Chapter 26 Saskia #2
“Fucking hell, this is the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen,” he whispers to himself when I’m able to take him to hilt. Words flow out from under his breath. “The sunrise lighting up those red lips locked around me. You’re a dream, Saskia.”
I hum appreciatively for him, lost in the sensation of bringing someone else such an immense pleasure. Never before have I wanted to bring someone else immense pleasure. My fingers find my own clit, which makes Lucan moan out my name.
Suddenly, his thighs tense, and he tries to pull himself out of my mouth. I shake my head, wrapping my hand around the base of him to keep him right here.
“Is that what you want?” he asks. “You want to swallow?”
I reluctantly tear my mouth away for a moment. “Yes,” I confirm, and when he hesitates, I practically beg, “Lucan, I want to taste you in a different way.”
He captures my mouth with his for one long kiss where our tongues meet fervently before he guides me by my hair back to the head of his cock.
I brush my lips over him, slick with my saliva. Then it takes only a few strokes before a hoarse sound rips from his chest as he spills into my mouth.
The salty, slightly sweet, and heady taste of him ignites my core. It might even be better than his blood. He shutters when I pull my head back.
“Not yet,” Lucan commands me, tugging on the roots of my hair to tilt my face up to his. “Open.”
I obey.
A smile curves up one side of his face, dark, wild.
“You’re mine.” His thumb dips into my mouth, gathering some of his come that I have on display for him before he runs it over my red lips. “Now swallow.”
His eyes follow every contraction of my throat as I do what he says, and when I lick my lips, he’s already growing hard again.
I stare, but Lucan only chuckles as he slides his pants down and kicks them to the side.
“Werewolves have stamina,” he says, voice low, locking my knees around his hips. “And you make me want to do this for the rest of the eternity we have together.”
His fingers find the hem of the shirt I’m still wearing and slide it up as he plants a kiss on my bare skin with each new body part he exposes: belly button, breasts, sternum, collarbone.
The mood shifts from a lust-filled, desperate need to a lovingly soft caress, a content exhale, like the two pieces of our souls are calling for each other.
“I love you.” His breath skims across my shoulder. “How did I get so lucky that you fell into my arms?”
“And I love you,” I sigh, letting my head fall back as his lips pull my sensitive nipple into his mouth. “I love you because I want to. Because I choose to.”
His callused hands work over my breasts, then cup around my waist to lift me up and bring me down onto him. With adoration clouding his eyes, he kisses me, hard, a sound echoing in his throat as I slide down fully.
“Lucan,” I moan into his mouth, completely satiated.
Wrapping one hand around the back of my neck and the other around my ass cheek, he presses his forehead against mine.
My fingers lace through his hair before I lift myself, angling to hit the perfect spot, and come back down with a sigh. Lucan and I find the perfect pace as we work together.
With each up and down movement of my hips, our souls converge like a whisper of unsaid words: I love you. I love you. I love you.
I’ve found my strength, my world, my own personal Wall that doesn’t lock me in but builds me up. And everything I can’t say in this second, I say with my eyes.
Nose to nose, we can’t look anywhere else but at each other as our breaths become labored. Two opposites, two natural-born mortal enemies, blending together as one.
When we’ve regained enough strength, Lucan gets to his feet, tinkers around at the water bucket, and comes back with a wet kitchen towel.
He swipes the warm cloth along my inner thighs as I watch silently, reveling in the softness that’s such a contrast to his rough nature.
“What?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head, biting back a smile. “Nothing.”
“Taking care of you is the bare minimum, even as a Monster,” he huffs playfully under his breath as my eyes wander to the oven.
The little black spiraled handle juts out from the tiny door, soot covering the now-opaque window.
“Will you teach me how to cook?” I ask suddenly.
Lucan arches a brow, smothering a smirk. “Is this a backgammon, poker, ‘men love to teach women things’ thing? What information are you trying to pry out of me?”
“No,” I laugh. “It’s a meals-through-a-door-slat-my-entire-life thing.”
His canines freeze in a grin as realization flickers over his face.
I’m not human anymore, but just this once, I want to pretend to be one—to experience the things I should have had the opportunity to experience before the Guardians took that away from me.
Not just the thrilling whirlwind of drinking and dancing, but simple moments like these.
Cooking in a kitchen together, as if we’re not two types of monsters trying to tear down a Wall. ..
And besides, he still needs to eat, even if I don’t.
