Chapter Twenty-Three #4
She does not feel like a woman standing before her lover. She feels like a force choosing where to descend.
“As you wish, my love,” Kael obeys with a smirk, lowering himself to the furs, his long, hard cock still glistening.
Elyssara’s mouth goes dry at the sight—all hard lines and corded muscle. Inked skin and sharp edges.
He drags his hand through his slick chocolate waves, breathing already ragged in anticipation. He intertwines his fingers behind his head, biting his lower lip as he takes her in like he’s branding every inch of her to his memory.
“Lower your arms,” she commands, voice firmer now. Like a woman who knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it.
Because if she’s learned anything from Kael, it’s that shame has no place in love.
“I am yours to command,” Kael smirks, lowering his arms immediately.
Elyssara lowers to her knees beside him. She leans all the way down to his face, voice a seductive purr. “I want you to remember who you belong to, Kael.”
And she straddles his face, thighs spreading wide to lower herself down to his mouth.
Kael’s mouth kicks up in a devilish smirk, his muscled arms reaching behind her thighs to pull her lower and lock her into place. “It would be my fucking pleasure.”
For one suspended heartbeat, he barely moves.
His hands spread wider across the backs of her thighs, thumbs dragging slow arcs against her skin like he’s grounding himself in the feel of her. Like he’s memorizing this.
Steam curls between them. Candlelight flickers gold across his face. Across the sharp cut of his jaw. Across the devotion written plainly into the ocean-lightning of his eyes.
And then his gaze lifts fully to hers. Not hunger first. Not possession. Reverence. Like she is something sacred lowered willingly into his hands.
A slow breath leaves him.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, voice wrecked before he’s even touched her.
And his tongue finds her clit.
A whimper breaks from her lips.
Kael groans at the sound like it reaches somewhere deep inside him.
His eyes close briefly, forehead pressing harder into the inside of her thigh, and Elyssara realizes with sudden, breathless clarity that this is undoing him too. Not just desire. Relief. The kind that settles into the body only when something beloved finally comes home.
She’s missed him.
Missed his touch. His presence. His reverence. His worship. His godsdamned tongue.
His tongue presses against her clit in long, flat, languid strokes, and she can’t help it—she grinds into him. She grinds low. Rolling her hips in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
Her hands find the stone wall in front of her, leaning forward for more friction against her clit.
“Look at me, my love,” she says, her voice a breathy pant.
Kael’s eyes drift open. The faintest trace of black still remains in his left eye, like smoke after a snuffed flame.
He’s returning.
His mouth doesn’t stop working, licking, lapping, allowing her to ride his face. Her arousal glistens on his lips, as she looks past the swell of her breasts. The rhythm of her hips increases, but he pulls her down, locking her tight on his mouth.
A long, unbidden moan tears from her throat.
Their gazes are locked. And Kael looks at her like he’s starving. Not just for her body. Not even for pleasure. For this.
For the permission to touch without destruction following after it. For the certainty that she still wants him beneath her hands—even after everything.
His tongue slows deliberately, broad and languid, savoring instead of chasing. Like he could spend hours here if she let him. Like worship is not an act to him. It’s instinct.
“You taste so fucking good,” he pants, breathless from his ministrations. “Sink lower—I want to taste more of you.”
She sinks. Deeper and heavier. She moves her hands behind her, gripping his hips and dropping her head back and exposing her neck, opening herself completely to him.
Kael inhales sharply beneath her, fingers flexing harder against her thighs like the weight of her settling onto his mouth is something he feels all the way through his body.
His eyes never leave her. Even now. Even here. Like witnessing her matters just as much as touching her.
His tongue sweeps through her center, devouring her like a feast.
“Fuck,” she moans.
“Keep riding my mouth,” he breathes, half-plea, half-command.
And she does.
Her hips find a rhythm, rolling like waves over his tongue.
The muscles of her thighs grip and tense as she moves for pleasure, and his stubble scratches the delicate skin on the inside of her thighs.
The pleasure is endless, strokes of his tongue meet her in the exact, steady rhythm that she loves.
They dance. Stroke. Grind. Stroke. Grind.
Lovers reading each other like notes in harmony.
Sweat glistens on her skin, auburn hair sticking to her neck as the warmth blooms through her body. Her breaths shorten, become more erratic, more audible. Pleasure builds low in her belly, setting every nerve on end.
“Gods,” she curses.
“My mouth fits so perfectly on your pussy, darling,” he praises, and the words almost bring her undone.
She moans, unrestrained.
“I love when you let go for me,” he growls.
And that’s when Elyssara understands. Kael is not losing himself in her pleasure.
He’s finding himself in it. Every gasp she gives him.
Every roll of her hips. Every unguarded sound dragged from her throat.
It pulls him further from the edge of the Decay and closer to the man buried beneath it.
And she wants him to find more of himself.
She removes her hands from his hips, stilling her movements. She doesn’t want to come like this—alone. She wants to take him to his pleasure, too. “Let me ride your cock, my love.”
But he grips on tight. “I’m not done,” he promises, a wicked grin stretching across his face.
She huffs a laugh. “Let’s not pretend you’re in charge here,” she whispers. “Now let me take you.”
Reluctantly, his arms loosen from around her thighs. “Your humble servant,” he says drily, admitting defeat.
She smiles victoriously, pushing herself back until his cock is aligned with her entrance.
Her palm presses into his chest, and she leans forward, her face hovering over his.
“Don’t move,” she instructs. “I want to make you come.”
Then she claims his mouth, tasting herself on his lips. Claiming him with every breath.
She lowers herself onto his cock, taking the full length of him in one motion. She lets out a small gasp as she stretches around him, the sensation heady, intoxicating.
And she makes it known. “I fucking love you, Kael Thorne.”
He moans, deep and guttural and real.
Then she grinds.
She rolls her hips like she’s offering absolution with every thrust. Like healing can be found in her hips. Like pain is taken by her tongue.
Elyssara pulls away from Kael’s mouth, sitting on his cock until it fills every inch of her. She reaches for his hands, dragging them up the curve of her waist, placing them just above the swell of her ass. “Touch me, Kael.”
He doesn’t wait. He grips her ass like it holds the keys to his pain.
“You fit me so perfectly,” she moans with another roll of her hips.
Her climax builds, every nerve sparking with pleasure, every breath rising into a frenzy.
“I was fucking made for you,” Kael growls, his eyes hungry, gripping her hips in a bruising hold.
And for the first time in weeks, she sees him.
The real him. The man who would slay man and monster for her.
The man who chooses her so completely that nothing could stand between them.
The man who would not change her to save the world.
There he is.
She braces her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers across the ink etched into his skin. The Sky. It heaves. Rising and falling in time with the grind of her hips.
She gives to him.
She drags long, slow groans from his throat with every rock of her hips, taking pleasure in his.
But she wants to take him higher, deeper.
She lifts her right hand, sweeping her fingers into her mouth, and dragging them lazily across her tongue.
“Watch the way I come for you,” she purrs seductively.
A moan tears from his throat at her promise. Drunk on the power she possesses between her thighs.
She sucks her fingers, taking them deep into her mouth, before letting them drift over her swollen bottom lip, down her chin, and the slender column of her neck.
Kael watches, transfixed on her. “I am under your spell,” he confesses, the words gravelly and rich.