Chapter Twenty-Two #2
I reach for the soapberry and step onto the bench behind him, returning the favor.
As I lather the suds and work them through his thick hair and fur covered shoulders, I marvel at how his body shifts—not just with threat, but with the world around him.
The heat of the spring coaxes him into something softer, his form relaxing, his edges blurring.
As I knead the tension from his neck and shoulders, I admire just how much his form can change. His skin is slick beneath my fingers where most of the fur has receded. A dusting of white remains, framing his chest, trailing down his abdomen, before thickening into a short crop at his groin.
In the dim glow of the cavern, with his body softened by warmth, I can almost imagine—almost pretend—that he could be human. That we could leave this cave, step into the world beyond these mountains, together.
But even if his size alone didn’t set him apart, one look at his luminous eyes, at the sharp cut of his teeth, and the truth would be undeniable. He is not human. He never could be.
And yet, I still want him.
He melts into my touch as I massage the soap down his back until he lets out a groan and snags me with one massive hand, bringing me to stand in front of him again. Taking the soapberry back from me, he lathers it between his hands, staring into my eyes as he runs them up and down my body.
My skin flushes under his attention, the slippery glide of his fingertips lighting up my nerves as they slide up and over my breasts, then back down along the curve of my belly.
With each pass he brings his hands lower until I’m spreading my legs in anticipation, desperate for him to touch my aching center.
I arch into his hands, breath catching every time he almost gives me what I need—only for him to retreat, teasing, pulling at my pebbled nipples again instead. A huff of frustration escapes me as I shift forward, trying to guide him lower, to where I really want him.
When I reach for his hands, determined to take what I need, he only chuckles and pulls me into him. His breath is warm against my ear, his voice a deep, wicked promise.
“My greedy Winter Star,” he murmurs. “Let me show you again. Let me show you how much you are worth saving.”
I nod, desperate to agree to anything if it means he’ll touch me again.
He tugs me deeper into the pool, pulling me into the unknown. The moon has drifted past the natural skylight, plunging us into shadow. The water, once silvered with light, now swirls black around us.
“It’s dark here,” I whisper shakily, the memory of the avalanche’s crushing blackness pressing in.
Warm hands find my waist, grounding me. His voice is a fierce vow, a lifeline in the dark.
“It is never dark where you are,” he breathes, his grip tightening. “You are the light.”
The earlier feeling in my chest blooms despite my best effort to keep it from flowering.
I can’t stop the tendrils of love from growing, even knowing that I have to end this.
Tomorrow, I’ll leave. I have to. If I stay, I will lose sight of why I came.
Of what I need to do to survive. But gods help me, I don’t want to go. Not yet.
Just one night. One night to pretend.
“Show me. I trust you,” I say with my lips. But in my heart, I whisper, You are my light, too.
He tows me through the deep water where my feet no longer touch the smooth stones, guiding me toward the far side, beneath a thick canopy of foliage. Lifting me effortlessly, he sets me on a broad, flat rock just below the water surface, and presses me back until I’m lying down.
Heat cradles me, the water lapping at my ribs as my head tilts back, ears dipping below the water. Sound muffles, leaving only the steady drum of my heartbeat and the hush of my breath. I float in the warmth, cut off from everything but sensation.
I tilt my head back to keep my nose and mouth just above the surface, letting the hot water cascade over my eyes and ears. The current surrounds me, caressing my arms and legs, while my breasts peek out into the air.
For a flickering second, a shadow of the avalanche presses in—the weight of the cold, the suffocating dark. I keep reminding myself I am warm, I am safe, and Eryon will protect me, yet again. The hot water erases the memory of the cold, and then Eryon’s hands erase the fear.
He trickles warmth over my peaked nipples, dragging a gasp from my lips.
I reposition slightly, keeping my airway just above the surface.
Again and again, the water trails over my flesh, alternating with the teasing pinching and rolling of his fingers.
I can’t see him, can’t hear him, can’t anticipate his next touch—only surrender to feeling.
Then, his mouth is on me, the heat of his tongue sealing around my breast, sucking, nipping, drawing sharp moans from my throat. My thighs part instinctively, my body aching and restless at the unbearable teasing. My hands scrabble at the smooth rock, desperate for more.
Then nothing but silence. Stillness.
A ripple brushes my skin. The slightest shift of water. But before I can react—a hot, wet tongue flicks over my clit, stealing the breath from my lungs.
I jolt, my gasp echoing in my head with my ears still submerged. There’s no warning, no build-up—just the shock of pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming.
Eryon doesn’t give me time to recover. He licks deeper, his tongue gliding down, circling my entrance, teasing before retreating. I writhe, chasing his mouth, but strong hands grip my hips, pinning me in place. Over and over, he alternates, lashing my clit with his tongue and teasing my pussy.
Just as I think I’ll go mad, one large finger thrusts into me, and my breaths turn to pants as he expertly licks me, tongue circling while he drives his finger in and out of my core. But it’s still not enough.
“More,” I plead, barely able to form the word.
He laughs against me, the deep vibration rolling through my belly.
A second finger joins the first, stretching me, filling me, pressing against that devastating spot inside.
I cry out, my body tightening around him, pulling him deeper.
When another finger probes my ass, I know I am going to drown, albeit a very happy woman.
I cry out, my hips jerking against him, but the pleasure stays just on the right side of overwhelming. I’m too wet, too slick, my body yielding to him, taking everything he gives.
The pressure builds higher, sharper. My breath shudders. I can barely keep my mouth and nose above the water as I thrash against the pleasure swallowing me whole. My hips remain pinned, and I can only take the assault of pleasure.
And then—his tongue pushes inside. I choke on a moan. My back arches. The stretch is exquisite, his tongue working alongside his fingers, stroking, tasting, consuming me. The thick muscle is a delicious counterpoint to his questing fingers.
His thumb finds my clit and rubs slow, firm circles that send sparks shooting up my spine. The whole world disappears to coalesce in this one singular focus.
He pushes hard against my clit, and pleasure detonates through me, violent and endless. I convulse, writhing against him as I shatter, the orgasm slamming into me like a tidal wave, pulling me under.
The water surges over my head, muffling everything but the relentless storm of sensation between my legs.
Sight, sound, hell even breathing—none of it matters.
Nothing exists beyond the liquid heat of his mouth, the deep, aching pull of his fingers, the consuming pleasure crackling through every nerve.
It builds, higher, tighter, curling in on itself like a supernova ready to detonate. My body is no longer my own—it belongs to this feeling, to him, to the unstoppable force unraveling me from the inside out.
My lungs are bursting, stars dance in my vision, and I don’t want to come up for air because this is the best damn orgasm, the best damn anything, I’ve ever had in my life.
My limbs are getting heavy, and at any second, I am going to drown.
To surrender. But this will have been worth it.
I drift in relaxed bliss and open my eyes, noting from somewhere far away how the stars ripple and shimmer from below the water’s surface.
Eryon yanks me up out of the water just as I inhale, saving me from choking. Sweet air fills my lungs and, with it, frantic need. I don’t just want him. I fucking need him. If I am his light, he is my very breath.
Still trembling, still drunk on the aftershocks, I launch myself at him, surprising us both. But he catches me, he always catches me, his heat searing against my water-slicked skin.
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to fight this. I only want him. The warmth of his hands, the fire of his mouth, the promise of his body sealing me to the earth. I press against him, breathless, desperate.
“Eryon, I need you,” I pant out between frantic kisses.