Page 40 of Collected By the Crow

The moment Qadaire’s feet met the ground, guitar set aside, they came together in a tangle of limbs and feathers. Those delicious warbles tumbled from him like the purr of a kitten. His bottom arms locked around her, palms splayed out on the extra padding below her shoulders. His upper hands cradled her face, their foreheads touching. She ran her hands through his head feathers and down stray locks of black hair.

“Cassandra.” His voice was hoarse, but she doubted it was from the singing. “My rainbow.”

“Qadaire.” She pressed herself against him and he folded her into a strong embrace. “I came here to apologize.”

“There’s no need.”

“There is.” This time, she wouldn’t turn away. She faced him, even though it was difficult. Even though there was shame in her voice. “I shouldn’t have left you like that. I wasn’t ready to . . . Feel. I don’t know, I couldn’t feel anything. Except when I was with you. But it was selfish of me to keep letting those moments happen, when I knew I was so dead inside.”

“I did nothing I didn’t want to.”

“I know. Still. It feels like I took advantage, in a way. I’m ashamed of that.”

“Is that what you came to say?”

“No.” The sting in her abdomen somersaulted. “I’m falling for you. But I can’t hold secrets in my heart. I can’t lie to everyone about who I love.”

She carefully studied his reaction. He nodded as though he already understood and accepted her terms.

“For you, dewdrop, I would do anything. I would slay a hundred mad kings. I would wait ten thousand years. If all you ask is that I show my face, I will be bold.” He brushed stray hairs behind her ear and guided her chin to look at him. “You deserve to be loved without hiding bits of yourself.”

Her own words. She breathed in, his woodsy scent all around her.

“Please, dewdrop. Let me kiss you.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

When their lips met for the first time, it was for a kiss so gentle and soft it may as well have been the first snowflake of winter drifting down to the forest floor.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the winter breeze raced over every pore on her body, the hair on her neck and arms rising. Desire swept through her core to pool between her thighs. The kiss deepened, becoming hungrier with every warble that bubbled from his throat. It was everything she’d wanted and more, his mouth molding to hers as they explored each other with their tongues.

Qadaire pushed open the front door but didn’t go inside. Zero’s fur brushed the back of her leg. She barely noticed herself rise from the ground as Qadaire’s wings carried them through the chilly night sky, her legs around his waist, his arms tight around her curves. His tongue swirled around hers as he flew them through a decrepit spot in the ceiling, straight to the bed she’d slept on not too long ago.

Qadaire gently landed them, facing each other on their knees. She removed the hair piece, slipped out of her coat, and raised her arms so he could free her of her shirt, then she reached behind to undo her bra. Qadaire studied her bare chest in awe, those damned noises tumbling from him more urgently. She removed her fleece leggings.

“Touch me,” she demanded softly. She took his upper hands and placed them on her breasts while he ran his bottom pair over every ridge of her sides, her stomach, the curve of her hips. When he lightly ran his thumbs over her taut nipples, her mewl mingled with his melodious sounds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long now.”

“You have touched me.”

“Not like this.”

“No,” she agreed, eyelids fluttering. “Not like this.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Qadaire

“I want to know every inch of you. I want to learn every freckle, every crease, every strand of hair. What make you smile, laugh, moan my name. I’ll memorize these symbols and what they mean to you.” Qadaire kissed the tattoos on her knuckles, her hand, her wrist. “I will study until I am fluent in your body language. I want to be the only scholar to study at the temple of Cassandra.”

“Temple?”

“I will worship you for eternity.”

He grasped her waist and shoulders then gently guided her to lie back as he lowered himself above her. His top hands played with her pert nipples, pulling and pinching and rolling, exploring, as he watched what made her hips seek him the most. His bottom hands parted her legs and smoothed the gossamer skin on the inside of her thighs. Her honey and bergamot scent was strong this close, and he dragged in a breath to fill his lungs with her sweetness. Without thinking, he lowered his head and burrowed himself in her damp folds, warbling as he nuzzled his nose deep enough to split them open.

“Qadaire,” she hissed, her hands flying over his on her hips.

---