He sets the rhythm—hard, precise, merciless—and god, I chase it, hips moving to meet his like my body’s forgotten how to do anything else. It’s a perfect, punishing tempo, each stroke grinding deeper, pulling sounds from me I don’t recognise.
The world narrows to this, his body, his pace, the brutal, beautiful pleasure tearing through me.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “Let me feel you come apart around me.”
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. My back arches.Everything inside me’s pulling taut, pleasure at every pulse-point, nerves splintering with need.
I need more. I need him everywhere. The bed creaks beneath me as my legs slide up his back, wrapping tight, angling my hips to take him deeper—to take all of him.
My moans come fast now, breaking open with each thrust, each drag of his thick length inside me. It doesn’t take much. The tension’s already there—coiled tight from before, and now it’s flaring again, fast and burning like he’s stoked embers I didn’t even realise were still alight.
“Talen, don’t stop,I’m so clo?—”
His mouth swallows my words as he grinds down deeper, harder, hips rolling over mine in a rhythm that feels likeworship. Like release. My chest tightens on a shaky pull, back arches.
Until suddenly?—
A low, guttural groan tears from my chest—thick and unrestrained—nothing like the breathless gasps from my orgasms before. This onerootsitself in me, slow and molten, rolling through my entire body like it’s dragging my soul with it.
I cling to him, his mouth on mine, legs locked around his hips, nails digging into his back. Every inch of me tightens around him, and I swear I feel his whole body go still.
“Lyra, fuck—” He grits, hips stuttering. “You feel like—” He doesn’t finish. Can’t. Because he’s gone too. He thrusts once, twice more—and then groans, head dropping to my shoulder, body shaking with it.
For a second, we just lie there, chests still rising hard, his body pressed to mine like he hasn’t decided if he can move yet.My legs are shaking. His arms are trembling. Every part of me aches, in a good way.
Then—slowly—he sinks on to his right forearm, fully supporting his weight. His left hand lifts, fingers brushing beneath my chin, tilting my face toward his. Our eyes meet. Then he leans in, slow, and kisses me.
His lips just barely touch mine at first, a gentle press, light as breath. I inhale deep as another kiss follows, just as soft, slower this time. Like he’s learning the shape of my mouth, letting me feel every part of it.
It’s tender, delicate. Nothing like before, no urgency, no fire. And for a heartbeat, everything else drops away—just his warmth, his lips, his mouth on mine.
And god, it’s enough to undo me all over again.
“That’s how I wanted to kiss you for the first time.” He murmurs as he finally leans back.
For a beat longer he stays there, dark hazel eyes locked on mine. Then finally he shifts, rolling to my side, one arm thrown over his head as the other rakes through his hair. He lets out a long, shaky breath.
“Shit.” His voice low, wrecked. “You’re going to be the death of me, Bloom.”
My hips shift as I roll on to my side to face him, my arm brushing the bare skin of his. Around us, the candlelight flickers low, throwing gold across his chest, catching in the messy tangle of his waves falling over his brow—sun-kissed at the tips, too soft for someone who could kill three men without breaking a sweat.
“You know.” I murmur. “You look nothing like your parents.”
He huffs a soft laugh, fingers curling around a strand of my hair. “Wow,” he mocks wounded. “Three orgasms in, and you bring up my parents? Really setting the mood here.”
I blush. “No, I mean, I’ve seen them before, giving speeches in the Air Realm. I guess I’m just surprised how different you look.”
“Good different?” he asks, one brow lifting.
I lean in, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. “Good different,” I whisper.
I start to roll away, but his arm slips around my waist, pulling me back in. He kisses me again—slower this time, lingering—then lets me go with a sigh, like he’s not quite ready to.
After a beat, he rolls on to his front, elbows splayed wide, resting his face on the backs of his hands as he looks at me.
“I’m adopted.”
“Oh.” The word slips out, soft with surprise. “I didn’t know.”
