his hair, holding him to me as lightning bolts of pleasure crackled from his kiss, through my belly, to meet the ache between my thighs.
I’d never been in a heated embrace. Never understood the consuming nature of a man’s touch, the draw of his strength, why so many nobles risked public standing—even their marriages—for this.
But I did now.
He hadn’t even taken me, and already I yearned for more. I needed more. I needed him.
When he stood straight, I worried he’d leave me. But he only pulled me closer.
His long arm lay along my spine, one hand cradling the base of my head, my neck, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. The other hand drifted down my body, to places I had never bared before the eyes of another. Places only I—and now he—had ever touched.
And instead of fear, or embarrassment, I found myself gasping, swallowing a plea, my hips rocking, pressing into him as he trailed fingers up the inside of my thigh, and then higher.
The ache was powerful, promising as he nudged me to widen my stance. And instead of humiliation or cowering, I eagerly did as he bid, my nails biting into his scalp when he drew fingers against me and the rush of pleasure coursed from my core where he teased, to every inch of my skin.
Closer. Please.
The hollow that had been nestled against my heart, dropped to open behind my navel, and I ached.
Then he entered me with a finger and I gasped. He swept his tongue under my lip as he curled a finger within me.
I shivered, whimpered, trembled. Wanted.
More.
But still, he moved slowly—touching softly, though surely. Teasing, beckoning, urging more trembling from my thrilled flesh. My breath grew louder and louder, until I heard little but my pulse pounding in my ears, and the tortured groans that vibrated in his chest now and again.
“Voski… please.”
He gave a gravelling chuckle that had me shivering again, and curled himself almost in half to taste my breast again, while touching me.
I’d done little but cling to his shoulders, or wrap my arms around his neck—yet I was not uneducated. I knew where this took us.
And I wanted it. I wanted him. Now.
Closing my eyes tightly, letting him take my weight, I slid both hands down his chest, to the flat of his abdomen and the rippling steel muscles there—and found his belt buckle.
He sucked in, biting lightly on my nipple so that I twitched and squeaked. But I didn’t let go, managing to unbuckle his belt with trembling hands, then worked the buttons of his fly.
“Grace. Shit.”
His arm created a barrier, but I couldn’t bear to have him stop touching me.
So, it took some moments of uncertainty, before I could pull the fabric of his trousers aside.
He groaned with what I hoped was relief as he was freed.
And then I felt him, thick and warm against my belly and reached for him.
I stroked a cautious palm up his length, my breath catching at the startling heat of him.
It was a hesitant exploration, yet his body jerked.
He dropped his forehead to my collarbones, stopped sucking and kissing, his breath fluttering down my chest, creating a chill where my nipple was damp from his attentions.
Uncertain, but fascinated, I ran my hand along him, surprised when his entire body tensed, and his breath rushed out of him.
“Show me,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
He straightened us both then, but didn’t let me go, his eyes sharp in the dark and locked on mine, obscured only by strands of his hair. His breath tore in and out of his throat, his chest and shoulders rising and falling with it. But he measured my gaze, then without a word, grasped my wrist.
I wasn’t sure what he planned to do, so when he lifted my hand to his mouth, I was shocked. He locked eyes with me, and without dropping the gaze, licked, one long stroke, his tongue thick and hot against my palm.
I’d never seen a man do any such thing. It seemed I should be horrified. But I couldn’t break his intense gaze as hot need drilled through my belly at the erotic sight.
His eyes were still on mine when he returned my hand to his thick length.
The softness of the skin there shocked me. But he wrapped my fingers around him, and clamped his hand over mine—tighter than I expected.
He never stopped searching my gaze as he drew my hand down—but his jaw went slack and his breath caught. Then back up—all the way up until my fist began to close at the top—and then pressed my hand back down, just halfway this time, and he shivered in response.
Something hot and powerful coiled in my chest at the sight of him, undone so simply.
When he released my hand and cupped his strong fingers at the back of my neck, I stroked him again, just as he’d shown me.
He leaned back a little to give himself clear sight, watching me touch him. His eyes hooded, and his jaw rolled.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Like that. Don’t stop.”
So, I didn’t. And his brow furrowed, his eyes turning black in the dark—but to my shock, urging me not to pause, he reached for me with his free hand, first teasing my nipple with the calloused side of his thumb, and when my breath quickened, sliding that hand down my body to my most sensitive flesh.
We both sighed, stroking, our bodies twitching. He watched me touch him. I watched him watching me. And something deep in my core turned hot and languid.
“Voski,” I croaked and his eyes snapped up—measuring me again—but when he saw my smile, his lips curled up and he pulled me closer, until there was almost no room to touch him.
“I—” but there was no more room for words, either, because he kissed me once more, his breath thundering across my cheek, and I stroked him—slowly, as he’d done for me—and marveled at the rippling tension it evoked in him.
A deep, ragged growl rolled in his throat, into my mouth, and my body thrilled—I stroked him faster, but he caught my wrist suddenly, shuddering, shaking his head even as he nipped at my lower lip.
“Stop, for now. Stop,” he rasped.