I palmed her face, slid my thumbs against her cheeks. “Any rules you won’t break?”
“Only one. Ladies first.”
I was already dragging my shirt over my head. “Where do you want me?”
“On the floor. And leave the jeans on.”
CHAPTER 22
Noa
I wanted him naked in front of the fire—gods, how long had that image tortured my dreams? From the first instant I’d seen him backlit by a fire’s glow, his body cut and muscled, a female wet dream. I’d punished myself with that image, keeping it behind closed eyes as I touched my body, pleasured with laughable inexperience, trying to gain some relief.
There’d been moments since then, when we’d lain naked in front of a fire—most of those moments had happened in this house. We’d been twisted by passion and a mate bond. Caught in a greedy erotic dance that bound us together with hope. But tonight… tonight, something desperate lurked in the dark. A breathless worry, a fleeting premonition, like a lightning bug flashing. Lightning bugs flashed until they died. It was said the flashing led them that much quicker toward the end, but that end—when it came for us—it would be a finish line fit for a phoenix.
Power rising from the ashes.
I wanted him flat on his back. I wanted to drag the jeans from his hips, down his thighs, watch his cock spring to life. I wanted to touch him, feel the heat beneath his skin. Breathe in his scent—pine and snow, wildness and strength.
He was brilliance and decency and honor. He did what no one else would do. A dread lord and alpha. He was the one sane thing in this train wreck of life, and I wanted my mouth on him.
I wanted to hear his voice as he groaned. As he swore with words that turned the air blue. Dirty words that ignited tiny fires in my body. Fires that had me shifting restlessly, growing heavy and open. Pliant and eager.
I wanted his taste on my lips. I wanted to fist his length, take him to the back of my throat. I wanted to wring the pleasure sighs from his parted lips. The passion words I found erotic each time he fought, then lost control. I wanted to push him over the edge, give him the little death, the petite mort. I wanted to drown with him in our destin noir. Pretend time did not exist. No yesterday or tomorrow. No today. Only… this.
Decadence… sensuality… carnality…
Bedisa…
The hunger in his voice unraveled me. I ran my hands over his shoulders, arms, finding the recent scars and pressing my lips, wanting to heal the memories. My fingers clenched, trying to slow time with a strength I didn’t have. Wishing that Fee had altered Grayson’s private wrinkle to allow for time. Because I would drag him there, keep him there until the decades had passed, and all who knew of us had died.
We’d be safe in our private world. But would those we loved survive Amal on their own?
I closed out all thought that wasn’t him. Closed out the witch. The things Julien said. Closed out Amal’s journal. The vampires, the hybrids… Ago.
I would give him this gift, this oblivion, peace. Take him inside my body and cherish him while I could. Offer him solace. Love.
Every stroke of my fingers sparked with the energy I syphoned from the air, the dark, the fire guttering low. Warmth and arousal. His legs shifted as his head rocked from side to side. His fingers clenched at the rug beneath his hips. When I looked at his face, the gorgeous masculinity in him… he was the dark angel descending. All the danger in a dread lord.
I cradled his cock, pressed with my lips. Drew him in, sucked until my cheeks hollowed. Flicked with my tongue as I held him, fisted him, silk over steel. My head moved to a rhythm he set with his breathing. With the rise and fall of his hips. The hoarse male satisfaction in his voice. I’d never understood pleasure the way I experienced it with him. I would never forget it, the craving, the sting. The need breaking through.
The fire, burning…
His fingers tangled in my hair.
Bedisa…
His secret name for me. A sob caught in my throat, while, in my head, what filled me to overflowing was the remnant of the lament. The song sung by Fallon and Anson—the emotions fractured me. The soaring regret. A desperate grasping for a dream that slipped out of reach. Moisture stung my eyes as I held him. As I ran my lips over his throat, his eyes, pressed frantic kisses to his lips.
His hands were racing, racing up and down my back, around my waist as if I was slipping, too. Slipping away the way he was.
He’d said he was claiming me tonight, and I was claiming him. We were ready for each other. His sigil throbbed on my wrist, broken free by a vampire’s kiss. I hoped he felt my sigil hidden in his heart where I’d placed it.
“No more thinking,” he snarled as he scooped me into his arms, stormed into his childhood bedroom where the bed nearly touched both walls.
“Hands on the headboard.” The desire in him vibrated with something dangerous, urgent… despairing. I rocked at the spearing sensations that tore through me. His tongue pushed as he cupped my hips, his fingers pressing each time I jolted, quivered with the intensity. He held me on that edge, pushed me higher and higher until I couldn’t breathe.
Until I flowed into a higher state of pure, captive sensation. Need was a greedy clenching beyond my control. He did that, controlled that, became the master of my body, filling me with sensation as the last restraint fell away.
