Page 20 of SIN Bone Deep

“What would you call it then?” She challenged me, and I was flummoxed, for honestly, I had my heat up, and I wanted to spit and rebel.

I swallowed back the spikes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m due my period.”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “Or maybe,” she turned over the top card of her deck, to reveal the Death card. “An ending necessary for growth and renewal,” she murmured.

“That’s a creative way to describe a period,” I replied dryly. “But accurate.”

“I guess it is,” she was amused.

“I’m off to bed,” I pushed away the glass of wine. “I have the thing tomorrow.” By thing, I meant the orientation day, but we both knew that.

“Yes, of course, dear,” she shuffled the cards into a pile and picked up her wine glass. “Sleep well.”

I went upstairs and performed my night-time routine, brushing my teeth, washing my face, braiding back my hair, and changing into my pajamas, and then I paused by the window to light my candle. I felt the shift in the air within the bedroom and wasn’t entirely surprised when I turned, and he was there.

I drew in a breath.

His palm cupped my cheek, lifting my chin, and he stepped in as the lighting flashed, bathing the room in silver light, turning him into a creature of monochrome colour. His lips hovered over mine, our eyes meeting.

I reached up, the heel of my hand rasping along the stubble on his jaw as I sank my fingers into his hair and I pulled him to me, our mouths joining in the fury of an insatiable hunger. He groaned, his hand stroking from my shoulder, down my back to my hips, and tugging me into his body.

I sobbed in my breath, arching my neck as his lips followed from the corner of my mouth to the point of my jaw, his tongue teasing my earlobe before he sucked his way down my throat to my collarbone.

He lifted me as if I weighed nothing and I wrapped my legs around his waist, gripping him tightly, feeling the hard line of his cock between us, pressing against my cunt, separated only by the fragile barrier of fabric and that small part of sanity that said that there was a boundary to how far we could take this before it went too far.

I wanted to taste the danger of that edge, I wanted to press against it and taunt us both with the potential of breaching it...

He lay me on the bed and his fingers unbuttoned and spread my pyjama top, revealing me to him, his lips following the line of the buttons, discovering the peaks of my breasts, sucking the nipple of one into his mouth whilst his hand squeezed the other, the pinch of his fingers teasing its nipple upward into a peak.

I arched into his touch, one hand clenched into his hair, the other clutching at the bedcovers, whilst the sole of my foot stroked up the back of his calf to his arse, pushing him into where my body most sought his, wantonly, recklessly.

His moan betrayed how much he wanted to give in to the implied demand of my body, but instead, he took his kisses down my rib cage, sliding his body down mine, and taking my pyjama pants down, until he had freed my legs of them. My feet rested on his shoulders, and his cool breath caressed the heat of me, a moment before his tongue found my clit. He gripped my hips, pulling me into him as he devoured…

I arched, sobbing out as my hair matted beneath my skull, my hands unable to find traction, scoring across the fabric, finding his grip on my hips, following wrist to forearm, up to shoulder, before fixing into his hair as I writhed beneath his tongue, arching off the mattress, pressing into him.

The storm flashed light into the room before snatching it away, bathing us in illumination before casting us back into shadow. Every flash exposed more of him than I thought he was aware, his skin translucent, the bone beneath it white and black...

I came apart, and he lifted over me, kissing me with the subtle ocean flavor of me on his tongue.

“What about you?” I asked into the kiss, my fingers stroking through his hair. He was so beautiful and both familiar and foreign in the darkness as the lightning receded. His hand cupped the back of mine, stroking it down so that the stones sewn into the luxurious embroidery of his shirt shifted beneath my palm, letting me feel through the cloth the way ribs and chest moved with his breath, the furrows of stomach muscle, before covering the hard length of his cock.

His eyes shone in the dark, twin flames burning through the pupils.

I released the fly of his trousers, and his cock sprang free to greet me. It was perfect, an artwork of soft skin over steel inner core, much larger than I, in my innocence, had expected, my hand not closing around him, the length of him overflowing my hold. He let me discover him, his eyes slowly sifting closed, his face slackening into pleasure, and his lips parting on a moan.

I lifted my head, brushing my mouth over his, tasting that little groan that I had caused to be there.

His hand closed over mine, tightening my grip, showing me the rhythm and pattern by which to touch him, the flesh against my palm and that holding me cooling mine. I must burn to him, my touch like the lick of fire, I thought, and yet it did not seem to bring him pain… rather pleasure, for his was the expression of a man lost to it, and he pressed his face into the curve of my neck and the tumble of my hair as he sobbed out, his cock quickening in my hold, before his cum spilled between us.

His cock became limp and soft, and his hand released mine, reaching up to cup my cheek tenderly, stroking through my hair before resting over my exposed breast, his thumb stroking the nipple so that it tightened. I stroked his hair, in an exchange of small caresses.

His position meant that I could bury my face into his hair, filling my lungs with the clinging scent of incense, and beneath that, the musk of the man who pressed tightly to my side, so long that his feet still touched the ground off the side of the mattress.

“Stay,” I whispered. “Lay in the bed with me and stay until morning.”

He sat up slowly, rising to his feet, and I followed suit, leaving my pyjama top behind on the bedspread, and slipping into the sheets naked. He unbuttoned his top, the white of his hands almost disembodied by the darkness of the room and the fabric, parting his shirt to reveal a body that was beautiful by any standard, smooth, muscled, and its paleness broken by the fine curl of dark hair and a tattoo of a raven, it’s eyes glowing as red as Ender’s own, wings spread across his chest, and it’s claws clutching a symbol that I could not read against his sternum.

His hair fell forward, hiding his face from me as he slid his trousers down. The point of hip bone, the curve of arse cheek, the long line of thigh glowed against the shadows, before he slid into the bed beside me, and our bodies met, skin to skin.

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