“Yes. Sing for me, Seraphina.” His voice was commanding as he pulled out almost to the tip and plunged back inside me in a swift motion. “Sing.”
I did. The sounds coming out of me were primal. I had no control over them, but I suppose it was a song of sorts. The same elemental magic that filled the air when Ciaran and I had first sung together gathered around us. Wind whipped, pulling at my hair. Ciaran’s shadow magic swirled to meet it—our magic joining as our bodies did. Wind and shadow and song.
I wanted to live in this moment forever. To capture the essence of it and keep it with me always. I had always craved the deep connection that sex promised, and every time I had been disappointed—been left feeling like an object, a vessel to be used rather than an equal participant.
But now, I felt something entirely new. It was reverence. It was awe. We were worshipping each other. When our eyes met and that familiar spark travelled between us, I could feel it in every place our bodies joined.
“Look at us,” Ciaran murmured, his gaze dropping from mine to watch as his cock pushed into me. My eyes moved down too—to watch him disappear inside me, feeling every ridge and line as he did. I was beginning to sense that elusive feeling of release again, just from the sight of us. But then Ciaran reached between our bodies, stroking my clit with his thumb as he continued to plunge into me. I nearly broke around him. I was so close, my head falling back onto the bed.
And suddenly he was gone. Ciaran withdrew from me. I was bereft. I had been about to come again. I opened my eyes as a frustrated sound escaped me.
Ciaran gave a cocky smile and shook his head. Before I could react he flipped us over, hauling me over him.
“I want a better view when you come on my cock.” He smirked, pulling my face down to meet his, devouring my mouth with his tongue. “Ride me, Seraphina,” he commanded.
I was self-conscious again. Ride him? I had no idea how to move, what to do—I had never done it before. Never been the one in control. But Ciaran lifted my hips, guiding me up onto my knees over his hips. I moved, sliding onto him, feeling every inch as I slid down. Holy Goddess he felt so much deeper here, and he was angled now so he was hitting that extremely sensitive spot inside me. I braced my hands on Ciaran’s chest and began to move on him this time, grinding my clit down on him as I did. Well. That was a new and exciting development. I began to move with enthusiasm, my breasts bouncing in his face. He did have an excellent view.
“That’s it.” Ciaran groaned as I rode him. My orgasm was close now, as his cock hit that spot over and over again. His hips bucked, meeting mine, and my hands tightened, grabbing onto the muscles on his chest and we moved faster—deeper. We were frenzied.
In this position everything felt so much more intense—my inner muscles tensing on Ciaran as he took me to that edge. I leaned over him—so close to breaking—and he took my nipple into his mouth, sucking, biting and laving me with his tongue. And that sent me over, my orgasm rocking through me as I rode him, hard. My body flung forward, hands grasping behind his neck as I cried out against him. Ciaran didn’t stop, continuing to move his hips, rolling to meet mine. He drove into me, taking me over the edge another time. Cold wind, dark shadows roiled in the air around us. This time, he came over the edge with me, and I felt him shatter and shudder beneath me as we rode through the final throes together.
“… there is some music that is so terrible that it consumes all who approach it.”
—The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux
STAND AND WATCH IT BURN
Later we lay in that bed, limbs tangled, nestled together in the cocoon of white linen created by the four-poster. I could have lain there for hours, breathing in the scent of Ciaran. His arms wrapped around me, our legs entwined—safe and warm and cared for. We were quiet for a while, what we had done beyond words.
It hadn’t been this way before—with Seff. He had taken his own pleasure from me and drifted off to sleep. I could have been anyone, or no one. I supposed it had been that way in our whole relationship too. He would have made me into what he wanted me to be—who I was, what I wanted, what I needed, mattered little to someone like that.
But Ciaran had taken his time, today and every day before, to learn what I wanted. He paid attention to what I needed. And when he looked at me, it was with reverence; the way he treated my body and soul was as if I were something to worship. It made me want to worship him the same way. Ciaran saw all of me and not only accepted it but adored it.
“What are you thinking in that chaotic head of yours?” Ciaran’s voice rumbled beneath my cheek, which rested on hischest. He couldn’t even see my face, yet somehow he could still read me like a book.
I wasn’t sure what to say. In a rare move, I didn’t change the subject. Instead, I chose honesty.
“I think that I have never felt like this before. That I never want to leave this bed. And I’m wondering what this is. Whatweare. If there is awe…” Truth whooshed out of me in a breathless stream of confessions that I never would have made if I was looking into Ciaran’s eyes.
“Love.” Ciaran planted a kiss on the top of my head, inhaling as he did—like he was trying to memorize the scent of me. “I will be whatever you want me to be. If you never want to see me again, if you want to chain me to this bed and use me as your pleasure slave, if you want to go back to being friends, if you want something more… I’m yours. I’ve been yours since I heard you sing on that rooftop—you bewitched me that night, Seraphina.” His fingers traced long lines down my back, little jolts of pleasure skittering in their wake.
I pressed several kisses to his chest. “I think I want something… more…” A whispered confession. “I think… I think I was yours too. That night on the rooftop…”
I tilted my chin up and found Ciaran’s lips. The kiss was slow—languid. Like we had all the time in the world. He ran his tongue over my bottom lip and it was not with the furious and wanton need from before. It was like something he planned to do a thousand times. More.
The kiss deepened—still slow, like we were savouring this moment—but with more intent. This time, there was no rush. We could take all day if we wanted. I ran my hands over Ciaran’s chest, fingers taking their time, feeling every hard-earned muscle, tracing every scar.
His hands tightened on my back for a moment. He went back to tracing lazy patterns, delving lower with each pass. I wrapped a leg around his waist and ground into him.
“Goddess, the way you move, Seraphina.” He broke the kiss, releasing my swollen mouth. “You will be the death of me.”
“Hm… you like the way I move?” I writhed my hips against him to emphasize what kind of movement I had in mind. I captured his mouth once more, our kisses tipping more frenetic.
“Fuck, yes,” Ciaran mumbled, breathless, against my mouth. “Watching you dance was like a religious experience.” He groaned, his hands cupping my ass. “That red costume… your red mouth… mm.” His tongue devoured said mouth. “You had me undone even then…” Ciaran slid a hand around my hip, finding the heat pooling between my legs. He began to stroke just as lazily as he’d kissed me.
My mind was about to empty as I turned onto my back and let my legs fall open to give him unfettered access. He was dragging a finger through the centre of me, circling once and starting another unhurried stroke. Every touch measured, deliberate, building pleasure in me at a leisurely pace. His erection pushed against my leg and it was clear that he was enjoying this as much as I was. I could stay here, doing this, forever.
But then something Ciaran had murmured against my mouth snagged my memory. Watching me dance? Ciaran had only ever seen me sing. I pulled away from him, pushing up onto my elbows.