“Okay,” Lucan says finally, pupils hardening in determination. “Then I’m going to teach you how to make the best damn breakfast in the world.”
After he tosses the towel in the washroom, we both scrub our hands with clean water before he starts pulling things out of a square container packed with snow and ice: a glass jug of milk, a dozen oval-shaped objects stacked carefully in a basket, and a yellow, waxy-looking substance on a platter.
One after the other, Lucan switches to the cabinet and plunks the remaining items down in a row on the counter.
“What are all these?” I ask, eyes wide.
He holds up the basket with a confused pinch of his brows. “Eggs?”
“Oh. So that’s what they look like!” I’ve eaten eggs, of course, but I’ve always seen them as pale yellow scrambles. Not these delicate, oval objects, speckled and untouched and perfect. At the incredulous look on Lucan’s face, I point to the platter with a sly smile. “And what about that?”
“For fuck’s sake, they didn’t even give you butter in there?” Lucan exclaims, massaging his temples. “We hand-churn cream to separate the butter from the buttermilk. Merrick’s father is the best at making it in Veradel.”
“And what’s that?” I point at the glass jug, smirking as Lucan’s face deepens a shade, anger palpable in the twitch of his jaw. “I’m just kidding. Don’t blow a gasket. I know what butter and milk are.”
“Oh, you wicked thing.” Before I can blink, Lucan dips his finger in the soft yellow butter and swipes it down the bridge of my nose.
The next thing I know, my vampiric senses take over me in a competitive race to best the male who should be my enemy. I grab a handful of butter and smash it into his face.
“Oops,” I say when he blinks through the slick, greasy substance sliding down his features.
Then we’re both bursting into laughter, Lucan burrowing his face into my neck.
“We’re going to make fried eggs,” he tells me, planting buttery kisses down my collarbone. “It’s the superior way of making and eating them.”
“Fried eggs,” I repeat breathily, trying to sound serious. “Eggs that are fried. Got it.” I frown at them, though. “There aren’t any baby birds in these, are there?”
Settling next to me at the counter, Lucan grabs a large bowl, then an egg, and holds it up in front of our faces.
“No. These come from my mother’s female chickens, which she keeps separate from the males. So they’re not fertilized. I can show you her coop after this, if you want.” Catching my eye as I grimace, he hooks a finger under my chin in understanding. “Hey, you’re not in there anymore.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“And you don’t have to feel guilty for being out here. Living your life. You’re doing everything in your power as fast as you can do it. You’re making a difference, but you’re also allowed to enjoy yourself. You only get to experience this life once.”
He’s right. I’m not sitting idly by. A little bit of warmth replaces the chill when I choose to smile.
“And right now,” I say eagerly as I watch him, “I want to experience cracking an egg.”
“Okay. So here’s what you’re going to do.” After Lucan settles an iron pan onto the stove and lights a match beneath it, he gently taps one of the eggs against the edge of the pan and uses his thumb to separate the shell, until the interior plops inside in a perfect circle. “Now your turn.”
Gingerly, he places another egg in my outstretched palm. I take a deep breath…
He chuckles.
I glare at him, my determination solidifying, before I tap the egg against the side of the pan just like he did, press my thumbs lightly against the crack—and it completely crumbles.
Egg shells and gooey yellow and clearish liquid ooze out from between my fingers.
I pout, but Lucan only grins.
“Not used to that strong vampire body.” He winks. “It’s fine. No one saw. Try again.”
My next two attempts don’t go any better, but I focus on the pressure of my fingers, how much strength I can exert through them, and finally on my third try, I successfully crack one open cleanly.
The yolk, as Lucan calls it, slides into the pan perfectly intact, suspended in the egg whites. Beaming, I raise my head to find that his smile matches mine.
“Again,” he says, and I do it one more time, until there’s three perfect eggs sitting in the pan. The fire crackles beneath it and soon, I watch, mystified, as the eggs begin to sizzle and form golden edges, bubbling in the orangish middle.
“Now for the best part,” he says, bringing out two little glass shakers from the cupboard, one filled with what looks like white sand, and the other black sand. “I save salt and pepper for special occasions, because they’re hard to come by.”
“Are you saying I’m a special occasion?” I joke.
“I hope not,” he tells me seriously. “I hope you’re a forever occasion.”
Forever. It’s a real possibility for us, now that I know I’m not fossilizing. We don’t just have a few years left together, but all of eternity.