Page 6 of Accidentally Ever After (Wings & Whispers #1)

Caelen rose from his seat in one fluid motion and moved to sit beside me on the wide armchair, his body angled toward mine. This close, I could see the subtle patterns on his skin shimmering slightly, the way his pupils had expanded, leaving just a rim of violet.

“May I have your hand?” he asked softly.

I extended my hand, trying to ignore how it trembled slightly. He took it in his, his skin cool against mine, then slowly guided it toward his extended wing.

“The outer edge,” he explained, his voice husky, “is sensitive but not overwhelmingly so. Like this.”

He guided my fingers to brush against the edge of his wing—that delicate, translucent membrane that caught the light in hypnotic patterns. Even this light contact made him inhale sharply, his eyes fluttering.

“Good?” I asked, mesmerized by his reaction.

“Very,” he breathed. “You may explore, if you wish.”

Emboldened, I let my fingers trace the edge of his wing more deliberately, following the graceful curve. The membrane felt impossibly soft—like the finest silk but warm and somehow alive, thrumming with energy beneath my touch.

Caelen’s breathing deepened, his eyes half-closed in obvious pleasure. “The sensitivity increases as you move inward,” he murmured.

I followed his guidance, letting my fingers drift further onto the wing’s surface. The effect was immediate—his wings trembled, and a soft sound escaped his throat.

“Like that?” I asked, my own voice unsteady.

“Yes,” he said, the word almost a sigh. “Few sensations compare.”

Fascinated by his responses, I continued my careful exploration, mapping the increasing sensitivity as I moved closer to where the wing joined his back. His reactions were intoxicating—each touch drawing a different sound or expression of pleasure.

“The underside,” he said, voice strained, “is even more sensitive.”

Without thinking, I slipped my hand beneath his wing, brushing my fingertips against the underside of the membrane. The effect was dramatic—Caelen’s entire body tensed, his head falling back as a moan escaped him. The patterns on his skin began to glow more noticeably, pulsing with inner light.

“Fuck,” I breathed, stunned by the intensity of his response.

His eyes opened, now so dark they were nearly black. “Indeed,” he said roughly. Then, with movements almost too quick to follow, he shifted, pulling me toward him until I was half in his lap, his mouth claiming mine in a hungry kiss.

This wasn’t like our kiss in the grotto—that had been exploratory, testing. This was devouring. His lips moved against mine with desperate need, his tongue sliding into my mouth with a confidence that made my head spin. I kissed him back just as fiercely, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

One of his hands tangled in my hair, the other at my waist, pulling me more firmly against him. I could feel the hard planes of his chest against mine, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against my hip.

His wings enfolded us both, creating that intimate cocoon I remembered from the grotto. The contact seemed to intensify everything—each touch, each breath more electric. I let my hands slide from his shoulders to his back, fingers brushing the base where his wings emerged.

Caelen broke the kiss with a gasp, his entire body shuddering. “Blake,” he groaned, “if you touch me there, I cannot promise to maintain control.”

The raw need in his voice sent heat straight to my groin. “Maybe I don’t want you to maintain control,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness.

His eyes met mine, searching. “Are you certain? I promised not to rush you.”

In answer, I deliberately ran my fingers along the junction where his wings met his back.

The effect was instantaneous and stunning.

Caelen’s back arched, his wings flaring wide before wrapping around us again.

The patterns on his skin glowed brightly now, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat.

A sound tore from his throat—something between a growl and a moan—and suddenly I found myself lifted and deposited on the couch, with Caelen’s weight pressing me into the cushions.

“You were warned,” he said, his voice rough with desire as he hovered over me.

“Consider me properly educated on wing sensitivity,” I replied, breathless from the sudden movement and the sight of him above me—eyes dark with lust, skin glowing, wings partially extended.

He laughed—a low, dangerous sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Your education has barely begun.”

Then his mouth was on mine again, more demanding than before. His hands slid under my shirt, cool against my heated skin, exploring with a reverence that contrasted with the hunger of his kiss. When his fingers brushed my nipples, I arched into the touch, gasping against his mouth.

