Page 134 of Flame and Sparrow

A low note of pleasure rumbled in his chest as he discovered the bareness, and he stopped kissing me long enough to say, “You were ready for me.” His fingers trailed lightly across my ache, feeling the dampness that had gathered there. “And already wet, too.”

He leaned back, pulling his hand away as he did. The evidence of my want for him glistened on his fingertips. He slipped that evidence into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean, one after the other.

I trembled. I needed him to touch me again. To go back to kissing me, devouring me.

“You look fucking beautiful in the firelight, if you weren’t aware.” He ran his damp fingers down the front of my body as he spoke, tracing the curves hidden underneath the much-too-large-for-me shirt. A wildness flashed in his eyes—different from his anger, but it still made my pulse skip and my breaths turn shallow.

He stood abruptly, taking me with him, spinning me around and placing me in the chair by myself.

Then he dropped to his knees before me.

He had hesitated earlier. A god, asking permission. And now he was kneeling before me, no longer simply asking, but seemingly prepared to beg, to worship—if the hungry glint in his eyes was any indication.

I was one of the weakest beings in this realm, but in that moment, I felt powerful beyond measure.

I didn’t speak. I simply held his wild gaze as I beckoned him toward me. A soft gasp left my lips as his hands caressed my legs, followed by another as he pressed his lips against the inside of my thigh.

His fingertips made their way toward my center once more. He didn’t push the shirt aside at first, working the silky fabric against my sex until the shirt was damp and I was shaking with need. Little by little, he pushed the cloth aside, and the combination of silk shirt and his rough fingers felt indescribably good.

Then came the heat. Deliberate, precise flares of his magic, burning through my sensitive nerves one moment, cooling off in the next, pulsing over and over until I wanted to cry out from the wicked pleasure of it.

My back arched with a particularly powerful spasm of pleasure, and he slid a hand around my hips and pulled me toward his mouth.

The heat of his magic was nothing compared to the heat of his tongue.

He worked through the fabric of the shirt at first, just as before, letting the damp weight of it cling to me as he sucked and teased, before finally swiping it fully aside and leaving me entirely exposed for him.

With nothing between us, he licked me fully, slowly, savoring each drop of my arousal, pulling back only long enough to roughly whisper, “You taste even more amazing than I thought you would.”

I whimpered out something unintelligible in response. The noise sent another flash of fire through his gaze. He hooked my legs over his shoulders, lifting me up to his mouth as he dropped his head back between my thighs.

His hands roamed upward while he ate, traveling over my stomach, my chest. While his tongue lashed at the sensitive bud at my center, his fingers pinched the ones on my breasts. Every time I squirmed, or gasped, or cursed his name, he smiled, pinched or sucked harder, or slipped his tongue deeper.

Just when I found myself approaching the edge, ready to shatter into the oblivion of my release, he leaned away, leaving me breathless and quivering.

“Take off the shirt,” he commanded.

I didn’t hesitate, eager to comply if it meant he’d go back to touching me, tasting me.

He admired the view for a moment—my flushed, pebbling skin, my heaving chest, the peaks of my breasts hard with need. Then he pulled me from the chair, closer to the fire’s light and warmth. He leaned back onto the floor, dragging me over top so I was straddling him, my knees against the hardwood on either side, my wetness pressing against the heat and hardness of his body, my hair the only thing covering any part of me.

His hands stroked my curves for a moment before cupping underneath my ass and urging me to climb higher, to bring my center back toward his mouth.

I’d never been so aroused in my life, yet something made me resist movement at first.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. This is just…” I could hardly talk through my panting, needy breaths. “As a child I sometimes prayed to the Marr, and it’s been a long time since I’ve done so, but this still feels a bit…blasphemous.”

“If it’s any encouragement, I amimploringyou to commit blasphemy.” His fingers tightened against me, and his tone dropped to a near-growl as he added, “Preferably on my face, while moving your hips like the proper fucking Wildfire I know you are.”

His words alone were nearly enough to send me crashing back toward release.

When he pulled me toward his mouth this time, I didn’t hesitate to rise up and settle there. I still felt hesitant for an instant—but all my apprehensive thoughts quickly burned away as his tongue penetrated me deeper than ever before.

His hands wrapped around my thighs, pulling them apart, opening my body more fully for him to explore. As he moved his mouth over me, I moved my hips as he’d asked, falling into a rhythm, guided and encouraged by his hands clenching increasingly tighter, by his strong arms rocking me faster, harder.

I soon felt a wild cry rising in my throat, followed by waves of building pleasure. He stilled, letting it build further, sending nothing but warm breath falling over me until my rising cry escaped and it was clear I was teetering on the edge between pain and pleasure.

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