I cannot see where this door will lead. But I understand that passing beyond its threshold means leaving the vows I swore to uphold behind. To become intimate with a man,thisman… I choose this for myself. “I’ve never done this before.”
His eyes soften. “It’s an incredibly frightening thing, letting someone in. We move forward if and when you choose to.”
His patience helps soothe my frazzled nerves. The West Wind can be incredibly accommodating when he wants to be. “Is there a better way to… you know.”
“Better way to…?” Zephyrus regards me expectantly.
He will make me say it, the fiend. “Kiss you.”
A bit of playfulness lightens his expression. “Do whatever feels good.”
“That’s not helpful!”
“How will you know unless you try it?” It emerges as a throaty purr. “Do you dare test your boundaries?” At the next breath, he catches my mouth with his own. And when my lips part, peeled open by his eager tongue, I whimper.
He makes a sound in turn, his taste so much more potent now. The slow, indulgent kiss is worshipful, absorbing all my concentration in a way I have only experienced in deep prayer.
Tilting his head, Zephyrus begins to find a rhythm. I’m shocked by how good it feels, this need to press forward, rub catlike against him so the heat sparks fire. My mouth throbs, raw and abused, as the kiss deepens.
“Give me your tongue,” he murmurs.
“H-how? I don’t know how.” I squirm in place, trying to ease the tightness coiling between my legs.
The West Wind presses a brief, chaste kiss against my chin. “Relax.” One of his hands envelops the front of my throat like a warm collar. “Part your lips… Yes, like that. Ease your tongue past your teeth. Good girl.”
Everything we have done thus far, each deliberate unfolding, piles into rich extravagance. Together we climb and together we fall. For the second time, I break away, swaying.
“You’re lovely,” Zephyrus says. “So perfectly pristine.” The hand at my throat tightens slightly. When I swallow, my muscles strain against his grip. “And yet, I find myself wanting to do filthy, depraved things to you.”
My heart knocks against my ribs so forcefully I’m certain his immortal ears catch its harrowing rhythm. “Like what?”
The banked heat in his eyes reveals the impious corners of his mind, the fiercest cravings. “I will show you,” he murmurs, nipping at my jaw, “in time. For now, let us indulge.”
The West Wind coaxes my mouth open too easily. The slide and curl of his tongue. The hard plundering that follows, which drags all those rough, embarrassing sounds from my throat. My breasts brush his chest, and I whimper.
“Brielle.”
I’m spiraling, too far gone to care that he has spoken my name aloud in a place that would surely snatch it. Zephyrus claims he is faithless, but my name rings like the holiest of prayers.
“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, lips tickling the shell of my ear. “Tell me I am your undoing.”
His hand skims up my shoulder, down my arm, across my stomach. His fingers skirt my chest, return to my heaving back, where his palm sinks between the shoulder blades. I cannot deny him, for it is true—his touch is my undoing.
My body bows toward Zephyrus as he shifts his attention to the curve of my neck, a press of damp heat above my collar, mouth always in motion.Yes. More.As soon as the thought forms, it evaporates. My thighs clamp tighter around the budding throb that lies between.
As Zephyrus grips my hips, the timbre of his voice drops. “Sit on my lap.” He squeezes my waist—the area I’ve always been most insecure about. It freezes me in place.
“I’m too heavy,” I tell him.
“Says who?”
“Everyone.”
He is too quiet.
The inward retreat has already begun. My weight has never mattered to me. It has only ever been a topic of contention for others.
“Your body,” Zephyrus murmurs, eyes intent, “is beautiful. I have always admired it.”
