Had he possessed a sliver of compassion, he’d have slid his fingers between my trembling legs and soothed my ache. But he was wicked and so he brushed only the lace aside and dipped his head to trace kisses along the side of my neck, down the vale between my breasts.
“I think,” he whispered with shaking breaths, “that I would do it all over again just for this. Just for you.”
A different ache eclipsed for a breath the one he had stirred with lips and fingers. I felt the weight and the truth of his words as if carved into my bones since the beginning of time. All that sorrow, all that loneliness, all that loss—and still.
And still.
“I think,” I whispered, “that I would too.”
Whatever else I wanted to say slipped from my mind when he flicked his tongue over me; slowly, lazily, as if we had all the time in the world. I was not so patient. My fingers wove frantically into his hair to pull him closer, and when that did not soothe the knot of anguish, I rolled my hips against his. His low moan made me burn so exquisitely that I did it again, and another time.
“Ana,” he breathed, a little amused and very pained. "Have you no mercy for me at all?”
“I might have some to spare,” I said, panting, “were you not so pretty to look at when you suffer.”
He laughed roughly. “You find me pretty?”
“I find you as pretty as you are vain, and you are the vainest person I know.”
His quiet chuckle, lips sealed to the pulse at my throat, sent shivers through me. Lips and limbs entangled like vines, he carried me to the bed and laid me down upon cool silk. He stood to the side and watched with dark eyes—one finger pressed to his half-parted lips as if to contemplate how next to torment me—as I lay draped over his sheets, ripped blouse revealing lace and bare skin, breasts cool from his lingering kiss.
“Let me never forget this,” he whispered softly before he joined me.
Our lips knew each other now. There was no hesitation, no tentative prompting. We came together like waves surging against each other—inevitably and consuming. I slid a hand over his thundering heart and I left it there, to ensure he was real, long after he’d slipped from his shirt and freed me of the remnants of my blouse, my leather breeches.
“Allow me a taste of you,” he whispered.
A moan was all I offered in response, and a keen glance at his sinful mouth before he brushed it to my ribs, my hipbone. He placed a lingering kiss to the seam of my laced underpants, gaze twined with mine.
I was trembling with need, gasping from the exquisite ache ofalmost. It lasted no more than one fluttering heartbeat, and yet the moment stretched like a lifetime before me—
A lifetime of this. I could imagine it, almost. I craved it.
I cried out when his lips brushed against me. He hooked his thumb into the lace and pulled it aside and he watched with wicked, ardent glee as I writhed. He traced his tongue over me as if I were a poem he was intent to learn by heart—gently at first, then teasingly, and then, when I began to curse him for his brilliant torment, with urgent demand.
I burst aflame once, twice. He seemed content to linger there, between my legs, with my shaking fingers speared into his hair and my heart loud and furious in the humming air. His ears were flushed, his cheeks too, and when he gave me a slow, wickedly soft smile, his lips glistened. He laughed quietly as he placed kisses against my inner thigh.
“Are you suffering quite ardently, Ana?”
“Immensely.”
I bit my lip as I watched him drink me in, such rawness in his eyes. “Queen of the Wild,” he breathed. “How can I bear suchwonder, Ana? To pretend I do not burn for you is the greatest burden of all.”
I tightened my fingers in his hair to pull him to me, and I grazed my teeth against his throat as I said, “Then stop pretending.” I nipped at his skin again, coaxing a groan from him. “Show me how you burn, Adrik.”
I moaned when I tasted my own ache, my own need on his lips. Heat seized me as he trapped me beneath his weight, as he curled his fingers around my wrists and held them fast while he contemplated me.
“Please, Adrik,” I breathed. “You can stare at me later, or whisper tender things, and if you wish to spend another hour between my legs, I am glad to oblige—” I laughed breathlessly when he made at once to kiss his way back down my side. I freed one wrist to capture his jaw between my fingers. He looked at me, gaze dark with mischief and need. I continued, “—but now, I crave you and this ache will not go until I feel you whole.”
He groaned, as if unleashed by my words. Before I’d next breathed, we were skin to heated skin, his breath wild in my ear, his heart thundering against mine. I sealed my lips to his throat, leaving bruises. I was a wild thing—
His heat robbed me of all thought. We cursed each other as he sank into me, achingly and slowly.
“Ana,” he breathed, pained. I was twisting frantically against him, desperate to ease that gnawing hunger. “Give me a moment, you wicked wild witch.”
He did not heed his own plea, for he sheathed himself with a half-feral growl. Relief, sweet and aching, stole my vision. When he began to move, I arched with a cry off the sheets. Our breaths and moans became the song to which we moved, roughly and desperately.
Later, we would take our time. In the quiet, dark hours, we’d explore and cherish each other. Now, two flames joined at last toburn together, we had no mind for reverence or slowness. Now, we were two starving things hungering only for one another. I grew my roots into glittering, moss-green soil, and I splintered from the pleasure that swept through me. He cursed me as he came, shuddering beneath my hands.