“May I?” he asked, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

I nodded, lifting slightly to help him remove it. As the fabric cleared my head, I felt suddenly vulnerable—the first time I’d been shirtless in front of him. His eyes raked over my exposed torso, the intensity in his gaze making me feel like I was being devoured.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing a finger along my collarbone, down my sternum, across my stomach. Each touch left a trail of tingling awareness in its wake.

“Your turn,” I said, reaching for the laces of his tunic.

He sat back on his heels, allowing me to unlace the front of his garment.

As the fabric parted, revealing more of that pearlescent skin and defined muscle, I felt my mouth go dry.

He shrugged out of the tunic with casual grace, and I was treated to the full sight of his torso—lean but powerfully built, with those subtle patterns flowing across his skin like living tattoos.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I said without thinking.

His lips curved in a pleased smile. “I am gratified you find me appealing.”

“Appealing is an understatement,” I muttered, reaching up to touch him.

As my hands explored his chest and abdomen, tracing the patterns that glowed brighter at my touch, Caelen’s wings trembled continuously. His eyes never left mine, watching my reactions with an intensity that was both thrilling and slightly unnerving.

“May I show you something?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Another fairy lesson?” I teased.

“Of sorts,” he replied with a smile that promised delicious things.

He shifted, stretching out beside me on the wide couch, then guided me to turn on my side so my back was to his chest. One arm slipped beneath me, the other wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His wings extended, one draping over us like a living blanket.

“In my culture,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, “this position is called the ‘sheltering embrace.’ It is considered deeply intimate—a position of trust and protection.”

The feeling of being completely enveloped by him—his body warm against my back, his arm secure around me, his wing creating a private world for just the two of us—was incredibly powerful. I felt simultaneously protected and possessed.

“It’s nice,” I said inadequately, unable to fully articulate how it made me feel.

“It gets better,” he promised, his voice velvet-soft against my ear.

His free hand began to explore my chest and stomach with deliberate slowness, mapping each dip and curve with attentive fingers. When he brushed a nipple, I gasped, arching into the touch. He took the cue, circling the sensitive bud with his thumb until it hardened.

“You are responsive,” he observed, satisfaction evident in his voice.

“And you’re a tease,” I countered breathlessly.

I felt rather than saw his smile against my shoulder. “Patience is valued among my kind. Pleasure savored is pleasure heightened.”

“Is that in the fairy rulebook too?” I asked, then gasped as his teeth grazed my earlobe.

“Page forty-seven,” he murmured, his hand continuing its maddening exploration of my torso.

His wing shifted against me, the sensitive membrane brushing against my bare skin in a way that made both of us shudder. The dual sensation—his hands on my front, his wing caressing my back—was overwhelming.

“Caelen,” I breathed, not sure what I was asking for.

He seemed to understand nonetheless. His hand drifted lower, fingers toying with the waistband of my jeans. “May I?” he asked, his voice strained with restraint.

“Yes,” I managed, lifting my hips slightly to give him better access.

With nimble fingers, he unfastened my jeans and slipped his hand inside, over my boxers. When his palm pressed against my erection, I couldn’t suppress a moan, my hips bucking instinctively.

“So eager,” he said, a note of wonder in his voice.

“It’s been a while,” I admitted. “And you’re… well, you.”

He made a pleased sound, his hand beginning to move in slow, deliberate strokes over the fabric. “Tell me how you like to be touched,” he encouraged.

The request, so direct yet so intimate, made my face heat. “I… um…”

“Show me,” he suggested, taking my hand and guiding it to join his.

Together, we established a rhythm—my hand over his, showing him the pressure and pace I preferred. Even through the fabric of my boxers, the sensation was intense, heightened by the feeling of his wing still draped over us, occasionally shifting against my skin.

“More,” I gasped after several minutes of this exquisite torture. “I need…”

In response, Caelen tugged at my jeans and boxers. I lifted my hips, helping him work them down my thighs. The feeling of being partially undressed while he remained mostly clothed added another layer of intensity to the moment.

When his hand wrapped around me, skin to skin, I nearly came on the spot. His touch was cool at first but quickly warmed, his grip perfect—firm but not too tight, his rhythm steady and devastating.

“Is this good?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

“God, yes,” I groaned, my head falling back against his shoulder. “So good.”