Page 23 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.

The moment I saw him, heat surged through me—ravenous, overwhelming. My body moved before my mind could catch up. I leapt into his arms, wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, clutching fistfuls of his tunic as I crashed my lips to his.

Fintan stumbled back a step, clearly caught off guard, but the second his arms locked around me, everything shifted. Surprise melted into something far darker—hungrier. He kissed me back with a force that stole my breath, his lips parting mine like a promise he fully intended to keep.

His hands gripped me firmly, one at my back, the other sliding beneath my thigh, holding me effortlessly as he turned and pressed me against the nearest wall. The cold stone at my back was a stark contrast to the fire surging through my veins, but it only made me want him more.

I was burning—utterly, wildly burning.

The tea.

It had made everything… more. The way his mouth moved against mine. The roughness of his palms as they slid along my hips. The low growl that rumbled from his throat when I ground my core against him.

My senses were drenched in him—his scent, the heat of his skin, the quiet restraint behind his kiss that was quickly unraveling.

“Fintan,” I whispered against his lips, my voice sultry and breathless, each syllable laced with the ache pulsing through my body. “Please… I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his whisky-colored eyes dark and wild. “Elara…”

I didn’t give him time to doubt. My fingers curled into his hair, my hips rolling against his, and I whispered it again—more desperate this time.

“Take me. I want you.”

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth crushed mine, a fierce, consuming kiss that sent sparks down my spine. Whatever control he’d been clinging to broke in that moment, and he gave in—completely, entirely—like a man who’d been waiting too long to touch something forbidden.

And gods help me, I wanted nothing more than to be devoured.

His lips found the hollow of my throat, and I gasped, arching into him as heat coiled low in my belly. Each kiss was a promise of what was coming, slow and deliberate, until I could barely breathe beneath the weight of need.

He pressed me harder against the wall, his hips pushing into mine, sending sparks shooting up to the ache between my legs. I tugged at his tunic, desperate for the feel of his skin. He helped me, tearing it off over his head in one swift motion before reclaiming my mouth in another searing kiss.

Gods, he felt like fire. Warm, strong, alive beneath my fingertips.

His hands were everywhere—tugging at the fabric of my dress, dragging it down inch by agonizing inch. I shivered as cool air kissed my bare skin, only to be replaced by the heat of his touch, his palms reverent and hungry all at once.

He broke the kiss for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting naked like we’d run miles. His breath was shaky, his voice low and rough.

“Are you sure?”

The question lingered in the air like a tether, like a chance to pull back.

I didn’t need to think.

“Yes,” I breathed, eyes locked on his. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth was on me again, trailing fire down my neck, across my collarbone, lower—his hands dragging over every curve as if memorizing me by touch alone. I clung to him, moaning softly as he kissed the swell of my chest, the tension between us building with every passing second.

He entered me slowly, the head of his cock pushed through my tightness.

“Ahh,” I whimpered.

“Are you alright?” He asked, pausing his movements.

I pulled him tighter against me and ground my hips, taking him further inside.

“Fuck, Elara,” he said against my lips as he pushed into me more, letting me adjust to his length.

When he finally entered me, it wasn’t rushed or careless—it was deep and deliberate, as though he needed to feel every part of me, and make sure I felt him just as much.

Fintan let out a tortured moan.

I cried out, my head thrown back as pleasure bloomed through me like wildfire. He groaned against my skin, holding me tightly as we moved together in a rhythm older than any spell, any vow, any throne.

Slowly, he pulled out of me.

Then he pushed back in.

“Gods, Elara, you feel so fucking good. Look at you,” his throaty voice whispered, “taking me like a fucking Queen.”

His words brought me closer to the edge. “Ah, yes, Fin! Take me!” I screamed as I pulled his hair tighter, coaxing him further and further inside of me.

My eyes rolled back as he moved.

Every thrust sent a ripple of pleasure through me, my body tightening around him, urging him deeper, harder. I was drunk on him—on the way he moaned my name like a prayer, on the way he kissed my shoulder, my cheek, my lips between gasps, like I was something holy.

“Gods, Elara,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice thick with desire. “You undo me.”

I cupped his face, gazing into his storm-swept eyes, and whispered, “Then let me.”

The world outside that moment ceased to exist. There was no castle, no crown, no bloodline. Just him. Just me. Just this feverish, beautiful collapse into one another.

Our bodies moved faster, more frenzied, as our pleasure built together. I dug my nails into his back, urging him closer as heat swelled inside me, ready to break.

“Elara.”

