Page 82 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

Chapter Forty-One

Holtremainedatthedoor, his eyes still roaming over her skin, and Zylah knew this was another moment he was committing to memory.

He held her gaze as he moved to the stool, catching her wrist to examine her arm where he’d healed it, fingers gliding along her skin to her throat, Zylah’s breath stuttering. His thumb swiped over the scar Aurelia had given her, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?”

Zylah canted her head at his touch, let the compliment ripple over her skin, eyes fluttering shut. Most of her body sat below the water, the tension easing from her limbs as Holt swept hair from her neck to continue his exploration.

“When I saw you pinned beneath that vampire earlier,” he began, and Zylah’s eyes flashed open to meet his. With both versions of her sight layered over each other, a grainy film still covered everything, shadows blotting out the edges of her vision, but it didn’t hide the fear in his eyes, the pain. “How can I need you…missyou?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Zylah took his hand, brought his palm to her lips, and kissed his skin, her eyes never leaving his. She relished the reaction it incited in him, the way he rose to his feet to close the distance between them, his thumb tracing over her lip as he gazed down at her. The thick length of him pressed against the loose stays of his trousers, Zylah’s skin flushing at the proximity of his body to hers despite the bathtub between them. Need coiled tight within her, need and the urgency to feel him, to taste him.

She sat up on her knees, steam rising from the water, her hands pressing to the defined muscle of his stomach and pausing. Waiting, asking for permission. Holt answered by taking her soaking hair in his fist, wrapping it around his wrist to draw her closer. His heated gaze swept over the swell of her breasts, down her stomach, his eyes half lidded and matching the frantic need coursing through her.

Every day with him was an exercise in self-control. In not touching him. Claiming him as hers. Holt made a tortured sound in the back of his throat as Zylah ran her hand up his length, sliding her hand into his trousers to free him. She held his gaze as she took him into her mouth slowly, his hand tightening in her hair and the other resting over her throat in a gesture that was both reverent and asserting all at once, the thrill of it urging Zylah on.

He’d forced his pleasure aside for hers back in the cave, put her needs before his, and now she wanted to do the same for him. To please him. To love him. To make him understand that no matter what he’d lost, what pieces of himself he felt he could no longer hold onto, that he still drove her wild, still had her starved for even the smallest of his touches.

“Zylah,” he breathed as she started to move, her hands sliding to his thighs to give herself leverage. He was holding back. Restraining himself, but she didn’t want that. She wanted his control to snap. Wanted him unleashed, one of her hands drifting beneath the water between her legs to touch herself at the thought.

She moved faster on him, her hand following the same rhythm at the apex of her thighs, a moan escaping her as her desire coiled tighter. The sound she made was Holt’s undoing. His restraint shattered, hips thrusting in time with her movements, his thumb stroking her throat and his hand tight in her hair. Zylah lost herself to the taste of him, to his hands on her skin, to the sound of his sharp breaths in the steam-filled room, her thighs squeezing together and back arching, her body taut like a drawn bow.

Another breathy hum escaped her as Holt thrust into her mouth harder, a groan escaping him as both of them tumbled over the edge together, his release thick and hot in the back of her throat, hers turning her boneless in the water. She held tight to his thigh with one hand, wringing out every last aftershock of her climax with the other, swallowing down every last drop that spilled from him.

Holt’s mouth came over hers, the sound of him kicking off his trousers registering at the back of Zylah’s mind as he claimed her mouth with a searing kiss. If he could taste himself on her lips, he didn’t seem to care, his arms coming around her to pull her from the water, her body sliding against his.

She dragged her gaze up to meet his, another delicious spark of lust dancing through her at how the tip of him pressed against her entrance, at how one tilt of her hips was all it would take for him to be inside her. But Holt held her in place, consuming her with another hot, devouring kiss as he walked them away from the bath.

Zylah’s skin pressed against a hard surface a moment later, Holt pulling back to look at her, his chest heaving just as much as hers.

