Chapter Thirty-Two Zephyra
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ZEPHYRA
Arion kisses me as if he wants to punish me.
Kisses me as if the magic raging inside him is desperate to escape its iron cage.
And goddess—it’s so fucking good. He’s so fucking good.
And that silvered cord—our bond—makes everything that much better.
I tighten my arms around his neck, fingers buried in his dark hair, dragging my body even closer to his.
Closer. Until I feel his hard cock pressed against my belly.
His tongue slides between my lips, teasing my own as he swallows my breathy sighs.
This. This is what I’ve been dreaming of, thinking about, obsessing over.
His thumb sweeps across my throat, stoking my pulse faster as the ship undulates on crackling storm winds.
It’s so fucking good. He nips my lower lip, lightly but still enough to sting, and desire pools hot in my core.
It pools hot inside him as well, and I can feel it.
I can taste how much he wants me on my tongue.
Every second of pleasure doubles. Beyond anything I can comprehend as Arion’s silver-gold gaze fixes on me, his pupils huge now.
Midnight black and starving as the cord glows iridescent between us, tangling our hands and necks and chests in a thousand complex, yearning knots.
My heart pounds. My head swims, but not from the blood loss or flying or anything other than his touch, than our combined need.
I don’t care about the others we abandoned on the deck, about this ship or soaring to our imminent demise.
Don’t even care about gods and destinies.
Fuck me, Arion, and make me forget my own name.
That’s exactly what I want, isn’t it? To forget.
Arion is too weak to use his own magic now.
We’re sailing straight toward my horrid past. We’re surrounded by enemies, and Arion and I—we should be enemies.
I should loathe the warlock. I should want to drown him the second our bond is broken.
Maybe I will. Maybe he’ll try to kill me too.
Maybe shattering our bond will return us to our status quo.
Mermaid and warlock. Opposing forces in a centuries-old war.
“What are you thinking?” he demands, his voice hoarse as his hand slips from my throat to the back of my neck, angling my face up. Granting him easier access to my lips. He can’t stop staring at them. Staring at me. “Are you regretting—”
I shake my head. “I already told you. I don’t regret.”
“That’s a lie,” he says simply. As if the truth doesn’t bear down on me, threatening to break every bone in my body. As if his realization doesn’t threaten everything currently between us.
If you’re evil, fucking destroy me, Zephyra.
He sees me. He has always seen me. He has never expected me to be anyone or anything else.
I inhale as he exhales, dragging in the very air he breathes.
Goddess, I’m aching for him. This bond between us—the cord, the debt—shudders with uncontrolled yearning until it feels as if I might explode from it.
Until it feels as if this entire room might burst.
“Tomorrow morning, we sail for the trench and the castle,” I say, low and slow.
“There will be a dozen worries and fears. A dozen ways for us to die. Tonight—right now—I want this. And I want it with you, Arion. You see me, and I see you.” Standing on my tiptoes, I tangle my fingers deeper in his hair and tug sharply.
My tongue flicks out, tasting his lower lip.
Tracing it. His pupils darken further, and a growl reverberates from his rib cage. “I want you. All of you.”
His wings splay wide against a backdrop of colorful silk hammocks and strewn tapestries as he sinks to his knees without another word.
We’ve danced around this for too long. For not long enough.
I can’t… can’t stop. Wanting, lusting. He fists my skirts, shoving them up past my thighs without restraint and tearing the soft cotton.
Another growl when he sees that I am completely bare.
Exposed. He drags his gaze back to my face, teeth flashing white in the dim orange glow of sunset.
“Take off your blouse,” he commands, all warlock in this moment. All rage and pent-up frustration. “Now, Zephyra.”
The cord tautens between us. So goddess-damned tight.
“Impatient, warlock?” I tease, forcing my legs wider apart. Exposing myself even more.
He sets a hand on my upper thigh, and heat scorches through my skin and bones and sets fire to my nerves. I shudder beneath his touch. His thumb twitches, and I buck with restless need.
“Impatient, mermaid?” he says darkly. A brutal smirk twists his pretty lips, and my knees shake.
Tremble. His mouth is so close. So, so, so close.
I try to move forward, but he forces me back.
Against a wooden post. My breath whooshes from my lungs as I crash into it, and the pain—the sudden sharp sting—hurts so fucking good.
A moan slips from me, unbidden, and echoes in the otherwise tense silence.