“Fintan,” I said back his name, showing him how much I loved him worshipping my body—showing him that we were unbreakable in this moment.

And when we came—together—it was as if the entire world shattered around us.

I cried out his name as release tore through me, my body trembling in his arms. He followed with a groan, holding me tightly as if afraid I’d vanish.

“Holy Divine,” I whispered breathlessly.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breaths, our skin damp with sweat, our hearts thundering against each other’s chests.

He pressed a kiss to my temple and whispered something I couldn’t quite catch. Maybe I was still too drunk on the tea. Maybe I just didn’t want to break the silence.

I buried my face in the curve of his sweaty neck, inhaling his scent, tasting the heat still clinging to his skin.

And for the first time in so long, I felt completely consumed—and completely seen.

We stayed like that for a while—tangled in each other, pressed against the cold stone wall made warm by our shared heat.

His arms were still wrapped around me as if he wasn’t ready to let go, and I had no desire to move.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, but there was a calm beneath it.

A stillness I hadn’t felt in what felt like years.

His lips brushed my temple again, slower this time. Reverent. He held me like I was something fragile, as if the weight of what had just passed between us had settled into his chest.

“Elara…” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady.

I tilted my head to look at him. His expression had shifted—no longer purely driven by hunger, but softened with something deeper. His stormy eyes searched mine, and I could feel the tension in his breath before he spoke again.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words were quiet, but they struck like lightning in the silence that followed. My breath caught. Not from surprise, but from the way it made everything inside me ache in the most beautiful way.

Fintan’s hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing gently over my skin as if unsure whether I’d pull away.

“I tried not to be, I knew you weren’t ready for that,” he added, a small, breathless laugh escaped him.

“Tried to keep you at arm’s length and give you space and time.

But every time I look at you… I just fall harder. ”

I stared at him for a heartbeat, my vision going blurry with the sudden sting of tears. Not sadness—something far more dangerous.

Hope.

I placed my hand over his heart, feeling the steady thrum beneath his chest. Everything about this moment felt right—perfect. “I love you too,” I whispered. “I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it’s been building all along. But I know it now.”

His lips brushed mine again, not frantic like before, but with a different kind of urgency—one born from relief, from longing, from the impossible sweetness of being seen and wanted in return.

I felt him grow harder, still buried inside of me.

“Take me again. I need you,” I pleaded.

He flashed his dimples at me, “I’ll never be able to get enough of you, my love.”

He carried me from the wall this time, crossing the chamber with a careful strength, laying me down on his large bed near the hearth. The firelight danced across his bare skin, casting golden shadows as he hovered over me, eyes drinking me in like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

This time, when he touched me, it wasn’t rushed. His fingertips traced every inch of me as though reacquainting himself with something sacred. Our kisses were slower, deeper, and full of the emotions we hadn’t dared speak aloud until now.

We made love—not just a collision of heat and urgency, but something more.

His mouth worshipped every part of me. Every sigh that escaped my lips was echoed by his own, as if we were breathing the same air, lost in the same fevered rhythm.

I moaned as he slid in and out of me, his cock unbelievably hard, his pace mirrored the tides pull, drawing me in with every wave.

He whispered my name like it was a vow, his hands never leaving my skin, as if he could anchor me there forever.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, burying my face in the curve of his neck. We moved together in perfect sync, letting the waves of pleasure rise again, this time laced with meaning, with a love so fierce it hurt.

My body started to hum, ready to explode again, just as he lifted my leg to his shoulder and brought his fingers to my sensitive bud.

“Tell me,” He thrusted hard, “Tell me you’re mine,” another thrust that made my eyes roll back.

“Yes! Yes, I’m yours, Fintan.”

He moved his fingers with delicate grace along my clit as he pounded into me faster. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin.

He sought pleasure from my pleasure.

“I love you so much,” He moaned in my ear as he dropped my leg and exploded inside of me.

And when we came undone, it wasn’t just our bodies—it was our hearts, laid bare and burning.

He collapsed beside me, breathless, arm curling around my waist as he pulled me against his chest. I rested there, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slowly return to calm.

“I meant it,” he murmured, lips brushing my hair. “Whatever happens next, whatever war we face, I’m yours. Entirely.”

I looked up at him, fingers brushing the side of his face. “And I’m yours,” I said softly. “Even if the world burns around us.”

He smiled—gods, that beautiful smile—and pulled me in for one last kiss.

And in that quiet space, with the fire crackling beside us and the storm of our bodies finally stilled, I felt it for the first time.

Peace.

Love.

And the terrifying, beautiful certainty that everything had just changed.