“Good,” I whispered.
And the word was swallowed up between us as his mouth crashed against mine.
35
The kiss was a seamless continuation of what we’d ended weeks ago, in his room. This was not the quiet, confusing safety of the nights we spent curled up in each other’s arms. This was not the stoic respect we’d built for each other over these last months.
This was a drawn blade, a battle, a fire. This was deadly.
I loved it.
My mouth opened against his immediately, accepting his breath, his tongue, his lips, and offering him my own. My hand slid from his chest to loop around his neck—his down my side, gripping tight where my waist met my hip.
My body arched against his, helpless with the desire to feel as much of him against me as I could. The threads caught fire the closer we were, the deeper I could fold myself into his presence. The sensations of him intoxicated me—his mouth, tongue sliding against mine in a way that felt like both an offering and a promise, his fingers clutching at me like he wanted to absorb me into himself.
We were warned of this, as young Arachessen. That sensations, physical connection, would be unusually powerful for us given the way we navigated the world. Like most things based in emotion, this was treated as a danger, a weakness to be culled.
My only clear thought in this moment now was, Horseshit.
Yes, it was a danger. But how did I not realize then that was the appeal? I wanted to hurl myself off this cliff.
I was ravenous.
We staggered backwards in a tangle of limbs and wet clothing and frantic kisses and sickening lust. Atrius was leading me—I didn’t know where until my back pressed to a wall of stone. The ocean was cold around our ankles, swelling with the tide. He’d dragged us behind a cluster of large rocks jutting from the sand.
Privacy. Because we were just out here, on the beach. And I didn’t even care.
He broke our kiss, pushing me forcefully back against the rock. But I seized the moment to tear at his shirt, the buttons pulling apart with blissful ease.
And immediately, like a thirst-starved creature to water, my hands were all over his skin.
I hadn’t wanted to admit it then, but I knew the first time I touched him, something had changed forever—a door cracked open in forbidden parts of myself. I could ignore it. For a time.
But never forget it.
Because touching Atrius was like immersing myself in every forbidden pleasure at once. His aura was so unbearably strong, unrestrained lust and hunger and anger and grief and—and—all the things I tried to control in myself.
My fingers trailed down his torso, starting at his chest, then tracing the swell of his pectorals. Down, over the lean, defined muscle of his abdomen, marked with scars that each strummed a different vibration in the threads.
He let out a wordless, low sound against my lips and pushed me hard against the rock. His fingers played at the strap of my nightdress, perilously thin.
“Yes,” I breathed, and he let out a low groan as he ripped the straps at once, letting the cotton fall into the salty water around my ankles.
It wasn’t as if the nightgown was doing much to protect me from the elements, but in its absence, my body reacted immediately to its exposure. Goosebumps rose over my skin. My breasts, already aching with desire, hardened and peaked against the misty air.
I wanted him against me immediately, skin against skin. But he hesitated. His awareness was such a physical force. I could feel his eyes lingering on my body, not just my breasts and the apex of my thighs, but the rest of me, too—every muscle, every curve.
And then his lust crested in a sudden wave, washing us both away, and he was everywhere.
His kiss was vicious, like a predator chasing down prey, and I met it with equal force. The sensation of his bare flesh against mine was overwhelming.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Only feel.
His hands ran over my body, down my hips, lingering at my backside. I tangled my hands in his hair. I barely realized I was moaning against him, pathetic whimpers against his kisses.
I freed one hand to slide it down his body. I was bolder than I had been that night in his room. This time, I slid right into his trousers, running my grip down the length of his cock.
Oh, Weaver. Gods.
He hissed into my mouth and closed his teeth around my lower lip, making me gasp at the spark of pain.
I barely noticed it.
How could I pay attention to anything but this? But him, and the way his whole presence rearranged around that single touch?
His kiss stopped, movements slowing. He was breathing heavily, his heart thrumming hard—so hard I felt the beat of it in my own skin.
He pulled back, just enough to look at me, a stare that rippled through my entire body.
And then he dropped to his knees.
“Open your thighs for me,” he commanded, and didn’t even let me obey before he positioned one of my legs over his shoulder, his mouth finding my center.
Holy fucking gods—
He wasn’t patient. Neither of us had that in us tonight. The first lick, demanding and starving, sent me a wave of pleasure that swept away everything else. I had to bite my tongue hard, so hard, right over that scar ridge, against my scream of pleasure, and still released a mangled moan.
He buried himself deeper between my legs, tongue unleashing a surge of impossible sensation. At my whimper, he let out a pleased growl that made me shiver.
I’d felt pleasure before. But this—I couldn’t—
“Wider,” he growled, urging my thighs apart. There was no playfulness in this, no flirtation. Only command.
I obeyed, challenging as it was when my legs were trembling. One of his hands slid up my body, flattening just shy of my breasts—holding me firmly against the stone, as if to make sure I remained upright.
“Mm,” he murmured. “Better.”
This time, with the better access he had, I couldn’t choke back my scream. My back arched against the rock in a violent spasm as his tongue worked at me—licking the length of my slit, pausing to tease at my bud, returning to my entrance.
With each movement of his mouth, I unraveled more.
My heart was pounding, like a trapped rabbit. My skin burned. Weaver, what was he doing to me? I wanted more of it. All of it.
Pain, faintly, as his sharp fingernails tug into the tender skin of my thigh, as he pushed it open further—so he could plunge his tongue into me.
Fractured curses imbued my garbled moans, as he returned to my clit.
Then he smiled against me, and I could feel something hard—something sharp—against that sensitive flesh, that flesh that begged for everything from him—
And I felt his hunger. His lust.
All of it matched by mine.
“Yes,” I choked out. “Do it.”
I didn’t question my own irrational willingness. I wanted it.
The reaction of his presence was swift and immediate, like the twitch of his cock in my hands.