“A knot?” I guess, brushing my fingers along the rim of it. It’s not fully swollen yet, but I can feel the potential.
A sharp, choked sound punches from his chest, “Yes.”
I run my hand up his length slowly, studying the shape of him. The ridges catch under my palm, and he surges beneath the bonds.
“Nai’thar veskae,” He growls. “I can’t,” he whispers next, head thrown back.
“Lumi,” he moans my name like it hurts to say it.
“Please, I’m burning. Varkh. Varkh. I can’t?—”
I slide my hand back over his length, catching several of his patterns.
“Saelûn, please.” His breath shudders. “Let me touch you, just once. I’ll be still, I swear. I’ll be good. I’m begging you.”
I lean down and press a kiss just below his navel.
“I’ve got you, Saelûn,” I murmur.
His breath catches when I curl my fingers around him, slowly stroking up and down. His hips jerk into my grip, and beads of pale blue liquid trickle down the tip.
Curious, I swipe my thumb through it. He whimpers as I bring it to my lips.
His whole body goes rigid.
“Kaerûn ves’lûnha—ves’lûnha—ves’lûnha.” (My seed is yours—yours—yours.)
The taste hits me instantly, cool, with a sharp edge of cinnamon. It spreads across my tongue like spiced honey.
When I look up at him, his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight it looks like he’s going to shatter his teeth.
“Andrik,” I whisper. “Look at me.”
His eyes open slowly.
“I’m going to taste you,” I say softly. “Okay?”
“Lumi, no. I won’t last. I can’t?—”
“I know.” I lean down, my breath ghosting over him. “That’s the point.”
He growls low in his throat, fists clenched above his head, the frost vines on his wrists tugging taut as he strains not to move.
I start slow, a kiss at the top, then another to the underside, where one of the designs begins.
His claws shoot out, scraping against his antlers.
I trace my tongue along one of the snowflake patterns, following the ridge up the length of his cock.
“Saelûn. Thal’kisha. Lúmina’ka—please. Let me give it to you. Let me finish.” His voice is cracked open, pleading. “I’ll do anything. I’ll burn for you.”
I swirl my tongue around the head, catching another drop of his pre-come.
“What is this called for you?” I ask, tracing the cool slickness with my finger.
“Kaersin,” He rasps through gritted teeth. “Thren’kae... thren’kae... thren’kae...” (Please... please... please...)
His wrists wrench helplessly against the vines he conjured himself, ice biting into his skin, refusing to release him.
