Page 76 of Heart of Night
As if sensing my desperation for more, he removes one hand, running it up my side to my breast where my soaked shirt clings to my skin.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, kissing his way down the side of my neck, following the line to the base of my throat, and my body sings at each touch like it’s been ignited by something hotter than fire. Something more eternal than those torches lighting the palace in the Seeing Forest.
His fingers circle my nipple, teasing and swirling over the coarse linen of the wet fabric covering it, each touch too intense and not intense enough all at once. I’m going to combust if I can’t get my hands on him.
Leaning into his arm, I give him better access, savoring each graze of his lips as I reach between our hips to unbutton his pants and moan with delight when his teeth scrape over my shoulder right above the tattoo.
“I need to see it.” His voice catches as he glances up and our gazes lock, my hands stilling where they were starting to tug on the buttons of his pants.
My mind is so thoroughly blank I can’t fathom what he’s talking about, but his eyes lower to my shoulder where my shirt covering me is near transparent with rain.
“The mark,” he explains, fingers sliding to the collar of my shirt as if in question. “Herinor told me you have one in the exact same spot as I do.” His hand releases me to reach for his own shoulder, and I instantly bemoan the loss of his touch.
“Turn around.” His grasp is gentle as he places his hands on my hips, lifting me from his lap and placing me in front of him on the grass. The wall beside me is made of roundish rocks and held together with mortar and moss; the bushes to the side block the view of the abandoned house, and behind us, the shed is far enough away for the rain to drown our conversation with its relentless fall.
Myron waits for me to do as he requested or deny him, his gaze burning like the best possible fire as he scans every inch of me, the outline of my curves where my shirt sticks to my body, the wet hair sliding over my shoulder as I pull it aside to tug my shirt down before I turn to the side, exposing my shoulder.
His soft gasp runs through me like a delicate touch, like the brine coasting along the deck of a ship, teasing the sails before catching on and pulling them into motion. I can feel his eyes scanning the black lines running from below my neck to the side of my shoulder, feel his hunger through our connection like it’s my own.
“More,” he says, tone near reverent, and I know the shirt needs to go, or neither of us will find peace.
He needs to see all of it, all of me, just like I need to see all of him. See every inch of skin to assess the degree of violence I want to rain down on every last creature who hurt him.
I’m far from graceful as I pull up my shirt, trying to convince it to slide up my torso in an attempt to remove it, my fingers clumsy and my patience nonexistent. Myron’s hands catch mine in a gentle grasp, arms circling my waist as he stops me mid-motion, fingers sliding around mine as he carefully, painstakingly slowly pulls the fabric up, up, up. Until my head slides free, then my arms, my hands.
My hair flops down between my shoulder blades with a smack, sending rivers of rain down the small of my back, and my breath catches as he follows the trail down the length of my spine all the way to the waistband of my pants and back up again, veering to the side. To the shoulder with the inked bird.
The first touch of his finger to the swirling lines that are the tattooed feathers sends a shiver through my entire body. A tremble that doesn’t seem to want to stop.
“Ayna—” Myron’s breath warms the skin at the base of my neck as he slides my hair aside, kissing his way along the column of my spine, careful not to touch the black lines. At first. Then, his mouth brushes the side of the bird, and I could swear the wings flutter—or it’s my heart that foolishly speeds in my chest like there is no tomorrow. His tongue swirls over the center of the mark, and I cry out, bowing my head to give him better access. Myron’s growl reverberates through my body, setting my core aflame with desperate need.
I can’t wait-can’t wait-can’t wait another moment to touch him, so I reach behind me, finding the side of his stomach first, then dropping my hand to his knee where his leather pants cling to his form. He hisses as I slide higher on the inside of his thigh, right along the seam of his pants until I’m back to the buttons. Myron catches my hand for a moment of frustration during which he makes up for it by licking the rain off my skin along the outline of the inked bird, and Guardians be damned, it’s nearly enough to make me forget I was reaching for his cock. But I remember… Oh, I remember the moment the sound of metal sliding through leather informs me he took it upon himself to open his pants, and he pushes up his hips a few inches as he sets my hand to the top of him.
