Page 64

I pulled his face back to mine and kissed him again, slower this time, more deliberate. Our breaths tangled. My hands explored the line of his jaw, the curve of his throat, and the strange, beautiful tattoo under his collarbone, the ink warm beneath my touch.

He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing heavily.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”

I didn’t.

Instead, I pulled him back to me and kissed him harder.

His hands were everywhere—gentle and rough all at once, reverent but desperate, as though mapping every part of me would make the world make sense. His lips moved with purpose, his breath growing heavier as mine hitched in my throat.

I slid my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the smooth lines of muscle across his stomach. He trembled slightly at my touch, and I smiled against his mouth.

He cupped the side of my face, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. His touch slowed, turned tender again.

“If we keep going,” he said, voice low and hoarse, “I won’t be able to stop wanting you like this. I won’t want to.”

I looked into his eyes—shadowed and full of fire. The kind that burned everything clean.

“Good,” I whispered. “Because it’s not just a want anymore.”

He exhaled sharply, like he’d been waiting to hear those words, then kissed me again—deeper, slower, until time itself seemed to still.

His breath was warm against my lips, his hands splayed along my thighs, fingers dragging up the silk of my gown with reverence, with need. I felt the fabric shift, parting just enough as he stepped closer, until only a whisper of space remained between our bodies.

“Say something,” he murmured against my skin. “Anything. Or I’ll keep going until the stars fall.”

My reply was wordless.

I slid my hands beneath his shirt, palms exploring the heat of his torso, the smooth muscle beneath.

The tension there—barely restrained—thrilled me.

Every breath he took seemed heavier, shallower.

My fingers brushed the edge of the tattoo beneath his collarbone, tracing the curves of it gently as if my touch might decipher its meaning.

He hissed softly through his teeth, and his hands moved to my hips, anchoring me in place as he kissed me again—slow, then deeper, until I was dizzy with the taste of him. Wine and winter, danger and devotion.

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down the curve of my neck, across the delicate bone of my shoulder exposed by the off-the-shoulder sleeves of my gown. His tongue flicked softly at my collar, and I arched into him, my breath catching in my throat.

The garnet ring pulsed once on my finger—just a flicker—like it was echoing the rhythm of my heartbeat.

"You’re not real," he whispered, his mouth tracing heat down my jaw. "You can’t be."

"Then take another taste," I murmured, tilting my head back, "and see how real I feel."

He did.

His hands slid up, over the bodice of my gown, fingers teasing along the fine edge of lace before slipping beneath the fabric, skin meeting skin. I gasped, not from surprise, but from how right it felt—how natural. There was no fear in his touch. Only awe.

I could feel his heartbeat through his fingertips, wild and fast, matching mine beat for beat.

I let my hands roam downward, undoing the last buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. His chest was warm beneath my palms, the rise and fall of his breath unsteady now.

He leaned into me, his body bracketed around mine, both of us suspended in this sacred hush that lived only in the space between wanting and having.

A glimpse of ink moved beneath my fingertips—shadows and curves etched into his skin, shifting with every breath.

Coiling lines, something ancient, something sharp.

I barely registered the patterns—serpentine, perhaps, or wings unfurling across his ribs—before his fingers brushed the side of my neck, and everything else disappeared.

My thoughts scattered like dust in wind. The press of his hand at my waist anchored me, igniting nerves I hadn’t known existed. Whatever story was inked into his chest would have to wait. Right now, all I could feel was his touch—slow, deliberate, and impossibly reverent.

“Elvana,” he whispered my name like a prayer.

He kissed down the line of my throat, pausing just above the swell of my breast, as if asking for silent permission.

I gave it in the way I pulled him closer.

His hand slid beneath the hem of my gown, caressing the bare skin of my thigh—slow, careful, coaxing rather than claiming. And I parted my legs just slightly, breath catching as he moved between them.

The heat of him pressed against me, undeniable.

My hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as his lips found mine again, and we lost ourselves to the rhythm we’d been circling around for weeks—unspoken and irresistible.

We kissed like we’d never be allowed too again.

We touched like we had all the time in the world.

And in that room, surrounded by stars and silence, it felt like we did.

His hands found the edge of my gown, fingers grazing the curve of the sweetheart bodice before pulling it down to bare more of me to the moonlight and his touch.

The air kissed my skin, cool against the growing warmth that flooded my body. My breath hitched as his mouth followed the trail of exposed skin, soft and slow, reverent.

When his lips closed around the curve of my breast, I gasped.

He circled my nipple with his tongue, teasing and gentle at first, then deeper, hungrier. My head fell back, hair spilling behind me on the polished table as I arched into him.

A quiet moan escaped me, swallowed by the star-dusted silence above. My hands gripped his shoulders, grounding myself against the pull of sensation building inside me.

He moved with purpose—each kiss, each flick of his tongue deliberate, coaxing more heat from my core. One hand braced at the small of my back, the other trailed downward, teasing along my ribs and waist, then lower still.

I shivered as his fingers brushed along the top of my thighs, skimming the edge of my lace panties. A whisper of touch, barely there.

My thighs clenched reflexively, the ache between them growing sharper, hotter. I bit my bottom lip, trying to steady my breathing as anticipation swelled through me like a rising tide.

Samael pulled back just enough to look up at me, his eyes nearly black with hunger and something deeper—adoration, maybe, or awe. Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees before me.

His hands slid to my hips, strong and confident, tugging me gently toward the edge of the table. My breath caught again as the pressure built low in my belly, each nerve awake and burning.

“You deserve a man who kneels for you,” he said softly, voice rough with desire. “Who worships every part of you like the queen you are.”

