Page 117 of When the Woods Go Silent

I remembered a whole language tonight. It’s possible I can unlock even more. The expression on my face must tell him something, because he chuckles and buries his face between my thighs, working like the devil to help me find that precipice again.

I writhe beneath him as he takes me right to the sharpest edge of pleasure, then backs down without mercy. I curse him under my breath as the ache in my core grows more and more unbearable, and I swat away visions of pushing him away so I can finish the fucking job myself.

I don’t need to work at staying in the moment anymore, because every shred of my existence has narrowed to the tinybundle of nerves he’s taken control of. On and off, on and off, he flicks the switch until I feel like sobbing.

“Focus, Rose. Bloom for me,” Kier whispers in one of his maddening lulls, and as his fingers drift to the roundness of my belly and the full ache of my breasts, I begin to see an image in my mind’s eye. The full, lush petals of a lotus flower, blushed with pink like my bare skin. The sheen of sweat on my skin gathers like shining dew. The spring air, heavy with my arousal, grows sweeter and denser with the fragrance of jasmine. The clutch of moss beneath my clenched hands molds into glossy, thick leaves.

Kier gasps, and my eyes fly open. Resting on the curve of my stomach is the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen. Nothing in my limited vocabulary can name its exotic shape, but it’s undeniably mine. I created it, and a thrill of shock and joy rush through me as I cup its very real petals between my hands.

And then I’m flying, soaring off the edge in a heady bliss as Kier rewards me with the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. My hips buck as he presses against them, and the moan of his name echoes around the whole forest as I come hard enough to see stars of my own making.

The storm unleashes a torrent of rain, drenching us quickly despite the leaves above. And still he wrings pleasure from me, until my whole body is shaking and I feel like I might unravel into nothing but energy and float away with the storm clouds.

“Beautiful,” he finally says, moving his lips to my thighs, dropping kisses along the heat of my skin as the rain softens and ends. He presses my thighs closed, leaving one hand cupping my tender pussy as he moves to lie next to me, curving his body against mine. The act is so intimate, so possessive, that I just blink at him. His hand, pressed warm and firm against the very center of me, seems to speak of an ownership I wouldn’t want to fight.

With his other hand, he drags the heavy peachy-pink blossom to the valley between my breasts. Bending low to breathe it in, he laughs in wonder.

“You made this, Rose. It wasn’t me.”

“It was sort of you,” I say, trying to regain a sense of myself again with a little teasing.

“I pointed you in the direction,” he teases back, his palm tightening against my hyper-sensitive skin, one fingertip slipping inside me like a warning.

I tremble at the too-much, too-soon sensation, and he chuckles.

“I made it,” I agree breathlessly, reaching to trace the edges of each perfect petal. A shiver crawls across my shoulders, and Kier finally takes his hands away, leaving me with a sense of hollow loss. In only a few days, I’ve developed a dangerous craving for his touch.

“Here, let me dry your clothes.”

I watch with wide eyes as he focuses his magic and creates a ball of heat without flame. The raindrops turn to steam without burning the fabric, and the wonder of it all flushes me all over again. I slip my dry clothes on and cradle the flower to my stomach. It’s as big as a kitten.

“Do you know what this is?” I ask, but Kier shakes his head.

“I’ve never seen one like it.”

That alone boggles my mind again. How can I create something I have no reference for? It’s more frightening than encouraging, to be honest.

“You must have a lot of power locked away in there somewhere.” Kier brushes a damp curl from my face, and that squeeze of fear tightens again as the reason for my magic rushes back in. He and his brothers need a weapon, and I’ve just shown him that I have something they can use.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I warn, pressing a bruise into the flower’s perfect petals. “I don’t want to leave Clearwater. I’m not the kind of person that jumps into a fight, Kier. I hate violence. I hate the idea of war. I would never support it by being active in one.”

“You could stop one,” he says, keeping his tone gentle, though I hear the pleading notes beneath his casual manner. “You’re not one to back down either, I think.”

“Or I could be tricked into killing innocent people. I don’t know your world. Please don’t force me to do this.” I don’t want to beg, but I’m all too aware of how easily he could wrap me up in his vines and steal me away.

I don’t have to believe in any of this for him to think he knows better.

But he shakes his head.

“A changeling has to willingly come home to Aralia to fully reclaim their magic,” he says softly, twining his fingers with mine. A memory surfaces, of Ronan asking me repeatedly to come with him. My thoughts hadn’t been on kidnapping then, but now I understand why someone as fierce as him didn’t just bind me with magic and force me to Aralia.

“I have to give consent,” I whisper, and Kier nods. “What happens if I’m forced back there?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, really. But you would be useless to do what Brigance needs. Flowers, pretty as they are, are no match for a gobbelin army.”

“Then no. I don’t give my consent. I won’t go. Ever,” I add, and the force of my tone brings a sad smile to his lips.

“I hope that changes one day, when you know more.”

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