Page 49

I pause for a moment, letting the power and beauty of his words sink into me. I want to laugh. I want to cry. Joy washes through me, potent and untamed.

“Ella,” I say, correcting him. “You used to call me Ella, sometimes.” I’ve kept this to myself, protecting it, like a candle flame, afraid it would be too easily extinguished it I let it out in the open. But now I can see the fire burns in Ruskin too, and he’ll make the light of it blaze all the brighter.

“Ella,” he says, and my heart swells at hearing the word from his lips again.

He kisses me and the buoyant feeling in my chest grows until I feel like I might float. I sink into the kiss with my whole body, clasping my fingers in his shirt, demanding more. I want to soak up every second of being with him now that we share this connection again.

He tears his lips from mine to press them along my jaw and neck, like he wants to cover every part of me. My hand runs through his thick, soft hair, and I decide I can’t hold the words back any longer. I’m tired of not saying them, of holding them back ever since he returned from Interra.

“Ruskin, I love you.”

He lifts his head and I see his eyes shining with emotion. I swallow back happy tears of my own, witnessing the evidence of how much those words mean to him.

“Ella, words are not enough, but they are all I have. I love you too.”

I kiss him again, stroking his tongue with mine, taking in the taste of him as if I could physically savor the words they just spoke. But it’s not enough. I ache to show him what this means to me. To give him everything.

“Don’t use words, then,” I say as I grind my hips against him, noting how he’s already hard. I almost moan then and there, anticipating the feel of him inside me, because now I’m ready—ready to be with him like that again. My body has wanted it all this time, but now my heart gives me permission too. I love him, and I know he loves me. I want to be as close to him as I can possibly be, connected in the same way our hearts and souls are tied together. “You promised me a celebration,” I remind him.

His eyes darken with desire as he absorbs what I’m suggesting.

“Ask and you shall receive,” he says, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck and pulling me in for another bruising kiss. My hands drop to his belt, making short work of releasing his erection from where it strains against the fabric. His cock free, I caress it, enjoying the firm weight of it in my hand as Ruskin groans into my shoulder. It’s been too long since I touched him there, and as I lightly run my fingers over him, I know I want to experience him in every way I can. My nostrils are already full of his scent, but I want to taste him too, so I drop to my knees and lap my tongue over him. The noise Ruskin makes in response is almost feral and my body responds to it, sparking with the knowledge that I’m doing this to him. The noise only deepens as I take him in my mouth, swallowing down the length as far as I can, knowing there’s still inches to go. I wrap my hand around the base, sliding my lips over the silken skin, as he buries his hand in my hair. He gently guides my rhythm, but I can see from the tension in his muscles that he’s fighting to maintain control. I don’t want control, though, I want him unleashed, undone. I want to overwhelm him until I’m the only thing he can think about. Until he needs me desperately. It’s only fair, since that’s what he always does to me.

I remove my mouth, looking up at him through my lashes.

“I’m ready now,” I say. Heat pulses at my core, knowing what I’m about to set in motion. He stares down at me with blazing eyes and offers me a slight quirk of his eyebrow.

“Ready for what, my love?” he teases, his hand cradling my chin, brushing his thumb over the lips that were just wrapped around him. He wants me to spell it out, I can tell, and I feel no self-consciousness as I give him what he craves: me, asking him in no uncertain terms to take me—demanding it of him.

“I’m ready for you to fuck me until I can’t remember by own name,” I say, echoing his words from a few nights ago.

He tugs me up onto my feet before he lifts me by my ass and deposits me on the bed with one swift motion. Then he unsheathes his talons and examines my clothes—the leather riding gear I’m still wearing from the bastet game.

“It’s a shame to ruin such a delicious outfit,” he says with a grin. “But needs must.” And with that he shreds the clothes beneath his claws, ripping every layer of fabric from my body until I’m lying splayed and naked beneath him. The cool air kisses my skin as he makes to climb over me, but I stop him with a foot pressed to his shoulder. I’ve waited too long for this not to enjoy every moment.

“Uh-uh,” I say, nodding to the clothes still covering most of him. “You too.” I need to see him, to fully appreciate that body he taunted me with on our first night back in the Unseelie Court.

His nostrils flare at the delay, but he dutifully begins to remove his shirt and pants. As the beautiful planes of his body are stripped bare in front of me, I writhe against the blankets. I’m aching with need, to the point where it’s almost painful. To offer myself some relief I dip my hand between my legs, massaging my clit as I hungrily devour the sight of him.

His eyes fall to where I’m working myself and he licks his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he says, a note of reprimand in his voice. “That’s my job.”

There’s no gap between the moment he finishes undressing and when he dives forward, ripping my fingers from my body to replace them with his tongue. All breath is stolen from me. I’d been aware of my heightened senses buzzing in the background, intensifying the taste and smell of Ruskin, but now the rush of sensation pushes me to new levels. I can feel every ridge of his tongue, my flesh alive to the most minute variation in pressure and texture, and a stuttering moan escapes me as my brain tries to process the onslaught of pleasure. And while my nerves work overtime to deliver every detail, my climax comes impossibly fast, rolling through me like a tidal wave.

And even then, he doesn’t stop, probing and plundering until he’s explored every inch of me, inside and out, teasing me until once again I teeter on the precipice. Then he pulls back, and I release a whine that he ignores, flipping me over on to my stomach and hooking an arm under my hips to pull me up onto my knees.

“I need you, Ella.” He’s not exaggerating, I can hear it in his voice, like he might break if he doesn’t join us together at last. “From the moment I saw you in Interra…” he says, his hand caressing my hip. I bunch my hands into the bedspread as his fingers dip back between my legs, gently brushing the oh-so sensitive bundle of nerves there. But now I can also feel the head of him brushing against my entrance.

“Stars, you were so beautiful,” he says. “Too perfect for that cursed world. I knew then I’d either die there or live to make you mine.”

“I was already yours, Rus,” I say, desperate to have him claim me, for our bodies to be united again.

He doesn’t move, though, and when I look over my shoulder at him to see what he’s waiting for, there’s something beyond the wild hunger holding him back: a layer of reverence.

He hasn’t done this before, I realize. At least, not so far as he can remember. For him this will be his first time with me.

“I love you, Rus,” I say, meeting his gaze.