She’s like a miracle. So perfectly formed, her warm softness against my palm, her strange, bi-colored eyes piercing mine.
She wants this. She wants me.
Despite all I’ve done. Despite how I’ve made her suffer. She wants me.
Thoughts of duty, crown, kingdom, and chaos can no longer fit inside my head. There’s no room for anything but her. For all I want to give her, all I want her to know and experience. She is a miracle. My miracle. And I won’t waste whatever time we have.
I caress her gently, my thumb playing across her nipple. Her eyes widen and her lips part in a little gasp. Leaning back against me once more, her body quivers in response to my touch. I bend my head, kiss her beautiful white shoulder even as my fingers continue their delicate play. She shivers and moves, her hips pressed against me. Is she unaware of how the pressure of her round curves drives me wild? Perhaps. The ways of love and lust are new to her. But she will soon learn. We will learn together.
She utters a protesting whimper when I draw my hand away from her breast. The sound is so sweetly petulant, it brings a smile to my lips. Taking hold of her hips, I turn her to face me. She gazes up from beneath her lashes, her eyes slightly unfocused. She looks intoxicated. Drunk on my touch.
I back her up a step. Like a dancer, she moves at my silent bidding. One step, then another, then another, until I’ve guided her across the floor and we come to the bed. There I sit her down in front of me. Her head is level with my abdomen. Her breath pants against my navel. My body surges with longing for the things I want from her. But no. This moment is not about my needs. Not now. Maybe not ever. I don’t know how much time we have left together. What I do know is that I want whatever time we have to belong to her.
I kneel before her, my eyes only a little lower than hers. Smiling, she drapes her arms around my neck, pulls me to her. Her lips claim mine in another kiss. Slow, lingering. A kiss that tells the world to stand back and wait for us.
When I finally pull back, she leans in after me, catching my lower lip between her teeth. Her bite is sharp and sweet. I smile and kiss the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. How her pulse races, like a fluttering bird! I twirl her delicate sleeve with one finger, pull it out of the way. Her bodice slips to expose her breast, and my kisses wander farther still, all the way down to that pink nipple.
Faraine gasps. Arches her back. Presses her hands into the mattress and pushes herself into me. My body surges with power and triumph at her responses. I want to taste and tease her, to devour every inch of her. I pull her other sleeve as well until the whole bodice falls around her waist. Nuzzling close, I first kiss the skin between her breasts before moving to take the other nipple in my lips. Meanwhile, my hands find that slit in her skirt. Fingers dancing and light, I discover her calves, her knees, the soft swell of her outer thighs, the fascinating slope of her hipbones.
“Oh, Vor!” she gasps and suddenly grasps my head. I look up only for her to crush her lips against mine. She slides her grip to my shoulders, tugging, pulling. She doesn’t have the strength to move me, but I obey her urging. Rising from my knees, I lay her back onto her little bed, climb on top of her. I’m so much larger than she, I must take care not to overpower her. But she’s not afraid. She runs her hands over my body, as though she cannot get enough of me. Her bare breast presses against my chest, her heart beating in time with mine.
My tongue enters her mouth again. She groans in response, the sound a song of pure delight. She bends her knee. I feel the hot inside of her thigh pressed against the side of my abdomen. It’s too much temptation to bear.
I slip my hand under her skirts. My searching fingers find the sensitive nerves of her secret core.
She sucks in a breath, pops up onto her elbows. Her mouth is open, her eyes wide, her lips swollen, parted, and panting.
I hold her gaze. Stroke her again.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she breathes.
“Do you like it?”
“I . . .” She bites her lip. Nods. I stroke, and her body quivers in response. Her eyelashes flutter, and her eyes go unfocused.
“You are so beautiful,” I murmur, drawing my lips close to hers. “Like an exquisite little bird of the Upper World, trapped here below. I want to make you sing. I want to make you soar.”
I stroke her again, my fingers attune to her least response. Her hips move. Her head lolls back, exposing that lovely white throat once more. I kiss her, lick her, rest my teeth gently above the rabid flutter of her pulse. My hand finds the little sash still holding her gown in place. With a twist, I snap it in two and let the whole flimsy garment fall away. She sits up in the ruins of pink fabric, completely bare, and crosses one arm over her chest with virginal timidity, but no fear. Flushing, her eyes lift to meet mine.
That look is pure devastation.
I kiss her lips again. Full and deep. Then I pull her hand away from her chest, pin it behind her back so that I may kiss the rest of her, worshipping every inch of her exquisite form. With each passing moment, I feel her give herself over in absolute vulnerability. To me! To the man who nearly killed her. To the man who let his pride and pain punish her far too long when she never deserved it. If this is not forgiveness, I do not know what is.
How can I possibly let her know what I feel? How honored I am to be offered the gift of her trust? I want to give to her. I want to throw the world at her feet. I want to bring her joy and comfort and delight, to be the one she turns to for every need, for the fulfillment of each secret longing.
I have to show her.
And I will. Now.
When I lay her back down on the bed, her golden hair pools around her face. She breathes out through those parted pink lips, gazing up at me without blinking as I kiss her again and again. Then she rests her hands on top of mine as I run my palms over her body. My mouth continues traveling down, between her breasts to her navel. My tongue flicks, both light and languorous.
As though suddenly shy, she presses her legs together and twists to one side. I glide my palm over her hip, admiring the smoothness of her skin, the womanly shape of her body. Then I slip my fingers between her legs, easing them apart.
Her eyes fasten hard on mine, bright with sudden anxiety. I can see the thoughts racing across her brain. She’s been taught enough to know the basics of how men and women join. Of the pain she will endure. She looks down at the front of my trousers, still laced up, but unable to hide the evidence of my mounting need. She bites her lip. “You . . . you will be gentle with me, Vor?”
“Oh, Faraine.” I bend down and kiss her stomach again. “Faraine, Faraine. I will be more than gentle.”
