The rabid look on his face leaves nothing hypothetical about what he is now.
“So hot, baby,” he snarls and bends to lick a long stripe through the crease of my ass to my balls, dipping his tongue into my hole as he passes it.
Electrocution. A full-body lightning strike.
It’s hypersensitive but I’m begging,sobbing.“Please, please,Thio.”
He attacks, licking and sucking. I writhe and he hauls me up to him like his own personal feast, tongue arrowing into me, messy anddirty and gods, I think I could come again. But it’s too much and too good all at once, and when my cries change in pitch, Thio shifts to bathing the insides of my thighs in open-mouth kisses. Each one slows more and more until it’s worshipful, intimate, everything he wanted this to be, boiled down to lips on quivering skin.
I don’t know anything else until I feel his chest rising and falling under my cheek. He moved us, tucked us under what parts of his bedding remained on the mattress. His arm is tight around me, both of us wrecked.
He coasts his fingers through my hair. “You with me?”
“No,” I grumble. “Summon me back to earth. Not sure where I ended up.”
A chuckle reverberates in my ear.
His hand moves down, stroking, soothing, and he stops at the small of my back, fingers toying over the swell of my ass.
“Are you okay?” he whispers. “Did I go too rough? Too—much?”
There’s uncertainty in his tone.
I look up at him, resting my chin on his chest because I can’t find the strength to hold my own head up.
“It was perfect,” I manage. Then I attempt a glare I’m sure falls flat. “Sadistic, with the edging. But perfect.” My face heats. “All of it.”
Thio grins, his own cheeks red again, too. Gods, those stripes. “My sadism ends now, I promise. How about a shower, then we eat?”
I groan and bury my face in his armpit. Even that smells good, his sweat and cologne and deodorant; justhim.
“You said no more sadism,” I mumble.
“I did.”
“Then don’t make me move.”
He chuckles again. “We can eat dinner in bed.”
“Can we shower in bed?”
“Sadly, no one’s developed a spell for that yet.”
Another groan. “What is the point of magic?”
Despite my protests, we get to the shower, which is huge, and luxurious, and I’m instantly okay with having left the bed for it. Thio washes me thoroughly, and that washing turns to touching turns tocreating our own steam to rival the water. We get each other off again in a soapy, leisurely grind.
And back in bed, naked, plates of reheated—for the second time—pasta balanced on our knees, Thio and I lean against each other and eat and talk about nothing. All the heavy shit has been said and done; now we get to prattle on about shows we’ve binged and that gaudy statue in his living room and how Paeris and Nick will get along.
The food is still phenomenal, and with our empty plates stacked on his nightstand, Thio pulls me back against his chest.
His hand drifts through my shower-damp hair, and I flutter in and out of consciousness, absorbing the warmth radiating off him, the warmth we generated that seems to linger. It’s been nonstop heat with him from every angle, fighting and fucking, constant infernos and explosions. It should be exhausting, or feel like a warning. Something this tumultuous can’t sustain itself, can it? Something that does nothing but burn can’t last.
But I come back for that burn. My own fire was destroying me, and I keep getting close to his fire because I need a better warmth.
“Sebastian?” Thio asks into the soft glow of his bedroom’s low lights.
I moan, half asleep.