My fingers tighten on instinct, eliciting a deep moan from Myron as his free hand circles my chest, skating my breast until he finds my peaked nipple, teasing and taunting while his mouth wanders back up the side of my neck.
His other hand frees mine, reaching between my thighs, and I spread them in response, desperate for any touch of his, even the slightest friction he can provide through my soaked pants.
And Guardians, does he know where to touch me. My core spasms as his fingers skim my center, brushing up so lightly I want to complain that he should stop teasing me, but before I get a word out, his hands find my hip and shoulder, and I’m spun around and put flat on my back. Myron hovers over me, one hand braced on each side of my shoulders, wet hair framing his face as he assesses me with predatory intent, gaze tracking my face, bare breasts, my stomach, down to my pants, which he somehow managed to untie. And my treacherous eyes linger on his lips only for a heartbeat before they wander down to where his knees rest between my thighs.
His mouth crashes down on mine, and this time, he doesn’t intend to let me go the way he did in the shed; he doesn’t give me a choice—because we both have made it already. We chose each other over everything else. This moment that belongs to us alone while the world may go to shit around us.
With one hand, he peels me out of my pants while his tongue expertly slides against mine, exploring my mouth. Sharp teeth graze my lower lip as he nips and sucks, devouring me in breathless, desperate kisses that I will never get enough of. But it’s the push of his hard length against my entrance that has me losing control. I need him inside of me now?—
Thank the Guardians, Myron truly meant what he said because he doesn’t hesitate as he sheaths himself inside of me with one long thrust, filling me inch by glorious inch until I can’t think, until the rain becomes a sensuous lick against my skin, the grass beneath me a million kisses, and as he starts moving… The way he stretches me with each slow, relentless thrust draws moan after moan from my throat, and he devours them all like that proof of what he’s doing to me, of what he’s capable of making me feel, belongs only to him. Like I belong only to him. And in this moment, I do. With body and soul. With everything I am and ever will be, I belong to him.
Pleasure coils low in my belly, spreading with every time he slams in to the hilt. He isn’t cautious with me the way he was before the curse broke, and I don’t want him to be. I want—I need—to feel his strength, his power, need to feel that he’s alive. And that he’s mine.
I buck my hips to take him deeper, and his growl of approval nearly sends me tumbling over the edge, but it wouldn’t be Myron if he didn’t have a modicum of control even in a life-changing moment like this. He slows the pace, drawing out my pleasure as I teeter along a cliff of unknown depth. I’m not afraid because he’s here to catch me—or to fall and shatter with me.
“My Ayna,” Myron murmurs between kisses, and his words spread through me like a gushing river, driving out the desperation as they sear the flesh beneath my tattoo.
His mouth covers mine as he thrusts into me, tongue meeting mine in a practiced dance. My legs tremble as he grabs my thighs, pulling them up for a deeper angle, and I splinter. It hits with the force of a tidal wave, turning me into a whimpering, quivering bundle as I climax around him, nails biting into his shoulder where his tattoo seems to come alive in swirling lines on the edge of his biceps. Spots of bright light dance at the edge of my vision, and I think I might black out from the onslaught of sensations, but Myron is right there, his arms gathering me up as he sits back on his haunches, driving even deeper as he prolongs my pleasure to what feels like an eternity.
“Myron—” I want to say I don’t know what. Every last word has been wiped from my thoughts, leaving me exactly what he promised—mindless.
But it’s enough to push him over the edge, his thrusts picking up pace as his control slips, and he finds his release with a primal groan that runs through me like a bolt of lightning from the sensitive flesh that are my peaked breasts to the apex of my thighs and deep into my core, almost making me climax all over again. His arms crash me against his chest as he shudders inside of me, burying his face at the base of my throat, every hot breath proof that he’s real, that he’s alive. That we both are.
“My Crow,” I whisper as he lifts his head, gaze locking on mine with the intensity of a storm-tossed ocean, and a smile forms on his mouth, stealing my breath all over again.