Chapter 15 Cyrene #2
This time when we kissed, it was slower.
Deeper. A claiming and a surrender all at once.
His hand slid along my ribs, settling at my waist, his fingertips stroking circles that made me arch into him.
Every touch was a question, every sigh an answer, as we learned the language of each other’s desire.
The past and present collided in that kiss, the memory of the so-called wizard who’d looked at me with wonder merging with the reality of the king who held me like I was his salvation.
Six years of longing, of searching, of carrying pieces of each other without knowing it.
All of it crystallized into this perfect moment.
When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, his eyes had gone completely dark.
“You’re incredibly sweet,” he whispered, tracing my kiss-swollen lips with his fingertip. “I don’t deserve you.”
I caught his hand, kissing his palm. “That’s not for you to decide.”
His laugh was shaky, disbelieving. Then he kissed me again, and I lost myself in the taste of him, in the certainty settling into my bones that this was what I’d been waiting for all along.
I melted into him, into the heat building between us with every brush of his lips. His hand slid from my waist to my ribcage, his fingers stroking beneath my breast in slow, maddening circles that made me arch toward him.
“Can I—” His voice broke. He cleared his throat, tried again. “May I touch you?”
The formality of it, the careful control even as his body trembled against mine, made something clench low in my belly. “Yes.”
His palm curved over my breast, and we both gasped. Even through my gown, the sensation was overwhelming. He explored me, learning the shape of me, the weight of me in his hand. When his fingers brushed across my nipple, I whimpered.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmured against my mouth. “So perfect.”
He kissed me as his hands continued their exploration, and I lost myself in the dual sensations of his tongue stroking mine while his fingers teased and caressed until I was panting and writhing beneath him.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes had gone darker than midnight. His gaze dropped to where his hand rested on my breast, then tracked lower, taking in the length of my body beneath him.
His clothing had become beautifully disheveled. His hair was mussed from my fingers, the first few buttons of his shirt had come undone, revealing a glimpse of collarbone and chest. My immaculate vampire king had been transformed into something wilder, more dangerous, and infinitely more appealing.
My own appearance must have been equally telling. My elaborate hairstyle hanging in loose tendrils around my face. My gown wrinkled where his hands had gripped the fabric. I could feel the flush spreading from my cheeks down my neck to my chest.
We were two people who’d finally stopped pretending they didn’t desperately want each other.
His gaze tracked the path of my blush, his pupils dilating further. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now? How many nights I’ve dreamed of seeing you like this, all flushed and wanting only for me?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat, mesmerized by the hunger in his expression.
“I want to see you.” The aching honesty in his voice made my pulse race. “All of you.”
“I want that more than anything.”
He sat back on his heels, giving me space to sit up. His hands went to the fastenings of my gown, but they shook so badly he fumbled the first button.
“I’ve got it.” I reached up to help, but he caught my hands.
His throat worked. “I’ve imagined this so many times. Let me do this for you.”
How could I deny him when he looked at me like he’d die if he didn’t continue?
I lowered my hands, and he returned to the buttons, working them open with painstaking care. Each one revealed more skin, and his eyes tracked every bit of it with an intensity that made me feel beautiful, wanted in a way I’d never experienced before.
When he reached the last button, he paused. His gaze lifted to mine, asking permission one more time.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He eased the fabric from my shoulders, sliding it down my arms. The gown pooled at my waist, and I was bare before him from the waist up, wearing only my thin undergarment. The cool air made my nipples peak.
Kieran’s breath left him in a rush. “Cyrene. You’re—I don’t have words.”
He unfastened the tiny buttons on the front of my undergarment and parted it.
Leaning back on his heels, his eyes roamed over me with appreciation.
He took in every freckle, every curve, every scar that made me uniquely myself.
His gaze paused on the crescent-shaped birthmark below my left breast, then moved to the thin silver scar across my ribs.
He traced it with gentle fingers, his touch asking a question.
“Cauldron explosion,” I said softly. “I was nine and decided I knew better than the elders.”
His mouth curved. “You were headstrong even then.”
“I prefer determined.”
“You were perfect even then.” Leaning down, he kissed the old scar. “Perfect now.”
