Page 44 of Moth to Her Flame

“I’m choosing this because I want to. Because watching you fade is killing me, too.”

“Exactly.” Though his wings vibrate with need, he pulls back slightly. “I won’t bind you to me forever out of desperation. You deserve better than that.”

"My choices are my own," she whispers fiercely. "And I choose this. I choose you."

“The bond is permanent.” His voice roughens as I stroke his antennae again. “Irreversible. I won’t take that choice from you, not until you’re absolutely certain. Not until it comes from…” He swallows hard. “From something deeper than fear of losing me.”

The righteous idiot is going to kill us both with his integrity. “Then let me help you another way.”

As I assess the best way to rid him of his jeans, I glance at his face only to see he’s sleeping—or perhaps passed out.

Pressing my palm to his face, I wonder why it took me so long to see how handsome he is. Yes, handsome. I guess his alien features confused my brain—the tiny feathers on his forehead and around his eyes, the furred ruff around his neck and chest, those foreign wings.

But now that they’re no longer frightening, I find them… beautiful. Who wants common when one can have extraordinary? I need to explain this to him, tell him he’s not a monster to me, that he’s the dearest person in the world. But first, I need to rouse him. This isn’t ordinary sleep.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chelsea

I strip off my clothes, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for modesty. The cool air prickles my skin, but all I can focus on is Riven—his shallow breaths, his pale complexion, his wings barely flickering with life. I climb onto the bed, straddling him, and lean down to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, willing him to wake up, to come back to me.

My fingers tremble as I unbutton his jeans, pulling them down his legs, revealing the magnificent creature underneath. His body is a landscape of muscle and sinew, sculpted by nature into a powerful and graceful form. I run my hands over his chest, feeling the soft fur that covers his shoulders, tracing the lines of his abs, the curves of his hips.

Gently taking his length in my hand, I focus on his warmth and the softness of his skin. But he’s not fully aroused, his body too weak to respond to my touch. I lean down, taking him into my mouth, hoping that the warmth, the wetness, the sensation will bring him back. This isn’t about desire; it’s about survival. His survival. Our survival.

I feel him stir slightly, a soft moan escaping his lips. His hand weakly touches my hair, as if trying to push me away. “Chelsea… don’t…” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

I ignore his feeble protest, focusing on my task. I feel his length grow harder in my mouth, his body responding even as his mind struggles to catch up. His breathing deepens, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. His wings begin to flicker with a soft golden light.

Suddenly, his hands grip my shoulders as he tries to pull me away.

“Chelsea, stop,” he says, his voice stronger now.

“We’re doing this, you stubborn idiot.”

Before I can take him in my mouth again, he flips me onto my back, his eyes glowing with a renewed intensity.

“I want to taste you,” he growls, his voice filled with primal hunger.

He moves down my body, his hands tracing the curves of my hips, my thighs. The nectar probe in his mouth unfurls, the thin, dexterous appendage exploring my skin with an enthusiasm that belies its apparent delicacy. It tickles slightly, sending shivers of anticipation through me as it trails downwards, seeking my most intimate places.

His antennae perk up, their tiny feathers quivering as if picking up the subtlest signals from my body. He pauses, taking a moment to inhale my scent deeply, a low rumble resonating from his chest. “You smell incredible,” he murmurs, his voice husked with desire.

I feel a soft, teasing touch at the juncture of my thighs, his probe tentatively exploring, learning. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, a delicate, precise caress that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me.

His little appendage slides along my slick folds. After I inform my body that his tentative touch isn’t meant to tickle, all of my pleasure receptors seem to turn on at once. When I grip his furred shoulders, he takes it as the not-so-subtle hint it is… and goes to town.

His wings spark with a brighter amber radiance, casting a soft, ethereal light over our bodies. His gaze locks onto mine, watching every reaction, every twitch of pleasure that crosses my face. He’s learning, adapting, feeling his way through this new experience with an intensity that’s both touching and intensely erotic.

“Riven…” I moan, my hands gripping his furred shoulders. “That feels… don’t stop.”

Encouraged, he increases the pressure, his probe teasing, licking, and plucking.

“Dear God!” I shout on that last maneuver, only to be ratcheted even a step higher when the small appendage flicks so swiftly on my sweet spot that my eyes roll back in my head.

He stops for a moment. I assume it’s so I can have time to return to my senses—then the dexterous little organ slips inside me on a mission to explore.

My squeal of pleasure is a not-so-subtle indication that he found my g-spot. He’s a damn quick study because he’s flicking it mercilessly, driving me even higher.

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