“The humans at the camp think you’re Pallia in disguise. Goddess, they call you.” He trailed a hand from her cheek, down her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts and over her stomach, her breath catching when his thumb brushed the spot where she craved his touch most, his lips quirking when he continued his descent, his hand trailing her thigh and down her leg.

He lowered to one knee, and then the other, fingers curling around one ankle to deposit her leg over his shoulder. He started his exploration again with the other hand, fingers making a lazy path down her body, over one of her breasts and down her navel, knuckles brushing between her thighs as he trailed down her leg and deposited her other ankle over his shoulder, until she was wholly exposed and panting before him.

“Like this,” he murmured. “This is how I dream of worshipping you. The thought that I wake up stroking myself to every morning, wondering how you taste.”

Zylah trembled as he pressed a kiss to her knee, her thigh. As he paused to take her in again, his breath hot between her legs and his eyes on hers, it wasn’t just lust she saw in his eyes. It was need. Hunger. Devotion. All of it so raw and so palpable it had tears pressing at the corners of her eyes as she fought to pull back on her end of the bond, the thread that pulled so taut between them she wondered if it might snap at any moment.

She cried Holt’s name at the first press of his tongue against her centre, fingers tangling in his hair as he tasted her with slow, deliberate strokes, his rumble of approval humming along her skin. And then he set to worshipping her. First with just his tongue, his thumb moving in circles over the most sensitive part of her, drawing out her pleasure slowly until she was gasping and trembling on the counter. Then he swapped his thumb for his tongue, sliding one thick finger inside her, then another.

Zylah’s hips bucked against him, his strong hand pressing over her stomach and pinning her in place, the heat of him like a brand across her navel. She understood now how he’d felt that first time they’d been together at the Aquaris Court, the desperation in his tone when he’d told her he’d have waited if it was what she wanted. The restraint it would have taken him to give her that.

But she didn’t want anything tainting this moment with him. If it was all she got, she would savour it, savour him, his hands on her body, his possessive touch. He curled his fingers inside her and she broke apart, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over her skin, Holt lapping up every moment, drawing a hiss from her at the intensity of it.

“You are more than a goddess,” Holt told her, peppering kisses along her skin as he rose to his feet, pulling her against his body, the solid length of him pressed against her throbbing core. “More than I deserve.” She began to object, but he silenced her with another kiss. “You settle something in me and I—”

Holt’s pain hit her square in the chest. He fell to his knees, hands grasping at his hair as agony tore through him, his heartbeat loud and wild and racing against his ribs. Zylah slid off the counter to kneel before him, her hands shaking as they gently rested over his.

He was trying to remember. Trying to cut through whatever Aurelia had done to him.

“Holt,” Zylah breathed, a flare of comfort surging from her, caressing his skin.

His eyes shot up to meet hers. “I need you to show me. Please.”

To show him what they were to each other. What had happened between them. Zylah pressed a kiss to his lips, his heart still racing, the pain still raw and prickling against her skin, quelling the desire that had burned her up a moment before. “Not like this,” she whispered, gently tugging him to his feet with her. “Come and sit with me.” If she was going to cause him more pain, it wouldn’t be on a cold, hard floor.

Despite the far off look in his eyes, he nodded, reached for a towel and shifted behind her to wrap her in it. The air crackled, his magic pressing against her skin, fingers brushing the scars across her back. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice rough. Holt’s hand settled on the scar the vanquicite had left behind as he draped the fabric around her shoulders. He tucked a towel at his waist, his gaze darting over her face, his magic still humming in the air around them.

Zylah took his hands in hers and tugged him towards the door, back into the bedroom. “I’ll show you.” She pressed a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the bed. Her own heartbeat slammed against her ribcage, but before she settled next to him, she searched for one of his shirts and slid it over her head, breathing in deeply as the scent of acani berries wrapped around her.

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