“If you want me to touch you, show me your fucking tits.” His fingers curl into my skin, scraping down and up my thighs.
I gape at him, lust crackling around me, through me, at his words. At the rough, gravel tone of his demand. At the sight of him there—a mountain of muscle and beauty and power—kneeling at my feet. Begging for me.
If I wasn’t wet before, I am now.
Still, I can’t help playing with him. Toying with Arion is my favorite pastime.
“Earn it, warlock.” I bend over, undoing the first button of my vest. The blouse beneath is already loose and open, and the first button earns him a small glimpse of my golden skin.
I trail fingers along the soft slopes of my breasts. “Is this what you want?”
Another flash of teeth. Another growl. I can feel his magic building around us, pulsing and swelling and suffocating the room. I flick his nose. “No magic, warlock. Not right now.”
He seizes my wrist, now pinning me against the post as his other hand continues its sinful ascent up my thigh, right toward my core.
He stops a second before he reaches it, however.
Fucking asshole. His smirk widens, dimple flashing, as he teases the crease of my upper thigh. “How badly do you want it, mermaid?”
I squirm. Try to squirm, but his grasp is unyielding.
He may be too strong, but I’m too stubborn for him to win this little game.
I’m desperate for his fingers to be on me.
Inside me. I glare down at him. “Are you saying I’m the only one who wants this?
” I lick my lips, and his eyes could be pitch-black.
Not a fleck of silver or gold in sight. “Are you saying you don’t want to taste my pussy, Arion?
You don’t want to feel how wet I am for you? ”
He snarls, and his touch hardens. “Siren.”
“Nope.” I grin, undoing another button. “Come on, warlock. Taste me.”
Another button. Another. But before I can shimmy out of the vest, Arion rips it off me. He rips the blouse off next. Tears it almost cleanly in two. I gasp at the abrupt cold, at the feel of his heat being near but not near enough as I stand here, naked, above him.
My pink hair tumbles over my breasts, and he brushes the tangled waves out of the way. He looks at me, and looks at me, and looks—for so long I begin shaking.
“Fuck, Zephyra. Just—fuck. You’re so beautiful, it shouldn’t be real. Shouldn’t be fucking possible to look this good.” He sounds reverent, as if he’s praying to me. But that’s not the sort of worship I want right now.
“Your turn,” I breathe. “Please—”
Just as before, I don’t have to finish begging. Arion slides a hand over my cunt, his palm rubbing me with delicious friction. He curses. “You’re fucking soaked.”
I tilt my head back, hips writhing, bucking against his hand. I don’t even need his mouth or fingers. His touch fills me, as it always does, with so much pleasure, stars explode behind my eyelids. “Shit,” I hiss. “That feels so, so—”
He curls one finger inside me, and it nearly sends me to my knees. I thought the cavern had been amazing. Mind-blowing. Earth-shattering. But this… his touch… sears through my veins. Melts me into a puddle at his feet. “Fuck yes. More. Another finger. Please, Arion.”
He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously.
Then he curls them. Thrusts them inside me.
Again and again until I’m riding his hand, tits bouncing and wild moans spilling from my lips.
He stares at me, at my lips and breasts and body with rapt, unwavering attention.
“Gods,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”
I can’t hear him. Can’t pay attention to anything but his hand, his touch, and the way it sparks like flint against my skin. He is kindling. My kindling. And I am his fire. I can’t—can’t stop moving. It has never felt like this. Never, ever, ever.
“Go on,” he says. “That’s it, Zephyra. Ride my hand like a good girl. Let me make you happy.”
My gaze snaps to his face, and I glower at him. He grins at the sight of my petulance, his other hand trailing over my belly, up to my breasts, where he rolls my nipple between his fingers until I moan again. “You don’t like that, huh? You’re not a good girl at all.”
I shake my head as my hips continue undulating. Because I’m not a good girl, and I wasn’t made for happy.
I was made to hurt.
Leaning forward, I grip Arion’s dark brown hair and tug.
Painfully. He snarls again, fingers plunging deeper now.
Faster. Angrier. Fuck. My knees buckle, but he splays his palm against my chest. Pinning me harder.
Finger-fucking me harder. It feels so good, I can’t breathe.
A roar of pleasure crashes through me as my muscles tense, waves cresting higher, higher.
“My loathsome mermaid,” Arion murmurs. “My wicked, wicked girl.”