33. Freefall #2
And is this … A trembling flutter of desire raked against my mind. Is this really so bad? Perhaps it is a gift.
My eyes searched his face, looking for any hint of uncertainty. What do you get out of it then?
Dark hair brushed my brow as Trygg angled his head, so close now that our breath mingled and every nerve in my body sang in response. I have not felt this… alive in nearly a hundred years, he rumbled. So, I ask you again, Asvoria Falk: what do you need?
What did I need?
Killing the huathe did not bring me any peace.
Not in the way I thought it would. The creature came for me—to steal me away for some monster out of a children’s story.
And I’d managed to end its life. Though I’d known doing so would never bring my mother back, I’d thought it would at least bring me some closure.
But it was a hollow victory, tainted by the fact I hadn’t been given a choice. There was no happiness in that. No peace.
I remembered the Shadow’s advice regarding scraps of happiness. As if mere shreds could ever be enough. It was selfish of me, but I wanted more than that—maybe even needed more than that. If it would make this hollow sadness in me disappear, then it was worth whatever cost I had to pay.
Perhaps this bond between us really was a gift.
I’d already broken one rule by allowing Trygg to fly me through the night sky. What did it matter if I broke one more?
I reached to cup the back of his neck, swallowing down my nervousness as I answered him.
I need to feel.
His mouth was on mine in an instant. I gripped him tighter, chest heaving against his as desire flooded my veins.
Where once there was aching sadness, fiery passion took its place, stoked by the insistence pulsing down the connection between us.
I opened myself up to him, letting his tongue sweep between my teeth and banish every thought but him from my mind.
He moved a hand to my waist, pulling me close. I moaned against his mouth as the warmth of his grip reached my hip. The tortured sound only spurred him on further, and suddenly the backs of my legs hit the edge of my bed. A stark recognition of the kind of desire pooling between my thighs.
Trygg pulled back, heaving for breath. “I’m sorry, I’m…” He laughed, resting his forehead against mine.
“Don’t be,” I said, threading my fingers in his hair.
He ducked his head and pressed a searing kiss to my throat, nipping lightly with his teeth. It was so like the dream, a startled gasp ripped from my throat.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, another eerie echo.
Only in my dream, he hadn’t asked—hadn’t needed to. But this, right now… This was my choice. My encounter to stop or to encourage.
He continued trailing kisses down my neck, and I knew there was only one answer I could give.
“Yes,” I breathed, tugging at his hair. He bit down harder than before, and I cried out at the sting of pain. It mixed with the burning waves of pleasure roiling beneath my skin, becoming something entirely new. The sharpness of the sensations was infinitely better than nothing at all.
Yes, anything was better than that numbness. And the Shadow was right about me—about him. I wanted him badly enough to risk this moment. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. There was only us.
I moved my hands to his sides, fumbling with the corded laces keeping his scaled armor in place.
He reached along with me, pulling the laces free with ease and then withdrawing long enough to shuck the armor off.
Stooping down, he repeated the action with the plate around his legs, sending the metal clattering to the floor.
His scent washed over me—pine and clean air and sharp spices I couldn’t name.
I breathed it in, grappling at his black shirt to pull him into me.
Whatever misgivings I had up to this point melted under the warmth and weight of him.
He shifted forward, gently pushing me into the soft yield of my mattress.
I watched as he leaned over me, grasping and digging his fingers beneath the top hem of my corset.
With practiced precision, he tore the seams on either side of the busk, flinging the separated fabric away.
I inhaled sharply, my mouth going dry. Carnal lust blazed in his eyes as he gazed at my unbound breasts through the thin fabric of my shift.
“This…” I faltered, wetting my lips as my throat dried out.
“Say the word,” Trygg said, bracing his arms on either side of my shoulders, “and this ends immediately.”
Involuntarily, my legs widened as he settled between them, a delicious, warm ache pounding in my core.
His arousal pushed against the fabric of his pants, straining at the laces.
He pressed a gentle kiss to my lips—a silent promise.
That I was the one in control here; that he would do whatever I wanted.
When he pulled away, my pulse evened out enough that I could speak.
“This is just sex.”
I couldn’t afford to let it become anything more than that. The break with Lukas was too fresh, and a deeper attachment to Trygg was impossible. This was about chasing away the horrors of the outside world, even if only for a night.
A muscle feathered in his jaw, but he nodded. Lowering his head, he nipped softly on my ear, sending shivering aches of pleasure down my spine, over my breasts, into my core.
“I will make you forget your hurt,” he whispered, voice thick with desire. He cupped one of my breasts, kneading it lightly. The fabric of my shift felt rough against my peaked nipple, but the sensation was a pleasurable one. I arched into him as his mouth traced down my neck.
A soft moan escaped my throat, and my eyes shuttered closed. He kept working his way down, alternating between kisses and gentle nips along the length of my collarbone. Fire raged beneath my skin as my hands fisted in the sheets.
More. I needed more.
He must have heard the thoughts, because his hand fell on my hip, sweeping up my side as he continued down. Working his mouth through the valley of my breasts, he pinched lightly at my nipple, drawing a cry from my lips. Suddenly, his mouth was gone, and his weight disappeared. My eyes opened.
Trygg knelt at the edge of the bed, kissing the inside of my thigh and tugging gently at my smallclothes.
