Page 107 of Hunger & Harmony

Grinding frantically, I tangle one hand in his dark hair, head thrown back as the pleasure builds.

I start shaking, and I whimper when my rhythm falters. Before my orgasm has time to run away, he takes control, flipping me onto my back.

“That’s it, sweet girl.”

My hands scramble to grab at the couch and his hair. The force of ecstasy is overwhelming; my back arched and hips grinding as he takes me over the edge.

Euphoria washes over me as his tongue and fingers worship my clit. He more than returned the favor—it’s double our shared bliss as my body wracks.

The second I weakly close my thighs, he relaxes, letting me breathe as he pulls away.

“Oh . . .fuck . . .” I whisper, body humming long after the intensity wears off.

When I can tell up from down again, I watch him lick his fingers. I make a face at him, and he chuckles.

“Every inch of you is ambrosia,” he says, humming contentedly.

“Come back here and kiss me.”

His eyes light up, and he eagerly slots between my legs to press his lips to mine. We don’t go any further. Even the desperation of our kiss has simmered down into something sweeter.

We lay still for a while in the quiet afterglow. I don’t want to think about what comes next.

“We should shower,” I finally say, and he gently helps me up.

I’m not in his head, but the bond is still there. Stronger. I know he feels it too: red strings that hold us close, but don’t cut into our skin anymore.

When we get to the small bathroom, I giggle at how on top of each other we have to be. I’m so distracted that I pause when I see him staring at my chest. No . . .At my heart.

I follow his eyes, glancing down.

Only to realize that the tattoo has completely healed, the butterfly soaring on my skin.

25

LULLABY

“Cadence?”

My eyes flutter open. I don’t know when they closed.

“Yeah?”

The buzz of Sunveil has slowed to a hum outside. It’s the middle of the night, and the world feels like it’s only mine and Niko’s. We tangle under my comforter, the rush of pleasure far behind us, replaced by gentle comfort.

To me, every other time I’ve seen him pales in comparison to this moment. He’s never looked softer, head to the pillow and arms around me. He’s never looked more like mine.

“I want to tell you something.” His eyes search mine earnestly, like he’s trying to predict the consequence of his words. “I wanted to say something since it happened, but . . .”

Maybe my stomach should be churning right now, but my soul is settled, and the silence after his words isn’t punishing.

“You can say it now,” I whisper back, and he nods slowly.

“Well . . .”

His left hand comes up. I know, even before he touches it, that the tattoo disquiets him. Fully healed and obstructed only by the thin material of my camisole, the butterfly hums under his fingers. Like it knows his name.

“Butterflies . . . are special to me.” He lets his knuckles fall away. “Special to my mother.”