Page 48 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Fintan took a step closer. Makar stood up, helping me to my feet. He grinned, never removing his hands from my hips. He pulled me closer so my chest was touching his.Fintan then wrapped his arms around me from behind, hands sliding over my stomach just above Makar’s, and his mouth brushed against my neck. My breath hitched as his lips found the spot just below my ear. A shiver danced down my spine.
Oh. My. Suns.
“Well,” Makar said, voice silky with implication. “Perhaps we should take this back to your room, Prince.”
Fintan didn’t even hesitate.
“Yes.”
At this point, I didn’t even care if Fintan was being influenced by Makar. I just knew that I wanted them both. Needed them both.
I looked at Makar, “I love Fintan.”
He smiled. “Relax, I know you do. But you also need to extinguish that fire that has you wanting more.” Makar leaned in and kissed me.
I let him.
The kiss was short, but with his lips on mine and Fintan’s grasp on my waist, I felt like I was melting.
Makar pulled away and looked at me, and then looked at Fintan. “It’s just for fun. No feelings attached.”
The walk back through the castle halls was a blur of nervous laughter and charged glances. Every brush of Makar’s fingers at the small of my back sent sparks through me. Fintan’s hand never left mine, his thumb tracing circles into my palm as though trying to ground us both. I could still feel Makar’s influence humming at the edge of Fintan’s mind—not controlling, not forceful… just permission. Permission to feel what we all were too careful to name.
I didn’t need Makar’s influence, and he knew that. I kept my shield up the entire time.
When the door to Fintan’s chambers closed behind us, something shifted. The air was heavier. Thicker. Expectant.
I turned to face them both, heart hammering in my chest, and suddenly I wasn’t drunk—I was aware. Burning with heat and courage.
They watched me.
I reached behind me, found the clasp of my dress, and let it fall.
The fabric slipped to the floor in a whisper, pooling around my ankles like moonlight. I stood before them—bare, unhidden, unafraid.
The silence stretched.
Fintan’s eyes went wide, every breath he took loud in the quiet. Makar, however, looked like he’d just been handed the stars.
Neither moved.
But gods, I wanted them to.
Fintan moved first.
His eyes were locked on mine as he stepped closer, slow and reverent, as if he still wasn’t sure I was real. His hands came to rest at my waist, hesitant at first, then firm, as though anchoring himself. I felt the tremble in his fingertips as he leaned in and kissed me.
It was tender at first—sweet, uncertain. But as soon as I melted into him, something in him cracked open. His hands roamed up my spine, drawing me closer, his mouth claiming mine with growing hunger. I gasped against him, needing more, my body already burning from the heat rolling off him in waves.
Then I felt Makar at my back.
He was a whisper, a shadow, and flame, the heat of him brushing my bare skin. One of his hands slid up my arm, slow and deliberate, sending a ripple of goosebumps in his wake. “Careful,” he murmured against my neck, voice low and rich. “You might spoil her before I’ve had my turn.”
Fintan growled softly at that, not in protest—but in agreement. “No one comes inside of her but me, got it?” His sultry voice purred but was demanding all at once.
“Got it,” Makar smiled against my neck and then started kissing the sensitive skin. I arched into him.
They moved together like dancers who didn’t know they were choreographed. I turned my head slightly, and Makar’s lips met mine. His kiss was fire and mischief, deep and devouring in a way that made my knees weaken. Where Fintan had been careful, Makar was chaos. My fingers tangled in his dark red hair as he pressed against me, all heat and hunger.
