Page 73 of The Reaping Rose

The fates must have made a mistake the day they bound this perfect female to me. Even so, there’s no taking it back. We could ruin it all, and I wouldn’t regret it for a second.

Since being at the palace, there are times when Elorie’s jealousy flares, but there’s nothing she needs to worry about. No being in existence could come between us. Nothing else exists now that she’s in my arms.

Elorie arches her back, grabbing my thighs as she rides me in waves. There is nothing in this realm or any other that will keep me from her.

“Wilder.” She gasps when I change the angle of her hips. Her body tightens. “Oh gods, that feels⁠—”

I drive my hips up harder, and she loses her words.

Her breath.

Her chest heaves with the steady build of her desire.

I drag my hand up her hip, over her stomach, and between her breasts, cupping one in my hand and squeezing as I pump up into her harder. She’s breathless.

Beautiful.

Pride swells through me as her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. Her skin flushes, and her mouth falls open with her scream. The Well could creep to the edges of this bed, and I wouldn’t be able to tear my gaze off her.

“That’s it; let me see you fall apart for me.” I rub my thumb over her sensitive nub, and her nails break skin.

Blood drips down my thighs as she tips her head back, and her release crashes through her in a tidal wave. Magic weaves down her fingers, healing the cuts she dug into my skin because that’s what Elorie is—life. Healing.

Starlight wisps over her until her skin is flecked like the night sky, and her freckles sear with the brightness of stars on her cheek. She crests, and a wave of magic crashes out with her climax in the form of white feathery wings.

Feathers tickle my thigh. Something so soft and delicate, but it sets me off. I can no longer contain myself as she rocks her tight, hot core over me. Pleasure plummets to the base of my spine, and then it’s shooting into her.

We’re slick as she rocks, coating me in both of us.

Elorie pants as she releases from her high, her magic slowly pulling inward again. Her starlight wings are the last to fade as my fingers brush over the tips of the feathers.

She falls against my chest, our bodies slick, our lungs heaving.

My hands find her back, rubbing up and down her smooth skin. Until she angles her head to look up at me, and I brush her hair out of her face.

“It happened again,” she says, her voice a little hoarse from screaming. “I didn’t imagine them, right?”

“The wings?” She nods, and I shake my head. “No, you didn’t imagine them.”

“I thought wings were a myth. It doesn’t seem like any Fae have them.”

“Most have them but can’t summon them.” I brush my thumb over the line of her jaw. “They only appear when Fae tunnel deep into their magic—deeper than most can go. Only the gods have been known to summon them at will. Yours appear more than I’ve known to be possible.”

“They appeared when I climaxed.” She hitches an eyebrow. “I wasn’t wielding magic.”

“You’re wrong.” I grin. “Everything about what you just did was magic.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs.

“And you love it.” I rub her back. “You’re a celestial wielder. Not much is known about what you wield or what you can do. Your wings are one example of that.”

She sighs. Her fingertips graze over my runes, and they glow along the path she follows. “Have you ever seen your wings?”

“Once when I was Cleaving.” I swallow hard at the memory of the battle where my mother died. I pushed my magic to the limit, tunneling into more aether than my immortal body could handle, until I started to Cleave—a fate worse than death. Cleaving separates a soul from the threads of fate.

I drew on more magic than I ever have before, and even then, I still failed.

Elorie glances down at my runes. At the marks the gods gave me when I was Cleaving. “What did your wings look like? Were they like mine?”