He undoes my belt, works open my pants, and drags out my hard cock to the needy, grating whimpers I pour into the back of the car.
Thio looks up at me, his eyes thunderstorm black with their own hits of lightning, his lips distending as he sinks his mouth around me.
I brace my palms flat against the car door by my head and cry out, thrusting unconsciously. Neither of us has the fortitude to make this last or stop to pull up a teasing spell, not after everything. Thio answers my cry with all the ferocity that drives me wild, sucking hard and tunneling the base of my cock through his fist and dragging his lip rings on the underside of my head. Saliva leaks from the corners of his mouth, his increasingly desperate moans groping toward my disjointed sounds until they intertwine.
Sensation rockets through me, abrupt and forceful, an onslaught; I come and he swallows hard, never one to back off quickly, and I love that I know that about him. That I know he lingers in the afterglow like he can feel mine, too, licking and nuzzling; it’s reverential in a way I want to shy from, but at the same time, he makes me feel like I’m worthy of it.
The car lurches to a stop and shifts into park as Thio’s climbing back up me. He kisses me, wet and salty-sweet, and I reach down for the buckle on his pants when he grabs my wrist.
“We’re going to go to your room, and I’m going to put a levitation spell on you, then fuck you until you come again,” he informs me, and I can’t do anything but moan like the hopelessly love-drunk nitwit I am.
Thio grins on my mouth, lets me feel the slow pull of his lips upward. He knows what that does to me, when he lets me feel his smile.
I shake my head in wretched self-loathing. “I hate you,” I whine.
He brushes a lock of my hair from where it’d tangled with my glasses.
“No, you don’t,” he says with a teasing, arrogant smirk, and I got nothing for that.
Because he’s right.
CAMPUS-WIDE SECURITY ALERT: All cultists who attempted to hijack the graduation ceremony and turn it into a demonic summoning have been apprehended. The ceremony is progressing as planned with extra adventure parties on hand and added measures in place to see that no ritualistic chanting or pentagram formations occur.
The official spokesperson for the Temple of Galaxrien Vossen has issued an apology, claiming the cultists did not “understand the full efforts one must go to in order to perform a successful demonic resurrection.”
We have been assured by several adventure parties as well as the Temple that no one in attendance at the graduation is in true danger of Galaxrien Vossen appearing, especially since “this is not the correct date for his prophesied return.”
Congratulations, graduates!
Chapter Twenty
Four Years Later
I found the ring in Thio’s sock drawer.
Not the best hiding place, and I’m almost positive hewantedme to find it. It prompted me to check where I’d hidden mine, under a loose floorboard in front of our closet—and, sure enough, the ward I’d cast over it was broken.
So.
He knew I was going to propose.
I knew he was going to propose.
Thus began a small war of not outright telling the otherI know what you’re doingwhile doing the exact same thing.
Like we were watching a sappy rom-com, and at the part where one character proposed to the other with the glittering Eiffel Tower in the background, Thio nudged me and went,What do you think? Would you want something like that?
I thought he was joking. Until a Paris trip ad popped up on his phone while he was showing me a recipe he wanted to try for dinner, and he chucked that thing across the kitchen so hard it cracked his case. Didn’t prevent me from seeing the promptFinish your booking now!
Nuh-uh.Paris?First of all, we can’t afford that; second, over my dead body is he going to propose like I’m the prize in this relationship.He’sthe prize. He’s the whole damn jackpot, and I’m going to get down on one knee and proclaim how much I love this man and put my ring on his finger.
I started researching how to create a portal dimension. Nothingmassive, something small and sweet for the two of us, maybe full of plants, junglelike.
But I must’ve left my laptop open, because soon, we were getting letters in the mail addressed to Thio from pixie skywriters asking if he’d reconsidered his proposal inquiry.
I thought, fuck it; he wants to play? We’ll play. And I left literature around the apartment about druid-run tree canopy suites and their romance packages.
Which Thio responded to by asking if I had a fear of enclosed spaces—what—and mentioning how a coworker had gotten engaged on an Atlantis submarine cruise.
