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“My turn,” I growl against her mouth.

“Then make it count,” Lark says just before our lips clamp.

She kisses me with a craving that rouses my cock anew. She kisses me as though she’s already fucking me, mindlessly yet deliberately. She kisses me with a desperation that squeezes around my sinful heart like a fist, as though this won’t last because the world is falling apart. She kisses me with an emotion so profound it rarely fails to stagger me.

I kiss her back like a glutton, as though I’ve endured nine years of famine. I kiss her back as if I’m fucking her in kind, deeply and tirelessly. I kiss her back with a voracity that promises I’ll never let her go, never let this fade, because if the world falls apart, I’ll fly us into the firmament where nothing and no one can touch her. I kiss her back with an emotion so unconditional it rattles me to the edges of my being.

Our mouths clutch. My tongue licks against hers, but it’s not enough.

I want her moans in every possible octave, from sighs and shouts. I want her cries at every possible speed, from slow to fast.

I want those beautiful noises shredding into the fucking air. I want her so depleted that she’s never been happier.

My lips wrest from hers. “Grab the headboard, pet,” I whisper. “You’ll need it.”

An eager light glazes her pupils. She nods and gropes the notches affixed behind her.

Unlike my mutinous one, I assign no rules to this. My mate would only shatter them faster than I had.

I coast down her body while planting open-mouthed kisses over Lark’s skin, from her flushed throat, between her quivering tits, and over her twitching stomach. Her knees steeple around my head of their own volition. Though, she’ll have to do better than that.

Settling at the hot nexus of her legs, I glance up and toss her a nefarious look. My arms hook around Lark’s knees and splay them wide, opening the gap of her body.

Between two strips of hair, her walls flutter apart. Slickness runs between them, her flesh pinkens under my gaze, and that sweet kernel projects like a button. Fables almighty.

I remember one of the first things I’d said to her when she answered my summons and arrived in this world looking fierce and fuckable. Even then, her proximity had sparked through my veins like an electric current, jolting me in a resentful yet remarkable way. It’s a wonder I hadn’t fallen off my throne in The Parliament’s rotunda.

Her name had intrigued me.

The rare bird that sings while flying.

Indeed. And tonight, my mate shall do just that.

Pinning her to bed, I sink in and drag my tongue up her slot. Lark’s back snaps off the mattress, and a hard cry pops from her mouth.

My mouth burrows in. I trace up and down the seam, lapping up every flow of moisture. Each pass of my tongue swabs her opening yet drenches it all over again. Dampness seeps down my palate as I lick her folds, my tongue spreading her intimate lips apart.

And then I slide into that beautiful pussy. My tongue thrusts, pitching into the hot cavern at a steady tempo.

My wings brush her scarred knees. Every piston of my tongue pushes a groan from Lark’s helpless mouth.

She releases the headboard, grabs the roots of my hair, and rolls her hips. Fuck, she rides my tongue like it’s my cock, like she’s pleasuring herself. And I adore it what it does to her shouts, how it chips them apart.

The taste of ginger and vanilla drips onto my tongue. Yet I need her wetter, so much wetter. I want her pussy aching and her clitoris throbbing like a drum for me. I want to engulf her fully, then make her soar.

First, I twirl my finger, summoning a slender rope of wind. It tapers and braces against her entrance. Then my digits grip her tighter, split her folds wider. After that, my tongue glides up her core to the small root of flesh distending from the hair.

While I do this, the wind grows dense like an appendage and eases into her opening.

Like this, we claim her from both points of pleasure. And at the same time, the wind and I feed on her.

I strap my lips around her clitoris and suck. And as my mouth encases that perfect little peg, the wind begins to coast in and out of her.

The next whimper frays into an amplified moan. The headboard rams into the wall.

Lark’s face thrashes from side to side. “Oh, fuck!” she sobs. “Cerulean.”

I release her momentarily. “Do you feel that, pet? Do you feel my tongue and the wind? Do you feel us fucking you?”