The words struck something deep inside me—a raw, trembling chord I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Before I could answer, he dipped forward and pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. Then another, higher. His lips were soft, warm, reverent. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as though he were savoring the way I trembled beneath his touch.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The heat at my core pulsed, a steady thrum of need building with every kiss, every teasing pass of his mouth across the sensitive skin of my thighs.

My fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, chest rising and falling as I fought to keep still—fought to stay grounded in the rush of feeling crashing over me.

His breath ghosted over the delicate fabric still between us, and I whimpered softly, a sound I couldn’t hold back.

He looked up at me again, eyes full of hunger and something heartbreakingly tender.

“Say the word,” he murmured, “and I’ll give you everything.”

“Please, Sam,” I breathed, the words slipping out in a ragged moan, all restraint unraveling.

His breath caught. “Fuck,” he groaned—low, feral, and wrecked—as if hearing his name like that shattered whatever control he had left.

My plea hung in the air between us, fragile and urgent. The moonlight spilling through the crystal skylight bathed us in silver, catching in the dark waves of his hair as he looked up at me from his position between my thighs.

His eyes were liquid midnight, pupils blown wide with desire, and the curve of his mouth—that mouth that had been driving me to madness—shifted into something like reverence.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “I want to hear my name on your lips when you’re like this.”

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the half-fallen bodice of my gown. The garnet ring on my finger pulsed once more, as if responding to the thundering of my heart.

“Sam,” I breathed, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. “Please, don’t stop.”

Something flashed in his eyes—possession, adoration, hunger—and without another word, he hooked his fingers beneath the delicate lace of my undergarments and slowly, deliberately slid them down my thighs.

The cool air kissed my most intimate places, and I shivered, both from the chill and from the intensity of his gaze as he drank me in.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and the single word contained multitudes—worship and wonder and want so fierce it made me tremble.

Samael’s hands returned to my thighs, spreading them wider gently as he settled between them. His gaze never left mine—dark and reverent, asking permission with every breath. I nodded, unable to form words, my heart thundering so loudly I was certain he could hear it echoing through the chamber.

When his mouth finally met my center, I nearly came undone.

His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path along my sensitive core, tasting me like I was something sacred.

My head fell back, a gasp escaping my lips as pleasure rippled outward from his touch. My fingers found his hair, tangling in the dark strands, anchoring myself to him as the world began to dissolve around the edges.

The moonlight streaming through the skylight bathed us in silver, turning his skin to marble and mine to pearl. The enchanted orbs hovering throughout the room pulsed softly in time with my quickening breath, as if the very magic of the place was attuned to our passion.

Samael worshipped me with his mouth—sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce—reading my body’s responses with uncanny precision. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as I began to tremble beneath the steady rhythm of his tongue.

When he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex, I cried out, the sound echoing through the empty tower like a spell.

“You taste like starlight,” he murmured against me, the vibration of his voice sending fresh waves of pleasure through my core. “Like magic and midnight.”

His fingers joined his mouth, one sliding inside me with careful reverence. I arched against him, my body welcoming his touch as if it had been waiting for him all along. He curled his finger slightly, finding a spot within me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

“Sam,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. “Please, I need—”

“I know,” he said, his free hand reaching up to clasp mine where it gripped the table’s edge. Our fingers intertwined, the garnet ring glowing brighter against our joined hands. “Let go, little raven. I’ve got you.”

The pressure built—tight, urgent, unbearable in the most exquisite way. Every brush of his mouth, every delicate curl of his fingers inside me, sent heat spiraling outward from the center of my being.

My breaths came in short gasps, shaky and uneven, the world narrowing to the point of contact between us, to the sound of his voice, to the relentless pulse inside me.

I clung to him—fingers tangled in his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp—as his name tumbled from my lips in a breathless chant.

“Samael… Sam—please, oh gods…”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t rush.

He knew. Knew exactly where I was, how close, how far. He held me steady with one hand inside me and the other entwined with mine, anchoring me in that moment of unraveling.

And then—I shattered.

The pleasure crested like a wave breaking through my entire body, white-hot and full of stars. I cried out, not caring who might hear, not caring if the walls remembered.

My spine arched, back bowing off the table as the heat inside me spilled over and swept everything away. The tower, the Academy, the world—all of it blurred into the golden nothing of bliss.

Samael didn’t let go. Not once.

He held me as I trembled through it, whispering something I couldn’t quite hear—something soft and ancient, like a spell cast to soothe a soul.

When the rush slowly ebbed and the world gently pieced itself back together, he rose from his knees. His hands cradled my face, his thumb brushing away the single tear I hadn’t known had fallen. Not from pain. Not even from joy.

Just… release.

He leaned down and kissed me—slow and deep and full of reverence. There was no hunger now, only tenderness. Devotion. I kissed him back with what strength I had, still breathless, still awash in the warmth he’d lit inside me.

When we finally parted, our foreheads rested together, the only sound between us our shared breaths.

“You are mine,” he whispered—not like a claim, but a confession.

I nodded, still too overwhelmed for words. My voice wouldn’t come, but my fingers found his, squeezing tightly.

“Stay,” I whispered after a long moment. “Just like this. For a little while.”

He gathered me into his arms, lifting me gently off the table and into his lap as he sat on the floor, back pressed to the base of the scrying pedestal.

The warmth of his body wrapped around mine as I curled into him, the velvet of my gown pooling over his legs, the faint hum of the enchanted orbs above casting soft, pulsing light.

The ring on my finger glowed faintly still. A promise. A tether. A gift I hadn’t expected—but couldn’t imagine letting go.

We sat there for what could’ve been minutes or hours. The rest of the world fell away.

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid.

I was held.

And for now… that was enough.