Chapter Forty-Four #2
“Yes, god yes, Talen, don't fucking stop—” I cry as my head drops back.
“Mmm,” he growls against me, the vibration shooting straight through my core.
“For two fucking months, since the ball, since that night, all I’ve thought about is this—” His tongue drags slow, deep, claiming.
“—you, saying my name like that while I’m buried between your thighs.
” He sucks again, hard enough to make my hips jerk.
“That sound you make?” His voice breaks, rough and low. “I dream about it every goddamn night.”
Fuck, I'm not even going to make it to the Second-year Trials; this is going to kill me first.
And he just keeps going. Same motion, same pressure. Over and over. Driving me higher and higher. My chest works in fast, uneven pulls. I roll into him, and with it, he matches me. The rhythm of his tongue syncing to each tight inhale, each desperate exhale.
And just when I feel like I can't take any more, just as my lungs start hitching, his fingers drive inside. One at first, then followed by another. Hot. Slick. Perfect. They curl just right, pressing toward the front wall, and my whole body arches with it.
He moans against me, like he feels it too. “Thorn, come for me, please, fuck—”
I try to hold on. Try to fight it.
But I can’t.
It builds fast, hard, pressure wound so tight it hurts. My legs shake, voice gone, every nerve screaming for release.
One more flick of his tongue, and everything inside me pulls taut—tight as wire—then snaps.
The first wave crashes through me, ripping a sound from my throat I don’t recognise. Then another. And another. Each deeper. Crueller. Better.
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. All I can do is ride the storm out, hands knotted in his hair as my hips roll, press into him aching for more.
I can’t stop.
He doesn’t let me.
His fingers stay inside, deep and pulsing, curling just enough to hold me there—right on the edge of bliss and wreckage—Driving me through it, past it, into something else entirely.
Too much.
Too good.
Too fucking perfect.
The second climax doesn’t tear through me; it ignites.
White hot, like lightning splitting bone, so sharp and sudden my head tips back, hands flying out to the sheets like I need to hold on to something solid.
A raw, guttural sound rips free, and god, I swear I feel him grin against me.
The world flickers, sound drops out, time stalls. For a breathless second, there’s nothing but the sparks pulsing between my legs and the pressure of his mouth on me.
Then—It softens, spreads, bleeding out from the centre of me, slow and molten. My limbs go loose, boneless, as if I’ve been untied from myself. Legs slipping from his shoulders, fingers unclenching from the sheets.
Still, he doesn’t move right away. He lingers, mouth brushing soft kisses along the inside of my thigh, coaxing the tension from me with every slow press.
Only when my lungs settle does he slip his fingers free, the drag over hypersensitive skin making my hips jolt. Then finally, he sits back, exhales, and the smile that pulls at the left corner of his mouth isn’t smug—it’s satisfied.
“Fuck.” He breathes, voice shredded as he drags a hand across his lips. “You coming around my mouth like that?” Jaw flexes, eyes ruined, wrecked. “I could’ve stayed there all night.”
The words land like a match to tinder. Need blooming low and fast as his gaze trails down my body, then back up. Without thinking, my thighs shift, opening wider against him, hips already aching again, despite everything he just gave me.
He watches the change—eyes darkening like he feels it too.
Then he moves, easing over me, the mattress dips beneath his weight as his face comes level with mine.
For a moment, he pauses, chest hovering just above me—broad, bare, rising hard with every inhale.
I can feel the warmth of him radiating against my ribs.
“Are you sure?” He asks, shifting higher as his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
My chest tightens. I don’t nod, I reach for him instead—fingers dragging up his arms, nails grazing his skin.
“Yes,” I whisper, throat tight. “God, yes.”
I don’t want to wait any longer, I want him, all of him, now.
He fumbles with the button of his trousers, his hands shaking with need, and I can barely breathe as I watch him drag them off.
And then—with one long, hard, searing stroke, he thrusts into me.
My body arches up to take him, stretched and greedy, and the cry that rips from my throat is instantly swallowed by his mouth—tongue sliding over mine just as he drives back in, the thick, solid length of him filling me whole.
Fuck, I’m never going to get enough of this—of him. The shape. The stretch. The drag of every inch as he sinks in deep. Each stroke punching pleasure through me—molten, blood-roaring—dragging me under with every thrust.
