As her fingers delved into the red hair, soft and pliable in her grasp, Paloma pulled back, tracing the bruised and trembling bottom lip with her thumb, feeling the tension and the emotion of the moment crackle in the air around them.
“Just this once, Deryn. Just this once… Okay?”
Deryn’s lashes lowered, and she nodded wordlessly, but Paloma couldn’t accept that. She felt that her entire life depended on this answer, and she needed both of them to be clear about what would follow, what would happen, and what would not ever occur again.
She allowed her fingers to trail lower and clasp Deryn’s chin, lifting the pale face until they were amber to emerald. Deryn blinked, the forceful gesture obviously taking her by surprise.
“No, Deryn, I need to hear you say it. Use your words.”
Deryn’s tongue came out, licking at the still-bloody bruise. Paloma followed the motion, her stomach clenching. Soon… Oh god, soon… Please, just say it?—
“I understand. Just this once.”
Even as her heart fluttered, one beat running headlong into the next, all the memories of their one night together lined up in front of her like soldiers on parade, one sensory overload after another. And yet, Paloma stayed still, remained motionless, waiting, waiting, needing Deryn to let her?—
“Take me… Please, Paloma.”
And then Paloma was no longer passive. Unleashed, she gripped Deryn’s chin harder, bringing their mouths together with enough force to open that bruise. When she felt Deryn’sblood on her own lips, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop, and so if this was the one chance she had, she would make it count.
She pushed Deryn’s leather jacket down, and it fell on the carpeted floor almost silently, not even the steel buckles making any noise. The flimsy, long-sleeved shirt went next, Paloma wondering how on earth Deryn had walked all the way from Crow’s Nest to the resort in barely anything to keep her warm. And yet, the more Paloma’s hands touched the revealed skin, the more it warmed up under her fingertips, and as she let the black bra drop, she was almost scorched.
Deryn let her take her fill. Let her do anything and everything she wanted, and Paloma reveled in the freedom, in the power. It had a heady, almost inebriating tinge to it. She’d barely touched Deryn all those weeks ago, and now… Now she could not stop touching. She could not stop tasting. She could not stop taking.
Deryn’s body had been a revelation in October, and it was a feast now. Slim and toned muscles that sang under her teeth, lanky limbs that seemed to go for days, all that skin that she couldn’t help but mark. The peony petals of bruises bloomed everywhere she let herself get a little overzealous. What was it about this woman that made her want to bite, to possess, to inhale and keep her inside? The scent of vanilla drove her out of her mind, so deceptively simple, so misleadingly sweet.
Paloma lowered the zipper on the tight jeans, with more holes than material, and dipped her fingers into the wet and the heat without any preamble. She didn’t need one anyway because Deryn was very wet indeed. Her fingers moved over the already erect clit, bypassing it after just one stroke, making Deryn whine and suck on her bleeding lip. But Paloma wanted more… She took it in one thrust. Deryn screamed, Paloma’s fingers spearing her to the second knuckle, the damn jeans too tight to offer more room.
“Out of all the days to wear this abomination.”
“Hey, they’re Armani?—”
Deryn did not manage to say anything else, Paloma forcing her hand lower, going all in, and she cried out again, the flesh stretching and fluttering around her fingers.
“You were saying?” She smiled against the still-bleeding mouth, Deryn too far gone to do anything but moan. Then Paloma bit—not too gently—and found a rhythm, brutal in its relentlessness, Deryn swaying with her every thrust.
“Please, please, please…”
Paloma wondered if Deryn even knew she was begging. It was intoxicating, this power, this woman in her hands, this feeling…
She pulled her hand out, and just as Deryn was about to protest, she knelt and tore the cursed jeans down in one motion. The boy shorts were no match for her, and before Deryn could as much as yelp, Paloma’s mouth was on her.
She licked, tasting the salt, the sweetness, the essence that was all Deryn, honest and open and here… For an instant, Paloma wondered about what she was doing because Deryn was holding nothing back, hands in Paloma’s hair, chanting her name like a prayer in church, even if Paloma was the one on her knees, worshipping… Deryn was all in. She had been since the night of the fire. And Paloma?
Paloma shook her head, held on to Deryn’s thighs harder, knowing she was going to leave bruises where her fingers dug in, and licked all the harder, trying to lose herself in the taste, in the quivering flesh, in Deryn’s fingers pulling on her hair, in the perfect way that bruised and bleeding mouth chanted her name—like a litany, like a prayer.
She licked around the clit, little teasing flicks, making Deryn almost fall over, seeking more of her mouth, and then, once she was satisfied that she had teased enough, Paloma relentedand gave Deryn what she wanted. A few fast licks on the very tip of the clit before sucking it into her mouth, and Deryn screamed unintelligible words. Paloma couldn’t have made them out anyway, due to the roaring in her own ears, Deryn’s orgasm making her thoughts stutter, her hands going limp. She rested her forehead on Deryn’s hip bone, sharp and solid, and just breathed. She couldn’t get enough air. All around her was Deryn’s scent, and it filled her up, making it impossible to think, to move, to just…be free.
Deryn’s fingers in her hair let go slowly, shifting from grasping and clawing to gentle caressing, mindlessly untangling the knots she had created herself. Paloma looked up and into the emerald depths, and she was rather glad she couldn’t breathe anyway, because what she saw there would have surely taken her breath away.
There was so much emotion, and gratitude, and devotion, but above all, Paloma could see the love. She got up in one fluid motion and pushed Deryn onto the couch. This could not be happening, and even if it was, Paloma had no time to indulge in the feeling. Deryn had promised her, and Paloma would collect. This once and never again.
As she pulled the tattered jeans and boxers all the way off, along with the leather boots, Paloma tried not to see how the eyes sought hers, how the hands reached for her. She pushed them away and hiked up her own skirt, the convenience of thigh highs a bonus. Then she pushed Deryn lower on the couch and climbed on top, pulling her thong to the side before she saw realization dawn in Deryn’s eyes. They lit up with that flame, with that fire that both scared and enticed, that burned and scorched and yet secured like nothing else. Deryn reached for her, but Paloma slapped her hand.
“No. Lie still. Don’t touch me.” She wasn’t certain she’d survive an embrace, a caress. She wanted to come. She needed to come. And she told herself that was all.
Paloma slowly lowered herself onto Deryn’s face and watched the wicked mouth stretch into a smirk. She shook her head and grabbed a fistful of the pink and red hair.
“Behave, Crowhart.”
