Page 137 of What Blooms from Death

He paused.

My eyes flashed open.

He nodded toward the bench. “Sit,” he ordered.

I sat.

Kneeling before me, he ran his hands down my legs, leaving a trail of little bumps in the wake of his touch. Slowly, he pulled off one boot, then the other. Stockings and the sheathed knife at my left ankle came next—disarming me, in more ways than one.

He cradled my leg as his lips brushed my calf. My knee. The inside of my thigh. His hand smoothed its way upward at the same time, stopping just short of my center before skimming back down to my knee. He teased me this way several times before finally letting his fingers travel all the way up, where they caressed the thin, dampened fabric between my thighs, applying pressure but not quite penetrating.

His touch was unhurried—savoring.

Gently, he pulled aside the last bit of cloth that separated us, his fingers slipping through the evidence of my arousal, mapping their way over the soft folds trembling with need. That trembling soon overtook my entire body, until even the faintest touches from him threatened to send me over the edge.

He swept another series of kisses along my inner thighs, and then his eyes sought mine as he gave a low, rough command: “Lift your hips for me, Chaos.”

I did, enabling him to roll my dress up over them, further exposing me. He slid the garments underneath off, tossing them onto my boots. His own shirt followed. I settled back down onto the bench, admiring his firm body…and that was when it struck me—

This was actually happening.

Stripping our clothes away felt like peeling away the outer world, like all the dust and doubts of every kingdom were being tossed aside, leaving only the two of us. Nothing else mattered as he kneeled before me once more. As his head dipped between my thighs, pressing a kiss to the needy ache in my center, following it with a few slow, tantalizing swipes of his tongue.

Bracing a hand against the edge of the bed, he leaned up, hovering over me. His mouth found mine, his tongue pushing its way through my lips as his hand settled between my legs.

After a moment of gentle massaging, one finger slipped inside of me. A second soon followed. He dragged his lips away from mine so he could study my face, watching my every reaction to his every touch. Memorizing every gasp and twitch and moan, finding the precise way to draw out more of these things.

While his fingers pushed deeper, curling and coaxing against my inner walls, his thumb found my clit and began to tease it, just barely tapping and circling against its sensitive nerve endings until I was begging for more.

He answered my pleas with heavier, more wicked pressure and movement from his thumb. I lifted my hips again, rocking against his hand with an eagerness that drew a low, dark laugh from him.

He slipped his free hand underneath the small of my back, helping me rock higher, pressing us even more fully, more deeply together. A third finger tapped against my entrance, the tip of it slipping inside. It burned in a delicious, devastating way as he prodded and stretched.

I didn’t want him to stop, yet I heard myself gasp out something that sounded likecan’t.

“You can,” he encouraged, his hand moving from my back, instead collaring my throat as he pressed closer and claimed my lips in a deep, hungry kiss, “and you will.”

He moved more slowly, more deliberately, tracing his finger along the edges of me before sinking it all the way in. The sudden fullness pulled a moan from my throat. He silenced it with a kiss and then moved his mouth to the curve of my neck, lips sucking and tongue darting against my pulse as he pressed his fingers farther inside.

“Gods,” he breathed against my skin, “I can’t wait to bury my cock in this tightness.”

The mere thought was enough to send me spiraling toward release. My back arched. Deeper and deeper his fingers plunged, relentlessly pounding in and out of me until I was crying out with pleasure, unable to hold back the orgasm that shattered through me.

As the last cry of release echoed from my throat, he brought his mouth back to my neck and murmured, “What a beautiful fucking sound that was.”

The low-burning chandelier danced above me. I felt as if I was floating in the ceiling alongside its flickering candles. Closing my eyes, I whispered, “You were right about what you said that night at Lake Nyras.”

“…About?”

“Your hands being morecapablethan mine.”

He laughed quietly, his fingertips delicately tracing the still-throbbing space between my thighs, sending ripples of ecstasy rolling through me. “Is this you conceding defeat as well?” he asked.

“At least about this.”

“So what doIwin?”

“What sort of prize did you have in mind?” I opened my eyes to find him watching me as closely as he had earlier, the hunger still burning brightly, beautifully in his eyes. Pleasant shivers cascaded through me as he considered my question for several beats, his hand smoothing its way up my stomach, across my bare chest, pinching my still hard nipples.

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