She fisted her fingers in his hair—a silent demand. A low noise rumbled from his chest, and he murmured, “So impatient. Hips up.”
She obeyed, and he slid the undergarment off, tossing it to the side. Heat burned her cheeks. She was ready for him, almost too ready, swollen and already soaking wet. But he merely rasped, “Fuck, Sora,” laid a hand flat against her stomach, and licked across her center in one long swipe.
Her hips bucked and her legs closed, but he held them firmly open, sucking on her clit. Pleasure lit her up, every inch of her sensitive and aching. He groaned against her, and then…Oh gods,she thought she might actually die as he tongue-fucked her.
When he replaced his tongue with his fingers, he rasped, “Touch yourself, wife.”
She didn’t even remember to argue with him about the logistics of their marriage, instead lifting her hand to her breast. He pumped his fingers inside her, knowing just how to work her. He knew her body, even now, even after all these years.
“Wait,” he ordered, sensing her near the edge.
Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, the game coming to a peak between them. They had reached the deciding moment, and perhaps as Soren, she would have submitted. But there was another piece locked inside her, and it was coming out to play. Perhaps it was Sora, or maybe both of them together. It had always been there inside her, and it had taken Vane to obliterate the lock and throw away the key.
Her words were broken, but her voice was firm as she told him, “Come—with me. Now.”
She had no doubt he was close, even just doing this to her, even without her touching him. And from the way his breath caught just before he went down on her again like a man starved, she knew she had won.
She barely had the wherewithal to cover her mouth with her hand as release barreled through her, arching her back and filling her vision with stars. The torches in the tent extinguished, and a touch of that dark ichor seeped from the prison she kept it in. Her breath caught as she felt it, panic flooding her.
But Vane gripped her hand, breathing hard against the curve of her hip, looking up as he assured her, “It’s alright…it’s alright. I give you a part of me. You give me a piece of you.”
“But the magic is Death. It’s?—”
“I’m fine, my love. This is how it’s always been. You didn’t hurt me.”
She relaxed slightly, and the torches lit around them again, bringing her back to the room. She felt dizzy as he kissed her stomach, gentle over the scar. But as her mind began to work again, catching up to the conversation they had been having, unease prickled at her skin.
“Vane?”
“Mhmm?”
“King Johannas knows what I did during the battle, doesn’t he?”
Vane stiffened then lifted his head and said quietly, “Can we just have a few minutes?”
“Vane, it’s almost dawn?—”
“Then we wait.”
She pressed her lips together, understanding his request. They’d had so little time, even when she had been Sora, daughter of Nyx and Thanatos, and him just a half-mortal man in a farmfield. Fate did not smile kindly upon them, even though she was sure it had plans for both of them.
He wanted just a few minutes. She could at least give him that before she tried to let him go completely.
So, she whispered, “Alright. Until dawn.”
“Thank you.” His breath fanned across her skin, a featherlight touch that made her shiver.
“Do you need to…wash?” she asked, scolding herself internally for her embarrassment, especially after what they had just done.
He smirked, his expression full of smug, male satisfaction. “Yeah, I do.”
She bit her lip and turned her head, averting her eyes as he stood to his full height. But he touched her face, forcing her to look at him again. Her cheeks were aflame, and yet she was curious, because some reckless part of her wanted to know everything about him…seeeverything.
He dropped his hand and walked towards the small basin in the corner. She didn’t look away when he pulled off his shirt, though she nearly gasped when she saw it. His back was a mess of scars, overlapping and long.
The whip in the memory. Kronos had done this.
Rage made her feel cold, and the torches flickered. Vane must have sensed it, because he turned his head back, anger mirrored in his eyes. Not for himself, she knew, but for her, especially as he said, “It was nothing, that pain. Ideservedthat pain for not stopping what he did to you.”
