Page 78 of The Child of Rue Royale
“I’m sorry…I didn’t know. You have to tell me…I didn’t know.”
“Do you have a spell? Something that could take away this ache?” he asks, desperate.
The air gets wetter, hotter; the clouds in the dark sky seem to be in battle with their own bout of rage. Then Bastian grabs my neck, pulling me close, searching and scanning my face. But whatever he’s looking for can’t be found in the curves of my mouth, the lines of my nose. I could perform a spell that would make him forget, but that means so much would be wiped away, and I would have to share a life with someone who had pieces of our story removed from their memory. No. I wouldn’t do that, at least I don’t want to. But right now, I hope I can make him forget.
I push his lips to mine, rushed and hot, missing his top lip so that I suck solely on his bottom lip, and that seems to stir something insidehim as a raindrop plops on my forehead, and I press my body against his.
“Make me forget, Aster,” he whispers, goading me on, begging for more. He’s not asking for a potion or spell in this moment, he’s asking for just me, just my body, just my mind to make him forget, and that, I can do.
My fingers snake down his neck, following the raindrops that wet our hair and shoulders. He leans back against the building, his open palm making its way down my side, stopping on my hip. The rain pounds down now, a typical New Orleans storm that will come quickly and be gone in the blink of an eye.
The alley is empty as we mold into each other, his hand grabbing my ass now, pressing me against his hard groin. A moan escapes my lips, all the stress of everything that’s transpired between us seeming to beg for a sudden release.
“I need you,” he huffs, his mouth back on mine, his tongue sliding along mine, the taste of him like honey in my mouth, and all I want is more.
A finger tilts my chin up, angling to deepen the kiss, our mouths on the verge of devouring each other. He pulls away, but only to kiss down my neck, his other hand sliding down the outside of my thigh and sweeping back up over the middle seam of my jeans.
“Oh, my God,” I say, looking down the alley, the touch of his finger outside of my jeans making my legs quiver because he presses right in the center, and I feel it to my core, my hands gripping his shirt as he suckles and nips at my neck. The rain causes chills to rise along my skin, but my insides are searing.
“We need to go,” he says. “Or I’m going to fuck you right here against this wall.”
“Home?” I breathe, but he shakes his head.
“Too far.”
“My old place? My mom is at our house, but…” I don’t say the words. I don’t have to. We haven’t been back there since the fire, since his death.
He pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger and looks me in the eye. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”
Before I can speak, he’s pulling me behind him, the rain pummeling us as we dive and swerve around people huddled underterraces, waiting for the rain to pass, until we’re next to the shop in front of my apartment door.
I release his hand, fumbling for the keys, then turn to see him looking up to the roof. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” But there’s a flicker in his eyes, and my job is to make him forget, so I decide that’s what I’m going to do.
“Wait,” I say and go to unlock the shop’s front door instead. “Come on.” I pull him into the shop, locking the door behind him, and this time, I push him against the door with my body. My mouth captures his, my hands falling to the bottom of his T-shirt, scrunching it up in my fingers until I’m pulling it over his head. Our mouths instantly attract back to each other as his hand glides under my shirt, his warm fingers guiding up my back.
I step back so he can peel my wet shirt off, and then my fingers flow across his beautiful body, the roundness of his shoulders, the curve of his pecks. How I missed this body, how I still want to pinch myself to make sure this is real, that I’m not in some cruel dream that’s meant to tear my heart out.
But as my lips brush over his collarbones, over the beat of his heart, I’m reminded that he’s really here, and I won’t take a second for granted. Not one single second.
“God, you’re everything,” he whispers over my head as I kiss up his neck, my hand groping him, his hardness bulging in my palm. I unbutton his jeans as he unbuttons mine, and once we have them off, I take his hand and pull him to the break room, the same room where he first tried the potion, the same room I got the tequila from the night I captured his blood tears that propelled this crazy journey. It’s dark, so dark, just the light of the moon shines through the back door, but it’s just enough. I push him down, his back against the couch Chantal and I nap on during our lunch breaks.
“Aster, if you don’t get on top of me right now, I’m going to lose my mind,” he growls.
“I like when you beg,” I tease, unclasping my bra and letting it fall to the floor.
His eyes flare, arms stretching out across the top of the couch, hands gripping the back, readjusting in his seat. And out of the corner of his upturned mouth, his grin pulls slyly, sensually. “I’m begging you baby, come get on top of me.”
That’s all I need to hear, my desire for him ready to detonate, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. I walk over to him, falling between his knees, grabbing the elastic of his boxers, and he lifts, allowing me to throw them aside.
He’s so hard, hissing when I take him in my mouth, the familiar taste of him, making desire pool inside my core. It doesn’t last long as I stroke him up and down, because he’s begging again. “Get on top of me, God, please.”
I rise, sliding my knees against his hips, sitting on top of him, and he says, “Ride me.” His arms are still outstretched on the couch, and why is that so hot? He slips inside so perfectly like he was meant only for me, and I sigh at how he fills me up. The stretch, the warmth. I start slow, the rise and fall, allowing the feeling to take over every nerve exploding through my body.
That blush I have grown to love more than anything graces his cheeks, and I smile at the beauty of human Bastian. The sexy lust in his eyes, the smolder, the desire for me and only me. He doesn’t touch me; in fact, his strong hands look like they might break through the top of the couch, his grip is so tight, the skin of his knuckles stretches forcefully over the bone.
“Use me,” he commands, his voice hard through his gritted teeth. I go faster, my hands on his shoulders, his mouth dipping down to lick my nipples, but then his teeth slide along my flesh and he nips, taking that bite he threatened me with before. Electricity spasms from his mouth to my breast with him inside me, overtaking every piece of flesh on my body.
