On a raspy hum, Cerulean plunges in fully. Prying my lips apart, his tongue slips through and lashes at mine. I whimper into the kiss, meeting the flat of that tongue with rampant flicks of my own.
Dammit, he tastes of blackthorn wine and rainfall. Our tongues pump to a delirious rhythm, whipping into each other. Again and again and again, we split our mouths wide and then cinch tight. My body flares to life, the brushfire searing me from the inside out.
I’m kissing one of them. I’m kissing a Fae.
I’m kissinghim.
My thoughts dissolve. The world turns to smoke. I’m lost. I’m found. His mouth is a mistake, and each of my whines is a failure. And it’s intrusive, and it’s intoxicating, and it’s unfair, and it’s fatal.
And it’s safe. By some calculating twist of magic, it’s safe.
Because of that, it’s the worst kiss I’ve ever known.
The erratic, windswept embrace drives the oxygen from my lungs. Every flex of his tongue is a bittersweet penetration that nudges tears at the corners of my eyes. I know where they’re coming from, but I hold them in while opening to him.
We tilt in the opposite direction. His mouth snatches mine, the relentless tug of our lips pulling sounds from us both. My blood throbs, gathering to a breaking point in my pelvis. I’m wetter from this kiss than I’ve ever been while spread around a man.
Time for me to take over. Licking my way into that disorderly, dark place inside him, I feel Cerulean unhinge completely. A pleasured noise leaps from his throat, and I swallow the vibration.
We show no signs of letting up. Every touch, every taste increases the craving, failing to satisfy. And that’s how we lose our damn minds.
I take more. I give more. I want more.
I can’t remember where my hands have gone. They’ve vanished in the nest of his hair. His restless palm leaves my ass and joins the other at my skull, fixing me in place as his mouth clamps on to me.
The wind flails around us. The kiss spirals out of control.
We pitch ourselves into the unknown, our tongues melting, keening. I’m riled up, fed up, darting in and out of his mouth. He sweeps within mine, stoking a place that has us shaking from head to toe.
All at once, we mimic the pace of another act. The kissing begins to feel like fucking. The furious clash of enemies, coupled with the fated bonding of mates. That sweet but stressed rotation of hips. The deep, churning thrust of bodies. Unable to stand it, my hips grind against his stiff length.
Cerulean tears his mouth away. He whispers something inarticulate, the tone accusatory. The black moons of his pupils eclipse the irises, brilliant and brutal. They dip to my swollen mouth, and I do the same, eager to lick the dark blue flesh.
This turning point is so awful, so good. Though we haven’t even started yet. It’s nothing compared to what I’m aching to do, nothing compared to what he does next, and nothing compared to my response.
He sinks teeth into my bottom lip. Those ivories skim the ledge of my mouth, a sizzling path that teases me to madness. That’s what this kiss is—it’s madness and mayhem, mischief and magic.
It’s a memory, so very new and so very old. It’s forbidden and familiar, a flurry of pain and desire, innocence and corruption.
When I grunt for more, he denies me. So I nip his flesh, where his upper lip bows high. We keep doing this, straying around one another. Our mouths drift, our teeth nick.
I should mumble something. He should murmur something else.
We have to stop this, but I can’t find the strength to give a shit, and neither can he. At last, the Fae ruler is powerless, and the mortal captive is priceless. That’s how it feels while he touches me.
We fit ourselves into a single piece, while the details around us crumble to ash. I hear the whoosh of a storm, a stirred-up squall disturbing the mountain. Somewhere, a distant cluster of pebbles dislodges from a cliff. Somewhere even farther, an avian cries out a brass note.
Then I hear nothing but Cerulean’s ragged breath, which matches my own. We’ve gone and exhausted each other.
But how much more can I take from him? How much more can he offer?
Might as well add one more mistake to my list of offenses. With that in mind, my fingers sketch his ears again. And that fucking does it.
Cerulean shudders and claims my mouth for another disastrous onslaught, our tongues flaying one another to bits. I catch his kiss and yield under him. Some current of energy crackles where our lips roll, shooting up my limbs and hurling me into the sky. A wild kiss in a wilder place.
Have I ever been this wide awake? This alert?
Has he?
