Page 88 of The Child of Rue Royale
“If she had killed you in that fire, I would’ve had to die too. Because I started all of this from something I thought would be easy. I almost got you killed. And I wouldn’t have been able to live with that or without you.”
My mind sees Bastian, that first time he came into my shop, asking for an illicit potion. My mouth pulls up at the memory. How confidenthe was, how charming. I slide my arms around his neck, clasping my hands behind it.
“All the risk I’ve put you through, and you were pregnant with our child then.” He shakes his head.
I press my forehead into his. “Then it happened just how it should have. Because I had the power to bring you back. And I would do everything all over again—” and then I echo his words— “a thousand times over.”
He smiles up at me. “My little witch,” he says and raises his mouth to mine, kissing me soft and slowly. My skin pricks, his warm lips consuming mine with tender precision. I feel him harden under me, so my hands slide down his chest, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.
It seems in the times when we’re most lost, we can find each other in our sighs of pleasure, in the connection our bodies make, and it’s all I want right now. To be lost in him and he lost in me.
Sliding his shirt from his shoulders, I look in his eyes and move to kiss up his cheek, then over the scar on his forehead that his father gave him. His arms wrap around my hips, hands squeezing my ass cheeks before he takes my mouth again.
“Aster,” he whispers, hands rising, pulling my shirt over my head. “I just…need you. All the time. You fix everything.”
“Then take me, Bastian. I’m yours.”
“Blessed be,” he says into my mouth, wrapping his tongue around mine, consuming me.
My skirt bunches higher around my waist, my hips grinding against his length. “I’m so in love with you,” is all I can say as he kisses down my chest, over the fabric of my bra, then pulls one side down to take my nipple in his mouth.
I hug his head to my chest as sparks of ecstasy fire off, my insides tightening at the spell his wet mouth is working.
“Oh, God,” I cry. He tightens his hands around my hips, picking me up and turning to lay me on the bed.
Knees skidding across the comforter, he stills, staring at me from above. After seconds pass, I rise on my elbows.
“What? Come here,” I say, and he nods, his green eyes like a sea of moss, the skin around them squinting, and he gently shakes his head.
“I’m just taking in what’s mine,” he breathes. I fall flat on the bed, my foot running up his thigh. I clasp my hands over my head, my foot riding overhis crotch, up and down.
“Please,” I beg, and he takes my foot, kissing the top of it and placing it on the bed. Once he’s got his jeans and boxers off, he crawls up, mouth over my heart. “Mine,” he whispers, and I could cry. I could break down in tears. But he’s not done. He slides down over my stomach, placing a gentle kiss on my belly button. “Mine.” His face moves lower, his mouth, slick and wide.
“Mine,” he groans after placing a kiss over my panties, and that’s it. I might just explode right here and now, but I need him, his body against mine, so I open my mouth.
“Then take what’s yours, Bastian,” I say, biting the tip of my finger. And then my panties are down and his mouth is on me, consuming me, sending my blood into fits of explosion, his tongue tasting and stroking, my hand falling to tug on his soft waves of hair.
My breath stalls, everything in me running hot as a kettle. And I realize that when I thought vampire sex was better, I was wrong, I was so wrong. I had never been in love with someone before. Bastian didn’t make me come undone because he was a vampire. He makes me come undone because he’s Bastian.
The sounds of his moans force me to writhe into his mouth, feeling his growls up to my belly, my throat, making me dizzy, unsteady.
And then he’s snaking up my body, spreading my legs, lining his dick at my entrance, running it over my slick clit, and my legs squeeze, begging for him to just be inside me already. And finally, finally, he fills me up, thick and wide. Moving slowly, grinding, watching himself go in and out. His thumb, circling my center over and over until my legs are quaking, moans of rapture escaping my lips.
He moves closer, hovering over me, kissing my breasts, up my neck. Heated breaths soothe me, making me clench harder around him.
“Oh, my God, Aster,” he growls, rocking into me, our stomachs moving against each other, fingers clasping over our heads.
He moves to kiss down my chest and stomach, pulling out of me, and I follow him, rising, placing the softest kisses up his hard abs until I reach his throat.
“Lean back on me,” he says, guiding my hips to turn. With both of us on our knees, he pulls my back against his chest as my head falls to my shoulder. His hand forms a soft necklace around my throat, fingers holding it gently, turning my neck to the side. Teeth graze the delicate skin behind my ear as he thrusts into me, his free hand biting into myhip, squeezing the flesh like he’s holding on for dear life. My ass grinds against his pelvis as all the love I hold for him bubbles up, on the verge of blooming into a sea of bliss.
It’s him, it’s only ever been him, and it will always be him. A million times over, and we are lost in each other, the connection our bodies make not of this world. A sensation so deep, lovemaking so pure, even when it feels deliciously filthy.
“Look at me,” he whispers over my ear, and my gaze lazily meets his, drunk off passion, puddy in his hands. He sees me, every part of me, and I see every part of him. Our lips, bruised from kissing over and over, our lungs out of breath from the build-up of oxygen, and when we come there’s only one word on my lips, said over and over. “Yours, yours, yours.”
Aven cries over the baby monitor, and I jolt up, both of us lying in each other’s arms, the intensity of our lovemaking and the stress of the day making our limbs heavy with exhaustion.
I pull my skirt down and throw my shirt over my head. “Come to bed,” I say, and he nods, sitting up and following me to our bedroom.
