ROANER KORSANA
I did not comprehend the ferocity of desire until I heard the melody of her voice and felt the rhythm of her body in my hands as it imploded wrapped around me.
I would be lying if I said I did not find gratification in assuaging someone with such a hard exterior. And I could not help but to continue assuaging her until I saw the sun peek through the slight opening of the curtains.
Even as she rested after no longer being able to continue, I was just as intrigued by her collapsing into sleep as I was in making her feel satiated.
But now, the blade set to my throat is making me swear to never speak of this again.
Hilarity.
“And the next times to come will not be spoken of?” The sharp edge of the dagger digs further into my skin. “Do it.” I lift higher, forcing the blade to push harder into my neck.
It is an amusing thought that she thinks I am content with one night. I need more than mere hours, I fear I need years, possibly my grave. But what is six feet of dirt compared to the resonance of her voice?
Both of us are entirely naked as she sits straddling my hips with her plush and copious thighs.
“You are insane.” She mumbles as I prop up on my elbows.
She yelps when I clasp around her neck and I ascend us. Her back is pressed firmly into the bed, the dagger now lost somewhere on the floor as it falls.
Those rapturing eyes roll as I sink into her.
Finally, I can breathe.
“I did not go insane until you let me touch you.”
Her thighs shake as I gently connect us to that little place that makes her sing for me.
Tightly, she holds my wrist as I never let go of her neck.
No one should be this captivating as they come.
I slow my hips and she gasps as her gaze falls upon me again.
“No, please.”
I smile.
Exactly what I wanted.
She knew better than to allow this, to talk to me like this, to touch me like she did.
She knew better than to let me taste her.
I gave my fair warning.
She did not listen.
Now how do I stop?
This is the danger of it all, I do not want to stop.
I just barely touch that little spot of heaven in her. I lower my face near hers. “Please, what?”
She lifts her knee, pulling me deeper. “I want to feel you,” she pleads.
Our tongues dirtily play as I give her exactly what she needs.
So slow and steady that it alters the entire chemistry my body was once used to.
Now I am the one to sing for her.
* * *
I have heard of immediate sexual compatibility before, it is well known in mating bonds, but this is not that. This is starvation, and I cannot stop eating.
There is an immediate soul tie to the person you are fated to be with, along with the agonizing tensity; here the soul tie is not present, there is only tension pulling us together.
Unfortunately, most people who are hybrids tend to not have mates, and after all these years I am certain I am one. But I will never fully know until Levora is back.
There have been others before Esme but nothing as wild as this feeling.
No one has ever touched me and left fire blazing in their path.
Unusual is the only way to describe how we both were pulled so easily into one another.
It is peculiar how sharing a chamber with someone triggers you to think about so many possibilities and then you fulfill those possibilities. Both of us are contained in a room meant for intimacy so we completed what is done in rooms for intimacy.
I lie down a new undershirt next to me as I sit on the bed to tie my boots.
Two bare feet appear in front of me.
When I look at her she is now wrapped in her robe while holding a small vessel of tea.
I am well acquainted with the tea in her hands.
A brew specific for masking one’s scent so others do not sense who they have laid with.
For a moment I stare at it. “We do not need it.”
Esme does not respond; she holds it out closer to me with a determined expression.
“Our scents will fade by the time we are around others.”
That is a lie, we both know it.
I do not want to get rid of the smell of us combined, something about it has trapped my mind. To avoid an argument, I take it.
She does not walk away until she sees that all of the tea is gone, and I have drank it.
Just as I finish dressing to leave for Carmen and Lorena’s, Esme speaks from the tub in the bathing room. Her black curls are soaked and stick all over her skin as she sits up in the middle of the water.
“I will be sleeping in the chamber down the hall until we leave here.”
I fix the bow and arrow brooch holding my cloak together.
When I reach the door to leave I glance at her over my shoulder. “No, you are not.”
Maybe because we were so young, or maybe I am growing too tired and hopeless that Levora will ever appear again, I never felt this wild obsession with her as I do now with Esme.
Could it be the riveting feeling of someone who once saw you as an enemy now seeing you as a weakness?
Could it be I knew somehow I would already feel this way and it was only a matter of time before it happened?
There are one too many possibilities regarding this. And somehow, I know, without question, that Esme feels the exact same.
Although my obsession with her has found its footing, that does not subside my search for Levora. If she is still out there.
