Page 93 of Wings of Frost and Fury
“Fuck breathing,” he mutters. His long fingers find his cock, stroking slowly along it. “Please, my love… drown me in that beautiful cunt.”
“Don’t come until I do,” I warn him, and then I settle down.
There’s nothing like the feeling of rubbing your clit against a man’s hard jaw and his soft lips, while his nose teases your pussy. I soak Ashvelon’s profile in my arousal, slicking every part of his face recklessly as I use him. He licks and growls and groans against me, sometimes forgetting to stroke himself because he’s so caught up in the pursuit of my pleasure.
Even though he doesn’t tap my thigh, I lift to let him breathe a few times. Every time I do it, he whines and moans like a dog whose favorite treat has been taken away. His pathetic craving for me drives me wild, until finally I come with his tongue in my pussy and my fingers pressed to my quivering clit.
“Yes, my darling, yes,” he murmurs, lapping my cunt eagerly.
When the sharp bliss subsides and I can breathe again, I lean forward along his body and take his cock in my mouth. He jolts under me, startled and thrilled, whimpering with need. I let him come inside my throat, swallowing the sweet richness of him down into my belly.
He lies there, panting, while I fetch a wet cloth from the washstand and wipe his handsome face clean of my arousal. After dimming the lamp, I join him in bed, listening to the creaking quite of the inn and the distant rush of the wind,wondering how much of our antics the inn’s residents could hear. Everything, most likely.
“I think I will be able to sleep, after all,” Ashvelon murmurs. “I didn’t think I would, after…”
“Hush, pet.” I stroke his face, pressing my body closer to his. “Don’t think. Only rest.”
“You have made my life beautiful,” he whispers into the dark.
My heart fills up at those words, and my throat swells too tightly to respond. But I slide my fingers between his and clasp his hand as his breathing slows and he drifts into sleep.
The poignant warmth of his words fades quickly for me, shifting into a resentful jealousy because he can sleep, and I can’t. Despite how exhausted I am, despite how I advised him not tothink, I can’t stop the churning of anxious thoughts in my head. During the daylight hours, when there are people and distractions, I can laugh off the worries and make a joke of dreadful things… but at night, in the darkness, there’s no one for whom to put on a show, no one to be aghast or amused by my humor.
There is nothing between me and my goddamn brain.
I think about the flask of liquor a few times. Though I’m sorely tempted to get up and fetch it from my things, I don’t want to risk disengaging my body from Ashvelon, for fear that I’ll wake him.
I stare into the darkness, seeing the ever-present image of the flask. The fact that it’s so boldly prevalent in my thoughts, wielding so much influence over my mind, angers me. For the first time, I admit to myself, clearly and firmly, that I’m slipping beyond a harmless affinity for wine into something else. An obsession that, if I allow it to continue, could spiral out of my control.
That is unacceptable. I refuse to let anything control my life or my actions exceptme.
Closing my eyes, I focus on Ashvelon’s quiet breathing. When my mind wanders to thoughts of Kyreagan and Serylla or to worries about the clan, I jerk on the reins sharply, dragging my thoughts to a different path, to the last romance novel I read. I plunge my brain into my memories of that story, mulling over the bits of dialogue I can recall. I follow the plot in my mind, scene by scene, until…
Until it’s morning, and Ashvelon is brushing back my hair, quietly urging me to wake up so we can leave before he shifts again.
Relief washes over me, a sense of personal triumph because I resisted the compulsion of the flask.
But when I’m dressed and ready to go, I don’t leave it behind. I keep it in my pocket.
The inn’s kitchen is alive with activity when Ash and I come downstairs. They haven’t officially opened breakfast to their guests yet, but when I offer a handful of coins in exchange for some eggs and bacon, the cook happily agrees.
We eat quickly, then head outside, taking the lane toward the coast. The fields are a soft, pale green, cloaked in morning mist, and the world is quiet except for the occasional twitter of birdsong from the distant treeline.
After we round a bend in the road, Ashvelon strips down, hands me his clothing, and transforms.
“My dragon side requires more breakfast than a few eggs,” he says. “Would you mind if I hunt? I don’t want to steal animals from the farms in this area, so I’ll need to find wild prey. I’m not sure how long it will take.”
“Take all the time you need,” I reassure him. “I enjoy walking. Maybe I’ll head into the village and do a little shopping. I wish you could come with me.”
“Sometime soon, we’ll fly to a town and—do shopping. You’ll have to show me how.”
“You know I love teaching you new things.”
I grin at the deep chuckle that rolls through him, but as he bounds away through the mist, my smile fades. I miss him already. I can’t go with him, though. I enjoy walking on grass or a nice path, but I don’t particularly fancy stumbling and thrashing through the undergrowth of a forest. Besides, I’ll only interfere with his hunting.
The nearby village has a tiny but well-stocked bookshop, and I spend longer there than I intend to. When I realize how many hours have passed, I hastily pay for two small novels, stuff them into my bag, and hurry down the road again, back to the place where Ashvelon and I parted ways. He isn’t there, so I pace for a while until he appears, looking disgruntled and licking traces of blood from his lips.
“I had to hide from a group of tiny humans for a while,” he growls. “And I found it particularly difficult to scare up decent prey. Nothing but rabbits and squirrels, for fuck’s sake. Have you been waiting long?”
