Page 39 of Raising the Sun

“Go ahead,” he said, standing stock still, though his feathers ruffled in front of my face as if enticing me to touch.

I remembered him saying they were sensitive, so once my fingers finally trailed along one of the wispy blades, they were tentative, gentle. I refused to hurt him for the sake of my curiosity, or be the cause of any discomfort, but I also didn’t want to squander my chance.

He may never let me near him like this again, so I was making the most of it.

Each long, narrow feather was the colour of the sky when the sun disappeared below the horizon. That bright orange glow that made everything just a little more beautiful. They quivered with my exploration, showing their range, and it was a wonder how something could be both fragile as satin yet strong enough to carry a full-grown being in flight. But by some celestial blessing, there they were, ethereal and bold.

Just like Ash.

“Would you like to see my phoenix form?” he asked, his eyes having stayed on me the entire time, and seriously, was that even a question?

Hell yes, I wanted to see it!

“Yes, please.”

“So polite,” he teased before moving back, perching himself on the arm of the sofa and taking a long, steadying breath.

With a click of his fingers, the flames from his horns swelled and spread over his body, veiling him from view. I panicked, swaying on my feet as if preparing to leap in and save him. Not my brightest idea, no, but when was the last time self-preservation held me back?

Thankfully, a rescue mission wasn’t needed. The inferno vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving no trace of charring or ruin, only a large, rust-coloured bird with such a pristine and regal air about it that I couldn’t have mistaken it for anyone other than Ash.

A startled laugh burst out of me, more disbelief than amusement. Two months ago, I’d been adamant that magic and the supernatural didn’t exist. And even if there had been a chance to deny the circumstances of Ash’s appearance, there was no way to ignore thevery realmythical creature perching three feet in front of me, tilting its head as if reading my thoughts. The bloody thing was almost taller than me. Granted, it—he—sat on the edge of my sofa, but still. No bird should have been that size. Not on Earth, anyway.

He was easily twice the height of a peacock, and had a similar body shape. His head and tail were the main differences. They were covered in lush plumage, the feathers the same hue as in his other form, but they flared out—on full display as if he was trying his best to impress me.

It worked.

“You’re beautiful, Ash,” I murmured, scritching the soft feathers near his head when he nudged my hand. He trilledhappily, puffing up some more, and I couldn’t help laughing at the fact that, even in bird form, he managed to be a smug arsehole. “Such a vain birdy.”

After several long moments, Ash shifted seamlessly back to his more human appearance, keeping the horns and wings. He also wore that ‘something different’ I’d spotted earlier. I could have been imagining it, what with my emotions up in the air, but it was as if there was a change in the way he looked at me. Under his smirk, it wasn’t just lust anymore. It was tender. Reverent. He’d shown me his true phoenix form because he trusted me, and why did that make my heart stutter?

“Do you approve?” he asked, clearly pleased with himself—as he had every right to be—but there was something else there.

Somethingunsure.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation, and content with the answer—if the expansion of his chest was anything to go by—Ash flexed his shoulders, his wings beginning to recede.

I stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “Stay like that… Please.” He cocked an eyebrow, but stalled the shift, tilting his head curiously. I swallowed down the stray nerves. “I want you. Just as you are.”

It was slight, but Ash seemed taken-aback by the request. His arrogance and sense of self-importance faltered, and if I had to take a guess, I’d wager that was a sensation he had no experience with. The skin between his brows creased, and his eyes, though alight with fire, softened with the realisationthat he didn’t have to wear a mask around me. He could be vulnerable, raw, and without all the fanfare, and I’d still accept him. That was an alien concept to him, I supposed, which made me a little sad, though the feeling was fleeting.

Ash nodded, apparently curious about the unknown, much like me. “Do as you will,” he said, and though he tried to conceal it, I heard the plea in his voice.

I would never refuse him.

His gaze followed my hands as I undressed him, barely even blinking when I guided him onto the sofa and settled between his spread thighs. I took my time stretching him open, watching the subtle flutter of his wings, how the membranes tensed and rippled to announce each jolt of pleasure. His eyes were closed, the soft planes of his neck exposed as he arched into the cushion. Sweat trickled over his skin, glistening like dewdrops, and I was helpless against the urge to dip my tongue in to taste. My lips followed the trail to his collarbones, kissing each protruding feather as my fingers rocked in and out of his body.

Slow.

Careful.

I left bite marks on his skin, claiming him as I hadn’t before. For the first time, there was no urgency, no rush. Although I typically yearned for his commands, eager to obey every one, this subtle switch in dynamic felt right, too. I wanted to thoroughly worship him, to show him how grateful I was for the chance to see his true form.

Surprisingly, he didn’t fuss. He didn’t demand for me to go faster, or roll on top and pin me down so he could set the pace. He let me take control, seemingly patient for once just to lie there and be adored.

Admittedly, I was the one concealing restlessness. Under the surface, there was fear stewing in my gut, caused by the feelings I had whenever I looked at him now. ‘Now’ meaning ‘all the time,’ not just the burst of satisfaction at witnessing his shudder and gasp as I finally replaced my fingers with my cock—though that undeniably made my chest ache, too.

I felt strongest about the ordinary things. The way he subconsciously rubbed his feet together whenever he lay on my sofa, reading. The little, honest smile he did whenever he smelled each flower before arranging them in their buckets. All of it brought on that bloom of overwhelming and unfamiliar chaos in my chest, and it scared me. My fondness for him had been gradual—and somewhat reluctant, in the very beginning—but looking back, it was always going to happen.

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