Page 99 of A Match Made in Hell
His first lick has me bucking from the mattress, my toes curling into the sheets, scrabbling for purchase. I cry out, needing to squirm, needing him tomove; he’s too slow and it’s too much, the feeling of his mouth on me, of his thumb pressing down in just the right spot. Pressure builds and builds, never quite enough, and I swear he’s doing this on purpose.
It’s torture. Exquisite torture.
Finally, I whimper, ‘Please.’
He pauses. I clench on nothing. He presses his mouth back where it belongs, and he can’t hold me down, can’t stop me writhing and bucking and screaming because he’s going harder this time, long sweeping strokes of his tongue working deeper and deeper. I kick out and scratch my nails on silk.
My whole focus is centred on what he’s doing to me, and that pressure is increasing again; I’m afraid he’s going to stop, to torment me some more, but this time he keeps going, replacing his mouth with a finger, then two, and I’m spasming around him, gasping for air, stars exploding before my eyes.
White light blinds my vision as I twitch beneath him. When I return to my body, he’s already crawled over me, caging me between his arms. His face hovers above mine. A rush of sheer, undiluted adoration swoops through my stomach.
‘You should have done that during lust,’ I say, gasping. ‘I’d never have said no.’
The corners of his mouth lift. ‘I had to give you a fighting chance at passing.’
My response is somewhere between a snort and a giggle. I’mnot convinced it’s particularly attractive, but something close to fondness fills Sath’s gaze, and he brushes sweaty strands of hair from my face before kissing me again.
Immediately, I turn to liquid. My hands skim the planes of his chest, warm and solid, before drifting lower, wanting to touch him as he’d touched me. His hand encircles my wrist before it can reach its target, and I swear his eyes flash gold. ‘Another time.’
He nudges my knees apart before lining himself up at my entrance, kissing me one more time, long and slow and deep, as though he’s savouring me as much as I’m savouring him, like he too is afraid this one moment is all we’ll ever get, and wants to commit every second to memory.
The moment he slides inside me, it’s like all the scattered pieces of me finally click into place. With him, I’m just Willow, messy and imperfect, and it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to pretend, to wonder which sides of me are safe for him to see. They’ve already been exposed, and he doesn’t care.
He stayed.
He moves slowly at first. I throw my head back on the pillow, scratching my nails down his skin as he burrows his face into my neck. Our mingled sighs fill the room, followed by panted breaths and his name on my lips when he slips a hand between us, pressing down on that spot between my legs, like while I’ve been mapping him he’s been mapping me too, except he’s done a much more expert job of it.
Already worked up, every nerve fried, I go over the edge almost immediately. It’s more intense this time, amplified by the feeling of Sath inside me, and I have to fight to keep my magic under control. Flames spark down my arms; I’m going to combustI am I am I am.
I grit my teeth, willing my flames to dim. I can’t turn into a fire hazard every time we have sex – which I plan for us to do alot – which means I need to figure this out somehow. Bunnies. Clouds. Rainbows.
‘Willow?’ Sath has stopped moving. I open my eyes. ‘You’re losing control.’
‘Only a little,’ I mutter, shifting beneath him, urging him to continue. ‘Why have you stopped?’
He raises a brow, and I cannot believe we’ve paused mid-coitus to have an argument about the fact I’m on fire.
‘It’s fine. See?’ The flames have turned to shadows now, nothing but black smoke coiling around my elbows. ‘I can control it.’
I have to control it. If I can’t, I’ll never survive opening the gates. Sath doesn’t look especially convinced, probably because of the hole I’ve singed in the sheets, although he does start moving again, pulling out agonisingly slowly only to slam in again. I bite his shoulder.
‘Remember,’ he murmurs into my ear, ‘pure thoughts.’
He grins, like he knows my mind is living in the gutter, and kisses me before I can say something venomous in response. He finds his rhythm, not breaking the kiss, and I’m burning up, unable to find anything pure in me at all, only a deepwant. I clutch at him, terrified I’m going to burn him too, but equally scared to let go.
His hands cup my face. The kiss slows, turning deeper, gentler, and with it comes emotion, like he’s trying to project every feeling he has into that kiss. And I feel it too. It blooms, like a flower erupting in spring sunshine, so intense my flames are snuffed out by its power.
Afterwards, we lie there, chest to chest, hearts pounding against one another, as though they’re trying to break through and become one. Maybe they already are; alreadywere. His fingers stroke my skin as though they’re mesmerised by it; his nose nuzzles my cheek as he lets out a contented sigh. I hold himagainst me, wishing I could keep him here forever.
And when he shifts to look into my eyes, I see something shining in his gaze, something that mirrors the words threatening to bubble out of me, and I realise it’s not just lust I feel for him. Not even close.
36
We lie side by side, limbs entwined, me tucked under his arm. Sath coils a lock of my hair around his finger. ‘It’s red, by the way,’ he says. ‘My favourite colour.’
‘You took a shot because you didn’t want to tell me your favourite colour was the same as my hair?’
He flicks my nose. ‘I didn’t want you getting any ideas.’
