His hand closed around the base, a slow, deliberate stroke that was obscene in its simplicity.
“I want you, Goldie Flynn,” he growled, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. A single bead of slick pearled at the tip. “Not the glitter. Not the Grove Core. You.”
Her whole body clenched with fresh need. “And I want you,” she gasped, hips lifting instinctively. “Yes, please, Splice.”
He stroked himself again, eyes locked on hers, voice rough and low. “You want me? Not Mycor. Not the land. Me?”
She reached up, trembling, and cupped his face, her thumbs tracing the sharp, beautiful lines of his jaw. “You, Splice,” she said fiercely, leaving no room for doubt. “You.”
A slow, predatory smile curved his lips. He moved over her, his body a warm, heavy weight of intention. The thick head of him nudged against her, promise and pressure making her moan, her body arching to meet him.
He drew a ragged breath, lowering his mouth until it hovered a breath from hers. “Then let me be yours.”
His hands cupped her hips, tilting her, steadying her as he began to push inside. Goldie gasped, her head falling back as his thick, blunt crown nudged past her folds, stretching her with perfect, aching pressure. His first movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were learning the language of her body, memorizing the way she clenched around him.
A low sound tore from his throat. “You feel hot,” he breathed, voice rough and trembling. “Alive. Holding me.”
Goldie wrapped her legs tight around his waist, locking her ankles behind him, pulling him as deep as he could go. He shuddered at the claiming, his rhythm answering hers, steadier, harder. Her hips rose to meet each thrust, a frantic, glorious rhythm of instinct and need.
“Take me,” she panted, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. “Splice, please, I need?—”
He silenced her with a kiss, his mouth crashing down on hers with fierce hunger that mirrored the movement of his hips. His tongue tangled with hers in a desperate, greedy dance. She whimpered into his mouth as he drove into her again and again, each thrust hitting a place deep inside her that made her vision swim. The ridges of him dragged against her, a divine torture pushing her closer to the edge.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes blazing green fire, his face taut with rapt concentration. “You are mine to take,” he panted. “Just as I am yours.”
Her back arched, a cry ripping from her throat as another orgasm struck, bright and consuming.“Splice!”
He didn’t slow. His gaze never left hers as he drove into her with a relentless rhythm, riding the aftershocks of her pleasure. “That’s it. Let go. Let me feel it.”
Her body convulsed again, caught in another wave. She sobbed his name, her senses unraveling, until there was nothing left but the feel of him inside her, the wet rhythm of skin meeting skin, the scent of sweat and loam and sex thick around them.
With a final thrust, he came, crying out low and wild as he pulsed deep within her. The sensation tipped her over once more, a final, searing crest that left her shaking, soundless, undone.
They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and breath, bodies trembling, skin slick and burning. He withdrew slowly, carefully, and gathered her close, wrapping her against the solid warmth of his chest. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck, breathing him in.
The wildness ebbed, replaced by a breathless quiet. For a long moment, they lay still, their hearts beating in slow, sharedrhythm. One of his hands stroked her back in lazy circles, the other curled gently in her hair.
She stirred first, lifting her head from his chest. His eyes, still faintly glowing in the dim light, had softened. She reached up, brushing a stray lock of vine-hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering on the cool texture of his skin.
“Hi,” she whispered.
He answered with a kiss. When he drew back, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, his gaze so full of wonder it made her heart ache.
A slow, mischievous smile curled Goldie’s lips. She leaned in and gave the tip of his nose a gentle nip.
“You know,” she whispered, “for a stoic, bark-covered god extension with vines coming out of his ass, you fuck like a dream.”
A smile touched his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. A vine slithered up from the pillow to gently tap her nose in return.
“And for a glittering witch who talks too much,” he murmured, “you make the sweetest sounds when you come apart for me.”
She laughed, a real, unguarded sound that filled the quiet room. He stroked her hair, his touch infinitely gentle. The gesture was so simple, so human, it almost made her want to cry.
“Stay with me tonight?” she whispered.
He gathered her closer and pressed a kiss to her temple. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
They folded into each other, a tangle of limbs and soft sheets and even softer sighs. The world outside, with its murders and politics and pain, faded away, leaving only the quiet sanctuary they had carved for themselves.