“What are you doing?” My uneven breaths bordered on panting.
He glanced up, a feral look in his eyes. Hunger raged through me, sending my head arching back into the bed.
“This isn’t about me,” he replied, voice low and husky. In the span of a breath, my smallclothes were gone, ripped away with the same ease he’d demonstrated on my corset.
“I…” My mouth gaped, unable to form words through the sparkling anticipation chasing up and down my spine. The heat between my thighs had gone molten.
Allow me the pleasure, he said in my mind, the connection between us an open causeway. His hands slipped under my rear, squeezing lightly.
I’ve never… The thoughts raced through my head, sending me spiraling. I mean, Lukas didn’t…
Trygg went deathly still.
It wasn’t as if I’d never wanted Lukas to do it—quite the opposite, actually. But anytime I hinted, or even outright asked him, he refused. I never pressed the issue. Yet he’d always been more than happy to let me put my mouth to work.
Something like outrage passed between us, a crashing wave that receded quickly. And then he laughed, excitement sparking in his gray eyes.
He leaned further into me, growling softly. Then let me show you what you’ve been missing. Let me worship your body like the queen you are.
My acceptance formed in my mind, but before I could voice it, his head dipped between my thighs.
And my world fractured.
At the first sweep of his tongue up my center, I was gasping and threading my fingers through his hair.
At the second, the world reformed in sharp, aching pleasure.
My hips bucked against his mouth, and he huffed out a laugh, moving a hand to the center of my abdomen and pressing into the soft flesh.
“Gods,” I gritted out through ragged breaths.
He rumbled in response, the sound vibrating deliciously through my core. Every inch of me squirmed beneath him, fighting against the firm pressure of his hand on my belly.
His tongue circled slowly at the apex of my thighs, pleasure coiling tightly within.
There were no thoughts—no awareness of right or wrong—as he teased that bundle of nerves with light, gentle strokes.
Each flick of his tongue drew a small, strangled gasp from me, and my fingers tightened in his hair, as if I could pull him any closer.
“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he breathed with another long sweep down my center, squeezing my rear. I tried to press up into him, but his hand kept me pinned. He only laughed and dived back in, feasting on me as if he’d never eaten a day in his life.
“Please,” I begged, draping my legs over his shoulders.
I didn’t care if it was pathetic—didn’t allow my thoughts to linger on what he might think of me.
The fiery ache in my core was becoming unbearable.
I was going to explode if I didn’t find release soon.
I’d never known anything like it. Had never dreamed such consuming, mind-altering pleasure was even possible.
His approval seeped down the bond, warming my chest. His hand slipped from beneath me, and then his finger joined his tongue’s assured venture.
I didn’t think about how many times he’d probably done this before—of all the females he’d been with over the centuries.
When his finger slid into my entrance, so achingly slow, and his tongue lapped at the apex of my thighs, every thought fled from my mind.
I let go of my sanity and everything weighing me down, crushing me.
The world fractured again. My chest tightened as I cried out, back arching off the bed.
I felt his smile as his finger curled, stroking my walls.
And still his tongue worked in an alternating rhythm of circles and strokes, driving my mind into a wild frenzy.
That bastard doesn’t know what he was missing. Trygg’s groaning voice came floating down the bond, husky with arousal and something else I couldn’t place. You taste… Gods, I can’t even describe it. You taste incredible. He moaned, pumping his finger in time with his tongue.
My cheeks warmed at his description, at the pure pleasure coating the words. He sounded like he was enjoying this as much as I was. The coil in my belly tightened, and the darkthread quivered in response. A slice of nervousness cut through the heady fog of pleasure.
Trygg suddenly quickened his pace, adding a second finger to the first and filling me up. I gasped as my walls stretched around him, eyes rolling back into my head. The combination of his fingers working gently and his tongue feasting savagely had me panting for breath.
“Fuck, Trygg” I cried, tightening my hold in his raven hair. He groaned in response, curling both fingers inside me. “That’s… I’m…”
Let go, he said, bending his fingers again and hitting a spot that had my toes curling. Unravel for me, Asvoria.
The way he said my name—like a wicked prayer to some heathen god—sent me over the edge.
My release shattered through me. The cry that fell from my lips bordered on a scream as I ground my hips wildly against his mouth.
He kept me pinned, my walls clamping down around his fingers over and over again.
His tongue finally slowed its frantic pace.
My fingers yanked on his hair as the coil in my gut unwound, sending uncontrollable shudders of pleasure skittering across my body.
Every empty, hollow crevice of my soul filled with that bliss, and the darkthread finally stilled.
It was like sunlight streaming into a dark room after the curtains had been flung open, and every lingering shadow melted away under its blaze.
My body hummed with release, floating on a cloud of satisfaction. A few moments passed, and then I felt Trygg pull away. I opened my eyes to look at him, but found my face turned toward the door. I’d been so absorbed in my pleasure that I’d lost all sense of direction.
Every trace of desire and distraction winked out of me as I focused on the door. It stood wide open. My gaze centered on the stunned figure— on those almond-colored eyes, wide in shock.
I couldn’t look at Trygg as he stood, his furious regard sweeping through me. The icy dread filling my chest came out in a single, stuttering word.
“L-Lukas?”