Page 32 of Off with Her Head
Scarlett turns to me, those green-blue eyes searching mine. "I meant what I said in the carriage," she says softly. "I refuse to accept that either of us will be lost. There must be another way."
"What if there isn't?" I ask the question that has haunted me since the mirror's vision. "What if sacrifice is the only path forward?"
Her hand wraps around my waist, drawing me closer. Her touch sends magic coursing between us. "We’ll face it when the time comes.Together."
The word carries weight, a promise neither of us might be able to keep. Yet, I find myself leaning into her touch, drawing strength from our connection.
Our foreheads touch, and I feel the barriers between us—thosecarefulwalls I've maintained so well over the years—dissolve completely. The magic flowing between us becomes overwhelming, no longer merely a trickle but a raging tide.
Scarlett's mouth finds mine, and her tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant. I raise my hands to cradle her face, fingers tangling in those fiery curls I've admired since our first meeting. The silken strands wind around my fingers as if they’re alive.
"Stay with me," she whispers against my mouth, her breath warm and sweet. "Just for a while, before they call us back."
I answer by kissing her again, deeper this time, letting my body speak what words cannot fully express. My tongue slides against hers, tasting the essence that is uniquely Scarlett—spiced honey and something unidentifiable yet wild that reminds me of Underland itself. My fingers trace the intricate embroidery of her gown, mapping the contours beneath, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the stiff brocade. The air around us shimmers with magic—red and black energies intertwining, just like the roses in her garden.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe against her as we move deeper into her chambers, past the receiving area to her private bedroom, leaving a trail of hairpins and jewelry in our wake. She’s so fucking beautiful. Her hair flows down her back in a mess of waves and curls, making her look more human and less of the feared queen she forces herself to be.
Her smile in response is radiant, genuine in a way rarely seen from the formidable Queen of Hearts. She begins to unfasten the complicated clasps of my gown, her fingers deft and sure. I shiver as they brush against my spine, each point of contactsending sparks of magic skittering across my skin. I return the favor, finding the hidden hooks that hold her elaborate dress in place, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of skin. Goosebumps rise along her flesh, making the small hairs on her arms stand up.
Layer by layer, we shed the armor of our titles—the heavy brocades and stiff corsetry that announce our royal status to the world. Her stays fall away, revealing full breasts tipped with dusky rose nipples that harden under my heated gaze. My gown pools at my feet, followed by the thin shift beneath, leaving me bare before her hungry eyes. Beneath it all, we are simply women, our skin warm and alive with magic that dances visibly between us.
Scarlett guides me to her bed, the crimson sheets cool against my skin. I've imagined this moment countless times since our connection began forming, yet reality surpasses fantasy. Her hair falls around us like a curtain of fire as she leans over me, her naked body pressing against mine. The weight of her is exquisite, grounding me as the magic threatens to sweep us both away. Her eyes reflect the magic that dances between us, pupils dilated with desire.
"I can feel you," she murmurs, tracing a finger along my collarbone, down between my breasts, leaving a trail of tingling skin in its wake. "Not just physically, but here." She taps her temple, then her chest, directly over her heart.
I understand exactly what she means. As her hands and mouth explore my body, I sense not only my own pleasure but echoes of hers, a feedback loop of sensation that intensifies with each touch. When my fingers find the swell of her breast, cupping its perfect weight, brushing my thumb across the tightened peak, the gasp that escapes her lips resonates within me as well. The pleasure doubles—hers flowing into me, mine into her.
We’re slow, taking time to be in the moment rather than rush to the end. I learn her body as intimately as my own—where to touch to make her breath catch, how to move to draw forth the soft sounds that vibrate against my skin. My fingers trace the curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, mapping her body. Her thigh slides between mine, creating delicious pressure where I need it most.
“Scarlett,” I moan, letting my head fall back.
Without taking her eyes off mine, she uses her mouth to trace patterns across my chest. When her lips close around my nipple, tongue swirling in deliberate circles, I arch beneath her, a moan tearing from my throat. Her teeth graze the sensitive peak, sending shockwaves of pleasure directly to my core. I feel like I’m coming undone. I’m losing control, and I’m beginning to realize there’s no one else I’d rather get lost with.
"You're exquisite," I breathe, watching the flush spread across her cheeks.
The magic builds between us with each caress, visible now—tendrils of red and black energy weaving around our entwined forms, caressing our skin as tangibly as our hands do. Scarlett's mouth blazes a trail down my stomach, her tongue dipping into my navel before continuing lower. Her hands push my thighs wider, exposing me completely to her gaze. I feel no vulnerability, only anticipation, trust, and desperateneed.
When her tongue makes first contact with my center, I cry out, fingers clutching the sheets beneath me. She explores me thoroughly, reading my body’s responses as easily as if they were her own. Her tongue circles my clit before flicking directly across it, sending jolts of pleasure through my entire body.
Her fingers trace my entrance, gathering the evidence of my desire before slowly pressing inside. The feeling of fullness, of connection, is overwhelming. Magic surges between us, the visible tendrils pulsing in time with her thrusts. When she curlsher fingers forward, finding the spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, I cry out, lacing my fingers through her hair. Our magic races through us both, and I hear her come undone with me. She’s feeling everything she’s doing to me.
I pull her up to me, needing to taste her lips, to share breath as our bodies share pleasure. The taste of myself on her tongue is intoxicating. My hand slides between us, finding the slick heat between her thighs. She gasps into my mouth as my fingers slip through her folds, circling her most sensitive point before dipping lower to enter her. She grinds against my hand, moaning softly as she moves. Each stroke, each caress is magnified by our connection. And I feel it too. There’s another orgasm building, driven forward with each touch.
Our movements grow more urgent, guided by instinct and the connection that allows me to anticipate her needs before she voices them. I curl my fingers inside her, matching the rhythm she set for me, my thumb rubbing against her clit. Our foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, eyes locked as we climb toward release.
When she trembles against me, I hold her closer, my lips pressed to her throat where I can feel her pulse racing beneath my mouth. Her inner muscles clench around my fingers, her entire body shuddering with pleasure.
"Let go," I murmur against her skin. "I have you."
Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable in a way I've never seen before. Then she surrenders—to pleasure, to our connection, to the transformation occurring within and around us. The wave of her release crashes through me as well, triggering my second climax. Our shared magic crests in brilliant purple light that momentarily illuminates the entire chamber, lifting us both briefly from the bed as if gravity itself has surrendered to our union.
We collapse together, limbs entwined, skin slick with sweat, breathing ragged. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through us both, each one shared through our connection. The magic settles around us like a blanket, still visible but gentler now, pulsing lazily with our gradually slowing heartbeats.
As we lie together afterward, our breathing synchronizing naturally, I trace idle patterns on her bare shoulder. The hybrid roses in the vase beside her bed have fully bloomed, their petals unfurling to reveal hearts that pulse with the same purple energy that surrounded us at our peak. The air is thick with the scent of them—spicy and sweet, like blood and honey mingled.
"Do you still think sacrifice is inevitable?" Scarlett asks quietly, her fingers laced with mine.
I consider the question seriously, weighing the evidence of our unified magic against the mirror's prophecy. "I don't know," I admit finally. "But I'm beginning to believe there might be another interpretation of 'falling.' Perhaps it doesn't mean death or loss, but..." I gesture to our still-glowing skin, the visible manifestation of our powers. "Surrender. Becoming something new together."