One of his hands slides up behind my neck, fingers threading into my hair, coaxing my head back with a gentle tug. Then his mouth is on my throat—hot breath, grazing teeth, the edge of a bite—just as his hips snap forward, driving into me again.
“You feel so fucking good.” He moans against my skin, loud and raw, the sound ripping straight through me. “Tell me if it’s too much. If anything feels off, your magic... pull me back.”
“Don't you dare stop,” I gasp, “just, more, I need more—”
His mouth curves against my throat, then he slams into me again, harder. I cry out, it’s deep and desperate as his body drives forward, every thrust a jolt of pleasure that rips up my spine and leaves me gasping for more.
“Right here?” He asks, pressing in further, until the friction catches in that maddening place that makes my vision narrow.
I gasp, voice breaking as his mouth trails lower, lips brushing over the swell of my breast. My nipples harden under the rough drag of his tongue.
He sets the rhythm—hard, precise, merciless—and god, I chase it, hips moving to meet his like my body’s forgotten how to do anything else. It’s a perfect, punishing tempo, each stroke grinding deeper, pulling sounds from me I don’t recognise.
The world narrows to this, his body, his pace, the brutal, beautiful pleasure tearing through me.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “Let me feel you come apart around me.”
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. My back arches. Everything inside me’s pulling taut, pleasure at every pulse-point, nerves splintering with need.
I need more. I need him everywhere. The bed creaks beneath me as my legs slide up his back, wrapping tight, angling my hips to take him deeper—to take all of him.
My moans come fast now, breaking open with each thrust, each drag of his thick length inside me. It doesn’t take much. The tension’s already there—coiled tight from before, and now it’s flaring again, fast and burning like he’s stoked embers I didn’t even realise were still alight.
“Talen, don’t stop, I’m so clo—”
His mouth swallows my words as he grinds down deeper, harder, hips rolling over mine in a rhythm that feels like worship. Like release. My chest tightens on a shaky pull, back arches.
Until suddenly—
A low, guttural groan tears from my chest—thick and unrestrained—nothing like the breathless gasps from my orgasms before. This one roots itself in me, slow and molten, rolling through my entire body like it’s dragging my soul with it.
I cling to him, his mouth on mine, legs locked around his hips, nails digging into his back. Every inch of me tightens around him, and I swear I feel his whole body go still.
“Lyra, fuck—” He grits, hips stuttering. “You feel like—” He doesn’t finish. Can’t. Because he’s gone too. He thrusts once, twice more—and then groans, head dropping to my shoulder, body shaking with it.
For a second, we just lie there, chests still rising hard, his body pressed to mine like he hasn’t decided if he can move yet. My legs are shaking. His arms are trembling. Every part of me aches, in a good way.
Then—slowly—he sinks on to his right forearm, fully supporting his weight. His left hand lifts, fingers brushing beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. Our eyes meet. Then he leans in, slow, and kisses me.
His lips just barely touch mine at first, a gentle press, light as breath. I inhale deep as another kiss follows, just as soft, slower this time. Like he’s learning the shape of my mouth, letting me feel every part of it.
It’s tender, delicate. Nothing like before, no urgency, no fire. And for a heartbeat, everything else drops away—just his warmth, his lips, his mouth on mine.
And god, it’s enough to undo me all over again.
“That’s how I wanted to kiss you for the first time.” He murmurs as he finally leans back.
For a beat longer he stays there, dark hazel eyes locked on mine. Then finally he shifts, rolling to my side, one arm thrown over his head as the other rakes through his hair. He lets out a long, shaky breath.
“Shit.” His voice low, wrecked. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bloom.”
My hips shift as I roll on to my side to face him, my arm brushing the bare skin of his.
Around us, the candlelight flickers low, throwing gold across his chest, catching in the messy tangle of his waves falling over his brow—sun-kissed at the tips, too soft for someone who could kill three men without breaking a sweat.
“You know.” I murmur. “You look nothing like your parents.”
He huffs a soft laugh, fingers curling around a strand of my hair. “Wow,” he mocks wounded. “Three orgasms in, and you bring up my parents? Really setting the mood here.”
I blush. “No, I mean, I’ve seen them before, giving speeches in the Air Realm. I guess I’m just surprised how different you look.”
“Good different?” he asks, one brow lifting.
I lean in, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. “Good different,” I whisper.
I start to roll away, but his arm slips around my waist, pulling me back in. He kisses me again—slower this time, lingering—then lets me go with a sigh, like he’s not quite ready to.