True to his word, he didn’t show her any gentleness. He could have; he was capable of such things. Could’ve gone with softer touches. Let her dictate the pace, his depth. Instead of having her hair in his fist, the wet slap of her ass hitting his thighs and mingling with her rising cries, they could’ve made love. Not this lust-fueled fucking. When he felt her stiffen, her climax imminent, in a different life, Nocren might’ve slowed down. Taken the time to watch her come undone all over him. Claimed her mouth, tasted the pretty little sounds she made thanks to his cock.
Maybe one day. If they had more time, as he hoped they would. If they didn’t wake in the morning and remember all the ways their lives were incompatible. How they shouldn’t fit.
But at present, they fit all too well. Like she was made for him. The prickly, heartless woman who didn’t want a gentleman. Who didn’t ask for a reprieve when he continued to fuck her through an orgasm, slowing but never stopping. Even that concession was short-lived. Nocren pounded on toward his own release, hands moving to Calya’s waist to pull her back, making her meet each slam of his hips. Every breath from her was a cry muffled against the bed.
When he finally emptied into her, she trembled beneath his weight. His cock pulsed, squeezed eagerly by her inner walls. She sucked him farther in, so hungry for every inch. Repeatedly clenched around him, as if she could never have her fill even as she milked him dry.
He reached for her clit, grunting in dismay when she knocked his hand aside. She nudged him off, freeing herself enough to push him onto his back, and kept her hand on his chest even as it began to shake with exhaustion.
“Calya,” he tried to protest, to point out how the rigors of the day were catching up.
She ignored him and clambered to sit astride him, their combined fluids leaving a trail across his hip. She stuffed his softening cock back inside and, through sheer force of will, rode him until she brought herself to the edge.
Watching her lovely tits bounce with each determined roll of her hips was enough to give Nocren his second wind. Calya’s head fell back as he stiffened inside her, the extra girth no doubt providing welcome friction. She didn’t fight him again when he took her clit between his fingers—squeezed him in response to the circles he made over her nub. She coiled tighter and tighter.
A light pinch of her clit in time to a thrust was enough to make her snap. She came hard, body shaking as she drooped over him. A frenzy of short thrusts, and Nocren managed to paint her insides with a last spurt.
They both flopped onto the bed, utterly spent.
Nocren turned toward her, brushing a sweat-darkened lock of hair from her eyes. “Calya,” he murmured, hesitation creeping in. “Did I…”
Her exasperated sigh put an end to any nascent trepidation he might’ve felt. “Don’t ruin a good thing by getting sentimental on me now.”
Nocren laughed and leaned over to kiss her, ignoring her half-hearted grumble to fully savor her swollen lips. “A good thing? That was only the start. I’ll have you begging next time.”
Her only response was a pillow shoved into his face. Nocren wrestled it away, placing it under her head. He slipped out of bed, hunting down a clean cloth and wetting it from the dregs of the pitcher before returning to clean her up.
A trickle of wind blew through the room, swirling around the sole lamp and snuffing it out with a small gesture from him.
“Did the wind foresee all of this?” she asked in a drowsy voice.
Nocren got back into bed. They lay on their sides facing one another, though Calya’s eyes were already closed. “In a way,” he replied softly.
Her lips twitched with a smile. “Won’t that be useful, having a diviner on call.”
A chill ran through him, robbing him of any response. The implication of her words, so casually spoken—as if she’d already forgotten his bleak confession of how a gift like his was poison to relationships.
After all, theirs wasn’t a relationship. Not a real one.
But her words landed like rocks.
Because even if she’d spoken in jest, his own dread colored each word. The seductive pull of the wind, how readily it filled his hands, eager to gel with his magic and produce a reading for her. Of her. Anything that had to do with Calya, the wind rose in him. Dangerous, for how subtly it tried to turn his mind. Tried to erode the defenses he’d put up, that had served him for years. Decades. All of it threatened to crumble at the mere thought of her asking. All his life, Nocren had had to keep others from being reliant on his magic. So long that he’d never properly considered himself being affected the same way.
If she asked for his wind, he didn’t know how long he could deny her. You scare the fuck out of me, he’d said, without truly understanding the depth of that statement. How true it was, or how much that realization could hurt.
Calya didn’t notice his silence, her breath deepening with sleep. The wind brushed across her hair, but she didn’t stir. It didn’t offer any insight to him, either, remaining starkly quiet. Not that it mattered. His mind filled the empty space.
I’ll never love you back.
But he didn’t love Calya. He hardly knew her, as he’d said before. Yet now, like then, it seemed a feeble excuse. Untrue.
Nocren almost reached out to stroke her cheek. Almost. Instead, he rolled over and contemplated the ceiling.
When sleep continued to elude him, he carefully left the bed, shrugging back into his clothes as he padded to the door. He paused on the threshold, glancing back to where Calya lay, still fast asleep.
Calya Helm, in his bed. The woman who had wormed her way into his life. Made it feel like something other than torpor.
Quietly, he left her behind.
