I inhaled, slowly stepping forward through the grass. When I was near enough, I removed the blindfold and allowed him to look at me once more.
Nicolas’ body revealed his desire even as his hands shivered from the weight of what we were about to do. His skin was dotted with gooseflesh, and no amount of paint or covering could conceal the way he responded to my nearness, the way the shadows danced around our feet…but his eyes held an edge of genuine fear.
I cupped his face. He rose, his mouth trailing reverent fire along the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, the valley between my breasts. Every press of his lips sent lightning through the liniment, the jasmine and scarlet paints mingling where we touched, creating patterns of heat that pulsed with mana. I felt the Lord of Night’s presence in every spark, as if the moon god blessed every little point of contact. My knees threatened to give way from thesensation alone, but when Nicolas finally claimed my kiss, my entire being ignited.
The taste of him had changed. It was wilder, tinged with herbs and something ancient, as though a balm had been applied. The painted symbols on our skin glowed where we pressed together, and I could swear I heard distant drums, or perhaps it was only our heartbeats echoing within the sacred circle.
For one terrible moment, I thought of Quinn. I hated myself for the searing need that vision invoked, for the way it made me squirm and moan into Nicolas’ mouth. It was a fleeting hallucination, vanishing as my back sank into the earth. Nicolas hovered over me, his gaze glowing.
Then he lowered himself, but not to where I’d expected. His face hovered between my knees, and when he looked directly at his target, I couldn’t help but clamp my legs against him in protest.
“Alana—” he gasped, cheeks smushed between my thighs. I lessened the pressure, but my nerves soared. Understanding flashed in his features, and he brought a hand to my calf, smoothing up my bare skin. The liniment channeled the friction directly to my core, and I sank my head into the grass. “Trust me.”
From the way his voice started to give, he might have begged if I denied him…and gods, did I want to deny him, if only to watch him grovel. Instead I spread my legs with consent and shut my eyes.
Nicolas exhaled shakily, then mapped my body with lips and tongue, seeking places that made me arch and taunting them until I moaned. The patterns pulsed brighter with every sound I released into the night.
I bit my wrist to muffle them. He stopped, reached up, and pulled my arm free.
“You can…” he tried, but his words snagged on the taste of his own heartbeat. “You don’t have to be quiet. Not here.”
I gasped, both in realization and from the things he did next. The way his head disappeared, the beads of the pelt clinking with every subtle motion. He was patient, exploring for new ways to scatter my thoughts into abstracts, maneuvering his tongue in a way that no man of decent upbringing could possibly accomplish. I thanked the whores for their generous contribution toward hiseducation, reaching down into that frightening costume to take fistfuls of his hair.
My waist bucked against him. He made a low growl of approval as he gripped my thighs to hold me steady. I tried to maintain some shred of my dignity, but with every roll of my hips, those whorls of color pulsed, revealing exactly what he made me feel. The drums kicked up in tempo, and my teeth parted to release a breathy whine that sent visible shivers down Nicolas’ spine.
A groan tore from his throat, almost a laugh, and then his fingers tightened around my legs. As though my voice had mainlined straight into his bloodstream, he redoubled his efforts, and his tongue worked up such a rhythm that the whole of me became possessed. I lost control and some dam inside me burst, shattering me with a cry that echoed through the trees.
My hand fell free from his hair, collapsing at my side. I watched the stars and breathed, my muscles twitching and shivering from… from whateverthatwas. I knew damned well what he’d done, but words? There were no accurate words for it.
Nicolas moved back, wiping his mouth. A lopsided grin tugged his lips. The bastard seemed rather proud of himself.
No more than a minute passed of that relief, and then the liniment glowed once more, and that heat returned in full force. I brought my hand down to where he’d ruined me, my fingers tracing over the valleys, and he watched with ravenous intrigue…for all of a few seconds. He had limitations, and now we’d breached them, and he climbed back over me with every intention of claiming some of that pleasure for himself. The clearing’s darkness pressed in closer, our shadows dancing with life of their own.
I raised my knees to his hips, gripping him between my legs and pulling him down. He descended slowly, suspended so that I could only feel the heat from his length and nothing more.
“It’s going to hurt,” he said.
My eyes met his. “And if I asked you to stop?”
“Of course I would. And I will, if that’s what you wish.” He kissed my forehead. “But that’s not what you want.”
No. No, it wasn’t. I knew it and so did my body, and my calves worked todip his waist.
Nicolas sheathed himself, only a little, and I once again clasped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. His arms shook, barely supporting his weight as he stopped breathing, letting loose an inarticulate groan. Then his forehead pressed to mine, both of us counting heartbeats as those painted symbols flared with brilliance.
He moved deeper with agonizing slowness, but any faster and I might have ripped apart. My arms shuddered as they wrapped around his neck. He filled me entirely, and I stifled the curses that threatened to pour from my tongue.
His eyes searched my face, reading every flicker of emotion.
“The gods want to hear you,” he whispered, dropping himself to my ear. “Your pleasure is their gift.”
I didn’t know if that was true, or merely his own selfish desires speaking, but when his hips moved back, nothing in the world could have silenced me. Every bit of shame melted away from molten desperation; I was a mess, savage with hunger. The symbols shined as we moved together, paced by those distant drums.
Instinct and music drove us both into madness. The gods must have graced me as they let me hear him, biting his lip to suppress a low moan. Then, in fairness to me, he let go of his inhibitions, filling the air with wounded grunts and pleas for release.
What followed was neither gentle lovemaking nor mere coupling. The moon tracked across the sky as we lost ourselves to the ritual’s demands, each release only stoking deeper hunger. The painted symbols blazed and dimmed in waves, marking the ebbs and flows.
Time lost its meaning. There was only the drum beat, the spark of magic where skin met skin, and the primal need to chase pleasure into oblivion.
