He tucks unruly strands of hair behind my ears. Patient, always patient. “Do you ever think about marriage?”
I lean back, suddenly wary. “You mean to Prince Balior? I thought we already established I want nothing to do with him.” Especially now, with Ammara in peril, and he the rotten seed beneath its soil.
“Not to Prince Balior,” he clarifies with an odd shyness. “I mean… to me.”
My eyes widen, and I clamp my mouth shut on a hard swallow. “Oh.”
Slowly, Notus’ eyebrows climb up to his hairline. “You don’t sound enthused.”
“No, it’s not that.” Marriage… to the South Wind. I wanted this at eighteen, and I want this now, at twenty-five, regardless of practicalities. “I’m just wondering, realistically, how that would work. You’re immortal, and I’m… not.” It was easier to ignore that glaring obstaclein my younger years, especially when I knew I wouldn’t live beyond twenty-five, but I have endured the death of too many loved ones. I have toed that threshold myself. I can’t put that grief onto him. It is such a hard weight to bear.
Notus brushes a kiss of reassurance across my cheek. “I’m not afraid of you aging, Sarai. It would be a privilege to live my life alongside yours, for however long that lasts.”
“But I’ll leave you,” I tell him. “Maybe not now, but someday.”
“Everyone leaves me, eventually.” This, paired with a small smile. “But with you? It would be worth it.” Before I can protest, he kisses my other cheek, my forehead, the tip of my nose. Beneath his touch, I calm. “After, when all this is over,” he says, catching my chin, “I wish to court you properly. I wish to make you mine in all ways. I want the world to know we belong to one another.”
Gods, I want that, too. More than I can properly express with words. “And how do you intend to do that?” I question. When he tilts his head in silent inquiry, I elaborate, “We’re already engaged, remember?”
“But it’s not real.”
“It is real, Notus.” I smooth my palm down his cheek. “Believe me. It’s real.” And I could not be more proud to bind my life to his in all ways. “I would love that. The courting. A proper engagement. And yes,” I say. “Marriage.”
The South Wind’s smile is the brightest light. Here is safety, here is support, here is generosity, here is forgiveness, humility, evolution. Yet Notus bestows a trail of heated kisses across my cheekbone, along my jaw, chin, the curve of my neck where sweat has begun to bead. All the while, he is murmuring promises against my skin.
I love you. I adore you. I cherish you. I wish never to be parted from you.
They are more than words. They are a declaration, the promise of tomorrow. I know the South Wind speaks truth. Iamloved. Iamcherished. And I am worth more than my station. What a relief to know Notus accepts me as Sarai, just Sarai. I sag into his chest, safe in the knowledge that my walls need not rise again. They are free to crumble.
As his tongue twines sweetly with mine, my fingers dive beneathhis robe, pressing into hot skin. It is a pleasure to watch his eyes cloud, hear the stutter of his breath. I may not be an immortal, but my touch holds power enough to weaken this god.
Tearing open his robes, I bare his erection to the cool air. Its dark coloring and the thatch of black hair at the base of his shaft draws me closer. Even as I watch, it twitches, as though already anticipating my touch.
My knees hit stone, and Notus inhales sharply, cupping the back of my head and guiding me forward. His powerful thighs frame my head, the cut of his abdomen blocking the labyrinth from view. A dip of my chin, and I swipe my tongue along the flared crown, catching the liquid beading from the slit. Notus hisses through his clenched teeth.
Glancing up through my eyelashes, I ask, “Good?”
“No words,” he chokes out, eyes black with desire. “I have—” He shudders. Red cuts into his cheeks. “No words, except that I have dreamed of this, of you on your knees, pleasuring me.”
My face warms in satisfaction. As it turns out, there is nothing I love more.
Gripping the base of his erection, I suck him down to the root. Notus mutters a low oath, his hands tightening in my hair, holding me in place momentarily. The dense black hair clumped around his shaft tickles my nose. I relax my throat, accept his full length.
The years have whittled down, yet I remember his taste: earth and salt. A little tickle beneath his cockhead, and the muscle leaps against my tongue. I work him over slowly. First with my mouth, then my hand, then a combination of the two. A rough, tortured groan cracks out, and his hips begin to move.
I tighten my grip. A long, delicious suck to the base before I withdraw, his shaft glistening with saliva. Again—and again. Notus locks his knees, expression contorted, head tipped back. “Sarai.” My name, chased by a tortuous moan. He swells in my grip, his scent ripening as I draw him that much nearer to completion. Just as his body begins to coil, I release him with a loudpop, my smile stretching ear to ear.
The South Wind stares down at me, dazed. He then falls to his knees, takes me into his arms. Piece by piece, he discards my clothing, a gentle tug of my dress up and over my head, followed by the slow unraveling of my breastband, the removal of my undergarments. I feel as though I am a glass figurine, its cloth protection slowly unwrapped, to be placed atop a shelf or high mantle. It is the way Notus looks at me, my bared form. Like I am most precious to him.
Of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t return the favor. I do so with leisure, baring his incredibly honed body. Notus is not particularly tall, but he is sturdy, square, powerful. Small, white scars dot his brown skin. I touch a crescent here, an asymmetrical ring there, and wonder what weapons bestowed these small hurts.
My touch drifts lower, skimming the rise of his hip bone. I frown, peering closer when the texture of his skin roughens. “I don’t recall this one,” I say, and trace the scar’s raised edge, its dull shine. It’s about the width of a sword blade, if I’m not mistaken. “How did you receive this?”
“My brother.”
Concern draws my eyes to his face. Somehow, I know it was not an accident. “Oh.” Back and forth, my fingertip trails. “Which one?”
“Eurus.”
