Page 80 of Female Fantasy
“Absolutely fucking perfect,” he says.
And then, inch by inch, he works his way inside of me. Until the feel of him, fully seated, throbbing with anticipation, is almost too much to bear. I wiggle my hips, urging him to move, but he just stares at the place where we’re joined, shaking his head.
“Hold on to my shoulders.”
Then he is kissing me, owning my body, thrusting his hips in time with his tongue. And I feel so whole, so delightfully full, that I think to myself:I couldn’t write a better story than this.Nico’s hard body against my soft chest, his hands in my hair, his eyes on me. And the way he looks at me, like he cannot believe that I am here.
Like I am greater than any fantasy, any fiction.
His right hand moves between us, adding pressure, just ashe nips at the crook of my neck. Suckling, and biting, then swirling his tongue to soothe the sting. Between us, his thrusts match the movement of his mouth.
My walls constrict around him.
“Where the hell did you learn that?” I manage to breathe, my eyes falling closed.
“I think it was in the fanfic where Ryke and Merriah return to the Ice Age to warn the mammoths right before—”
“Wait, what?” My eyes fly open, and my back straightens slightly, my climax building with every passing second. “You read that fic? Before reading the source material? Wait. It was, like, a hundred thousand words. Did you read the whole thing?”
“Joonie.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I’ve read everything you’ve ever written.”
I detonate.
And like the skyline in front of me, I explode with a light so blinding, the city grows dark in comparison. Nico follows me over the edge, holding me through the aftershocks, kissing the top of my shoulder. He whispers to me, stroking my hair, that if tonight was the end of the world, this is the only place he’d want to be.
And later that night, when we go to sleep, I don’t dream of the prince of Atlantia.
But I do dream.
When I open my eyes, I find myself sprawled out on a sand bed suitable for a king, staring at a shell-adorned ceiling and a gemstone chandelier. I hear the faint song of seagulls. The stillness of the sea around me makes me feel as if I am floating in midair, preparing to enter the heavens.
And maybe I am.
The image of Ryke devouring me, body and soul, enters my mind.
“Am I dead?” I whisper.
That is when I notice the objects lying at the foot of my resting place. A chest inscribed with ancient symbols, bearing the Trident of the Gods and the Conch of Hippios, along with two other golden objects I have yet to study. I long to hold them in my arms like newborn babes.
Real.
It was all real.
If I have not crossed over to the immortal gates, then I must be resting somewhere safe. Fort Caspian, perhaps.
And that must mean…
“My prince?” I call out. And then, quieter: “Ryke?”
A whirlpool rushes around the air bubble safeguarding me. A tail made of obsidian leather slaps against the safeguard, causing the entire room to shake. Screams sound as riptides break throughout the rest of the castle.
I draw in a sharp breath.
If Ryke’s strength was incredible before, it is now unfathomable.
His body moves with an otherworldly grace, more deity than mer.
Exhaling slowly, I realize the implication of his rejuvenation.
