Page 52 of The Sorcerer's Thief
We move together naturally, as if we’ve done this before but with the excitement of the first time. The newness of a lover yet to be completely explored. The promise of more to come, weaving its way into my heart like a tapestry.
The stretch as he enters me and the following sense of fullness has me arching my spine and throwing my head back. So perfect for me. Such a rush.
Our rhythm comes easily, both of us eager for more of the other. The smooth glide of our bodies turns intense in increments.
My whole world is Julian. His dark hair over my cheek, his hands at my waist, his cock pleasuring me from the inside. Mine is trapped between us, slick with early seed against his abdomen, the teasing, tempting delight of not quite enough and almost too much at once.
The heat of it is addicting. The urge for more. That spot right there. Ooh, there.
His breath dampens my neck. He’s panting. Losing control. And it’s me who’s making him feel this way. My body doing this to him. I savor every second.
I grip his arms, squeezing the firm muscles beneath my fingers, keeping him tight against me. No space between us, his abdominals sliding and tensing against my cock.
I’m so close.
But I want to wait for my lover.
When Julian finally cries out and comes, I’m overcome. My body trembles and quakes with his as a rolling wave of bliss drags me under. Pleasure consumes us.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
We cling to each other.
It’s too good to be true.
Chapter 16
Julian
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a lover. Longer still since I’ve trusted someone enough to bare my scars to their gaze. To stay in bed with them after. To relish every rise and fall of their chest against mine.
Cricket has scaled my walls just as he scaled that building the night we first met. I can’t get enough of him. He’s cuddled into my side like a sleepy puppy. If I don’t rise soon, he’ll be drooling like one too. We’ll fall asleep like this, all sticky and sweaty.
I kiss his crown, damp hair against my lips. “Darling?”
“Mmphf?”
“Let me up.” I pat his bottom, then smile to myself because I have bottom-patting privileges now. “And I’ll clean us off.”
“S’fine.” He cuddles in closer.
It most decidedly is not.
We’ll be much happier come morning if we wash off before sleeping. I wriggle out from under his sleep-heavy form with very little help from him and grab the sponge from our bath.Once rinsed clean in cool water, I add a bit of my periwinkle oil and rub it in.
I wash him first, one long stroke at a time, while he arches and preens under my touch. His eyes flutter open. He grins, turning this way and that so I can do a thorough job of sorting him out.
How comfortable he is in his own skin. Naked. Well fucked. Perhaps not as sleepy as I thought. The little vixen is biting his lip and batting his lashes at me.
I’ve never been that comfortable in my skin, even before my capture and especially not after. Cricket watches me as I tend to myself, and though I’m trying not to be self-conscious, my skin crawls under the scrutiny of another’s gaze. Even to Cricket’s gaze, I’m not immune.
He said he doesn’t care about the scars, but I’ve seen them. They’re gruesome. A twisted, gnarled patch of discolored skin where bones were wrenched from sockets and skin hacked through like meat.
I shiver. I miss my wings, strong, gleaming black and iridescent like an oil slick, towering over my head at rest and beating in flight, carrying me soaring on air currents. The freedom they brought me, along with my magic, had made me think myself invincible.
All that is no more.
“Come back to bed, Jules.”
