We groan into each other’s mouths. The surrounding flames crackle and sputter. My thighs ride his movements, our waists bumping.
It’s too much. It’s too little.
My fingernails travel from his backside to cleave his lower spine, laced with perspiration. Reflexively, Cerulean delves deeper, harder. I whine, my head lashing.
He takes the opportunity to twist his head and suck on the flesh between my clavicles. Of their own accord, my knees vault higher, my hips meeting every thrust.
The wind flails about, because here we are, in this park, in this wild, teetering on the brink. In a sudden hurry, Cerulean urges me backward. I unwind, draping myself across the mossy rock and linking my ankles around his waist.
Cerulean pins my wrists above my head, looms over me, and attacks with sharp shallow thrusts. I give a shout, and he matches that shout with his own, his cock whipping into me. The momentum increases, along with the octave of our moans.
His waist lunges forward with abandon, and my back ruts into the surface. I knead his ass, burrowing him more, more, more. Revolving beneath him changes the angle of his entrance, so that I pump upward as he pumps downward. Our pelvises crash together, and my legs fall apart.
“Fuck,” he grates out, his muscles tensing. “Lark.”
“Don’t,” I wheeze, grabbing his face. “Not yet.”
He clenches his eyes shut, fighting the climax as he swings his hips into me. He lets go of my wrists and flattens his palms on the boulder, caging me in. My head arches, and my back arches, taking each punch of his waist.
Cerulean’s eyelids fly open, his gaze landing on me. His open mouth hovers over mine, on the verge of a kiss. Yet he can’t, and I can’t.
But we have to. We need to let go, or we’ll break each other.
I grasp his snapping hips, the flesh dripping with sweat. He clasps the back of my head and covers my sobs with his mouth. Our lips mimic the rhythm of his thrusts. But I don’t want it to end like this, not walloping across this rock. I want us charging into clouds, into the stars.
I squirm until Cerulean understands. He twines his arm around my back and hoists me to a sitting position, where he stands within my splayed thighs. We wrap ourselves around one another and heave upward, his cock surging into my wetness. My inner walls tighten, the clutch of my body taking him in, taking him, taking it. His length spasms, pounding into me, fucking into me, the tip hitting a threshold.
We chase that peak, chase it. We climb higher, higher.
Our bodies stiffen. The friction gathers at my center, blood coursing to where he tenses inside me. We pause, then spring off that ledge. Our groins contort around one another, warmth exploding from where we’re joined.
We fling back our heads. I cry out my orgasm while Cerulean comes with a holler. The frantic sounds mingle into one, the wind sweeping them away.
28
The flight ends. We slump against one another in a nest of sweaty arms and limbs. Our sluggish breaths merge with a canary’s lullaby, cast from someplace in the boughs, the birdsong distinct from what I’m used to hearing. It’s richer and brighter than a dozen bells, the notes layering over one another, soothing me from the inside out.
A blanket of air merges with the trees. The sweet, musky scent of perspiration floats into my nostrils.
Cerulean burrows his head into the crook of my throat, and I sail my fingers over his damp scalp. This happened. It happened with a Fae who’s lived in my heart for so long, and I don’t have one damn regret.
His husky lilt travels across my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I mumble, the word limp on my tongue.
I’m not all right, because this wasn’t all right, because it had to end. I don’t want it to be over, not ever. He’d worn the shit out of me.
Cerulean chuckles, his naked body shaking with mirth. The texture of his laughter brushes my skin, the sound akin to something released from a stopper, something that’s grown headier, more flavorful and potent with age. Something invaluable.
He tilts his head, gazing at me with a measure of trust that crawls inside my stomach. A captivated shade of blue saturates those irises, making him appear younger. I like this look much better on him, the look of someone with earnest blood running through his veins.
I’ve always assumed that Faeries don’t have hearts, not the way humans do. Not authentic ones, with the ability to care for beings other than themselves. But here he is, shattering that assumption.
Cerulean straightens. His arms weave around my middle, my legs still encasing him. “I’ve thought about you every day since that forge,” he whispers. “You planted a seed, but I wasn’t until after I left you that I fell in love. You made my heart beat at a new pace.”
It’s everything I want to hear, too good to be true. “We were tykes,” I say, charting his lower back.
He pecks my lips. “I believe there are endless of ways to love. It comes in many shapes and across many timelines—some short, some long—from a multitude of diverse bonds and encounters. I think what I felt for you was but one way.” He angles his head, the torches illuminating his frown. “How did you feel?”