The air caught in my lungs. He was seeing the real Cyrene beneath the royal trappings and witch queen title. The woman with scars and freckles and flaws. And he was looking at me as if I truly was everything he’d ever need.
“You’re trembling,” I said.
“I’m terrified I’ll wake up and find this is a dream.” His hands hovered over my skin, not quite touching. “That you’ll disappear like you did six years ago.”
I caught his hands and placed them on my waist. “I’m real. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhaled, then eased the gown down over my hips until it whispered to the floor. His eyes darkened further as he took in the sight of me in just my undergarment, the thin fabric leaving little to the imagination.
A tremor ran through him. “I need you to know that I’ve never—” He shook his head. “In six years, there’s been no one. Not once. After I met you, I couldn’t look at anyone else. I tried to forget, to move on when I couldn’t find you, but—” He drew a shaky breath. “You ruined me for everyone else.”
This powerful, beautiful man, desired by many, had kept himself only for me even when he thought he’d never find me again.
“There’s been no one for me either. I told myself it was because I was focused on my magic, on my sisters and grandmother. But the truth is, no one ever measured up to the memory of those three days with you.”
His eyes flared with satisfaction, with hunger, and with a bone-deep relief that echoed through our bond.
“Mine,” he whispered. “As I am completely yours.”
His fingers caught the top of my undergarment, and he looked up at me.
“Please.”
He slid it away, and then I was completely bare, vulnerable in a way that should’ve terrified me but didn’t. Not with the way he was looking at me.
“Gorgeous,” he breathed. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”
Then his mouth was on mine again, and I gasped at the sensation of his clothed body against my naked one, the contrast of textures overwhelming. His shirt was soft against my breasts, his trousers rough against my thighs. I tugged at his collar, wanting to feel his skin on mine.
He pulled back long enough to yank his tunic over his head and toss it aside. Then we were skin to skin, and the sensation stole my breath.
He was beautiful. All muscle and surprisingly warm for a vampire. But, then, he was a born vampire, not one created by full blood draining, a rarity in my world.
I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his chest, mapping the planes and angles of him while he watched me with hooded eyes.
“My turn to tremble,” I said.
“You have no idea what you do to me.” He lowered his head, pressing kisses along my jaw, down my throat. “What you’ve always done to me.”
His mouth found the hollow of my collarbone, and I arched into him. He kissed lower, across my chest, and when his lips closed around my nipple, I cried out.
“Stop?” The word vibrated against my skin.
“No. Don’t.”
He lavished attention on my breasts, his mouth hot and demanding as he sucked and licked, using his teeth enough to make me gasp without causing pain. His hand came up to cup my other breast, his thumb circling my nipple in time with the pulls of his mouth.
Magic sparked across my skin in heavy waves, responding to my arousal. It tangled with his darker energy, creating patterns that danced through the room like living light.
He switched sides, giving my other breast the same thorough attention while his hand trailed lower, skimming over my ribs, my belly. My hips lifted of their own accord, seeking his touch.
“Patience, sweet one,” he whispered against my skin. “I want to savor every inch of you.”
His mouth followed the path his hand had taken, kissing across my belly and down to my hip bone. Each press of his lips was a brand, a claim. He shifted lower on the bed, settling between my thighs, and I suddenly realized his intention.
Heat flooded my face even as desire coiled tighter in my core.
He looked up at me, his eyes blazing with want, but he didn’t move. Waiting for permission. Always waiting, always asking, even when I could feel through the bond how desperately he needed this.
“Cyrene.” His breath ghosted over my inner thigh, making me shiver. “Let me taste you. Let me give you this.”
“I—” My voice broke. “I need you.”
Something fierce and triumphant flashed in his eyes. “Then I’ll give you what you need.”
He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, then another higher up. His hands slid under my hips, tilting me toward him, and then his mouth was on me, and I forgot how to breathe.
The first stroke of his tongue was electric, making sensations spiral through me. He focused on my clit, circling it slowly, learning what made me gasp and what made me moan. His hands tightened on my hips, holding me steady as I tried to arch into his mouth.
“So sweet,” he growled between strokes. “Better than I imagined.”