Page 113 of A Chill in the Flame
The moan she made was one she’d never heard escape from her throat before, but then again, this was something she’d never done before. These sensations were utterly new. This was a fullness, a worship, an excitement, a pleasure toodelicious for the disrespect of silence. This was not making love. This was not sex. This was glorious, beautiful, toe-curling, luxurious, debaucherous fucking.
More hands. More mouths. More breath and oxytocin and sensation and pure, unadulterated indulgence. More electric than the static in the air before a lightning storm. More intense than the sharp, breathtaking pain of falling to your back so hard that the wind was knocked from your lungs. More beautiful than a field of spring blossoms or scrolls of poetry or secret smiles between loves. More depraved than theft or violence or murder.
More, more, more.
Dwyn lifted the front of her dress, and Tyr gathered the back of the material, bunching it higher until her ass pressed against his hips.
She guided him in like a hot knife through butter, melting at the low growl of pleasure that reverberated through him as he entered her. She couldn’t help the way her body arched, the way her hips moved, the sounds she made, the pleasure she felt as he finished pulling the crumbled material of her dress up and over her head from where it had collected.
The way Tyr held her, so firmly, so unrelentingly as he moved within her made her both completely safe and utterly surrendered all at once. Dwyn was another creature entirely, one composed of chaos and decadence, one created for anarchy, thrill, and satisfaction. It was an orchestra of sensation, the harmonies and melodies ranging from high strings to deep basses as the music swelled.
Tyr kept her pinned with one arm, but his hand crept up until his calloused hands held her throat. She threw her head back as his forehead bent forward, nestling into the curve of her neck. His speed increased to match the throbbing musical tempo. She was a symphony of passion. In that moment, the world was hers.
She didn’t care how loud she was. She didn’t care if the palace listened, if Harland could hear her scream, if the queenor Tarkhany herself stirred from her bed as Ophir came up against the cliff of pleasure just as she had stood on the edge of the seaside cliffs so many months ago. This time when she was pushed over, she didn’t go alone. Tyr snapped behind her, his jolt of pleasure echoing her own. Strong arms caught her as she fell, tumbling down the edge of the cliff and into the sea. A mouth continued to move on her, as relentless as the breaking waves on the rocky beaches outside of Aubade. Her cries raked through her, body shivering as she was carried under. It was like drowning, like being born, like the first taste of chocolate, falling in love, the sing of a blade, and the spinning buzz of trying the opium in poppy dens all at once.
She didn’t know the meaning of life.
She didn’t know why she’d been put on the earth, why she existed, or why anything meant anything.
But she did know those few moments of euphoria made it all worth it.
The ecstasy achieved in the few, gloriously high moments after orgasm were some of the only true seconds of bliss this world had to offer. Dwyn’s mouth stopped, but she kissed her way up slowly, gently, almost lovingly until she rested her forehead against Ophir’s. She returned the kiss, tasting her own wet sunshine on the siren’s lips. Tyr held her more tightly, staying inside her after the moment had passed. He held her close, pressing her into him as if she were adrift in the sea, at risk of floating away.
The sweat and silk and warmth of the night were everything she could have wanted. Dwyn’s forehead touching her own, the stunning woman’s hands in her hair, and Tyr’s arm wrapped around her, still deeply inside of her, the three fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.
Fifty
4:45 AM
2 hours until execution
How curious, she thought. One corner of Ophir’s lip quirked upward, while the other tugged down. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but her first thought was one of disappointment that Tyr’s manhood hadn’t remained inside her throughout the night.How curious, indeed.
His arm remained draped over her chest, just as Dwyn’s leg stayed over her hip.
She was no stranger to group sex. She was, however, brand fucking new to sex at the edge of the world. On the eve of her vengeance, trapped between rivals, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel this again.
The nightmares had ceased to take hold of her after Dwyn and Tyr entered her life. As it were, she didn’t care if they were friends or foes. Maybe that was selfish, but she decided that there was a level of greed afforded to women whose sisters had been slain. Blood magic and nefarious intentions aside, she was safe, she was whole, and for the first time in a long time, she belonged to herself. It was more than an added benefit that the sex was transcendent. She knew they hated each other and wasn’t sure if she’d be willing to finesse last night into a recurrence, but a girl could dream.
She stayed as quiet as possible, moving slowly as she maneuvered her way out of the bed, tiptoeing to where her failed compass rested on the desk. Fortunately, it served as a rather useful pocket watch when she needed to be mindful of the hour. It was too dark to see the hands of the clock, so she crept toward the curtain, parting it ever so briefly to let the crescent moon illuminate the pocket watch. It would be more than an hour before the first grays of dawn.
This would not be a morning for relaxing.
She wasn’t sure where Tyr had tossed the torn remnants of her dress in the night, so she walked soundlessly to the bathing room without a stitch of clothing. The climate lent itself to nudity. When she returned to the room, she frowned at the sight of the bed. Dwyn was there alone.
“Shh.” An unseen hand slipped around her waist, pulling her close. Tyr kept his voice low as he whispered in her ear. “I’m going to stay out of sight today, but I’ll be right there. Don’t feel alone, not even for a moment. Wherever you are, know that I’m there for you. No matter what happens.”
“Tyr—”
The same rough fingers that had gently scraped against her skin last night pushed her hair back from her ears, tangling themselves near the nape of her neck as he guided her into a kiss goodbye.
A lump formed in her throat, though she didn’t know why. He slid a hand down her arm, squeezing her hand before his presence disappeared. Logic told her he hadn’t gone far, but she wished he’d stayed. She saw the wisdom in his choice. He was from Sulgrave. It was challenging enough explaining the presence of three Farehold fae and their Farehold prisoner. If Dwyn was to be at her side, maybe Ophir had enough on her plate for foreign emissaries. Besides, she didn’t have to be one for warfare or strategy to understand the advantage that came from having someone undetected on your side.
He’d said he wouldn’t abandon her, and she believed him.
The door opened and closed silently. She wouldn’t haveseen it at all if she hadn’t been staring after the door for exactly such an occasion. It was little more than a darker shade of black against the gray gloom.
Ophir decided that it was her morning, and she should get to decide when the curtains were opened and when the remaining partner in her bed was awake. She slipped the curtains to the side, allowing the very first lights of deep, dark gray to break over the dark sands of the desert. Ophir returned to the bed, crawling onto her knees as she gently shook Dwyn awake.
