Page 14 of Beneath the Desert Bloom (Of Beasts and Bloom #1)

NORA DIDN’T REMEMBER falling asleep. Only the way her body had finally given in, limp and buzzing, her mind fractured by pain and want.

When she woke, it was dark. Cool. The pain in her ankle still throbbed dully, but something else stirred deeper. A pressure low in her belly, humming and hot. Need and anticipation in equal parts.

And she wasn’t alone.

She felt him before she saw him. He didn’t knock. He just appeared, a silhouette in the doorway, tall and wild, eyes glowing.

She blinked up at him, heart thudding.

“Asher,” she whispered.

He didn’t speak. He stepped forward, slow and silent, heavier than air, more shadow than man. The floor creaked beneath his weight.

He crouched beside her, massive and motionless.

“I thought you left,” she said, throat dry.

He shook his head once.

And she knew.

He couldn’t stay away.

Not now.

Her lips parted. Her body remembered everything. The ache, the pressure, the way she’d burned under his fingers. And now he was here. Real. Heavy. Kneeling between her legs like a prayer given shape.

His hand came to her ankle, not touching the pain, but cradling the edge of her calf like she was something fragile. His eyes moved over her body like he was checking for damage, and then permission.

Where his hand rested, something changed. The hot, tight throbbing in her ankle unraveled with each beat of his pulse against her skin. The swelling receded. The fire dimmed. She gasped with relief.

Her body responded to him like he’d always known how to hold it.

Nora sucked in air, the feeling of his fingertips electric on her skin. They brushed along her jaw, up behind her ear, as gentle and slow as the moon rising. She turned into it. Her body lit up under his touch. Nothing had ever felt so gentle, or so loaded.

He cupped her face, thumb grazing her cheekbone, and then let his fingers trail downward. To her throat. Her collarbone. Then lower.

Nora’s breath hitched as his hand found her breast. He was tentative at first, just a touch through the fabric of her shirt. But her nipple tightened immediately, a rush of heat drumming low in her core. He seemed to notice her reaction. His thumb brushed across it again, slow and curious.

She moaned softly and arched toward him. Her thighs clenched together, heat pooling hard between them.

A flicker of something passed through his face, like hunger or restraint, or maybe pain.

He hesitated. His hand paused.

And she lifted her hips. Just a little. An instinct. It was enough.

One of his hands slid up her thigh, rough-skinned and hot, the contrast nearly violent against her flushed skin. She gasped, her hips tilting toward him.

He paused. Waiting. His eyes flicked to hers, asking a question without words.

“Let me,” he said, voice low, like wind over stone.

She met his eyes. “Please.”

That single word broke something loose.

He exhaled hard, the sound almost a growl, not human at all.

Then he moved between her legs, lowering himself until his breath warmed her inner thigh.

He pulled down her shorts, tenderly passing them over her hurt ankle.

One of his hands anchored her at the hip; the other gently parted her legs.

His fingertips, textured like bark smoothed by river water, brushed the inside of her thigh as he opened her.

She was already wet. Already pulsing.

Then he lowered his mouth to her, his hot breath on her clit making her jolt.

The first drag of his tongue was slow. Deep. From the base of her up to her clit, one long, wet, hot stroke that made her gasp like she’d touched something live.

Nora’s fingers clawed at the blanket. Her eyes rolled back.

He dragged his tongue through her again, thick and hot, textured like velvet and stone, some inhuman ridging along the underside that made her cry out when it passed her clit.

She grabbed the edge of the cushion. Her hips jolted.

“Oh god,” she gasped. “Oh—fuck—what is—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t answer.

He held her open with hands far too big, thumbs spreading her apart so his mouth could move deeper, slower, like a blessing and a punishment all at once.

Nora’s legs trembled. She looked down at his glowing eyes and saw his tongue.

Longer and wider than any human’s, it was broad and flat, but not smooth.

Its underside bore raised ridges, sinuous and faintly patterned, like the markings on desert stone worn by wind and time.

The ridges brushed over her in waves, not sharp, but firm.

Like they were designed to pull sound from her throat and heat from her spine.

He licked her again. Slower.

Nora’s mouth opened. No words came.

He licked her another time, dragging the ridged center over her clit just slightly longer. Her thighs quivered. Her back arched.

“Oh—fuck—”

Her thoughts broke apart into sound. Whimper. Moan. Shiver. Her body rocked into him, and he let her grind against his tongue, let her ride it like he wanted her to own him.

His hands gripped her thighs tighter now, holding her in place like she might vanish otherwise.

He groaned into her when she moaned his name.

He focused on her clit, the tip of his tongue working in soft pulses, alternating pressure and drag, stroking her like he was learning her rhythm in real time.

She moaned. Loud. Helpless.

And then his hand moved back to her breast, under her shirt now, cupping it bare. His thumb circled her nipple with rough reverence. Every flick sent heat straight to her core.

Her legs began to shake. Her breath turned ragged.

The ridges of his tongue pressed again and again, more precise now, rubbing back and forth, sending hot spirals of pleasure down her thighs, up her spine, to the tips of her fingers.

She wasn’t ready. And she couldn’t stop it.

“I’m—oh god—I’m—”

And when he flattened his tongue and pulsed it forcefully against her clit, she shattered.

The orgasm slammed into her.

Not a build. A break.

Her hips bucked up into his mouth. Her thighs clamped around his head. The world went white behind her eyes. Her back arched off the couch, body shaking, and she cried out, raw and open, pulsing against his tongue while he kept working her through it.

He groaned low in his throat.

The sound of it vibrated against her and she came again, just a little, a spillover of pleasure she couldn’t contain.

She collapsed into the cushions, gasping, legs slack. Her skin felt electric. Her pulse stuttered behind her ribs. Her orgasm had left her shaking, open, wrecked

And still, he didn’t stop.

Asher stayed between her legs, like she hadn’t given him everything yet.

He licked her again, softer now, slower. As if he were tasting her, savoring her, committing her to memory.

Nora whimpered. Her body jolted with each pass of his tongue, oversensitive but wanting more.

His mouth moved lower, a subtle shift.

And then, she felt his inhumanly hot and huge tongue press against her entrance.

She gasped, hips twitching, pressing toward him for more. She wanted to feel him inside her, to scratch the itch that had started the day she came back to the desert.

He groaned as he continued to press into her in one long, slow push. His tongue was not human in the slightest, but somehow perfect.

It was deep, thick and slick and pulsing in rhythm, and the ridged underside rubbed against her walls like nothing she’d ever felt, like they were designed to find the spot she didn’t even know existed. She moaned, her hips jerking, the stretch of it making her legs shake.

No one had ever touched her like this. No one had ever been like this.

“Oh—fuck—Asher—what are you—”

He didn’t answer. Just groaned into her, and she felt it echo through her core, low, deep, and shuddering. Like the sound alone could make her come apart.

He moved like he wanted to stay inside her forever.

He curled his tongue slightly as it slid in and out, rhythmic now, filling her, pressing against places no human tongue could have reached. Slow. Sinful. Precise.

Her back arched, hips lifting again to meet him. She was already soaked, already clenching, and the way his ridges brushed her walls with every thrust was too much. It was not enough.

He reached for her breast again, holding her with his whole palm like she was something divine. His thumb rolled over her nipple in circles, slow and steady. It sent new shocks of heat shooting through her, all the way down her spine.

Nora whimpered. She couldn’t keep still.

Her muscles kept clenching, trying to pull him deeper, and he let her. He let her fuck his tongue, let her use his mouth to chase something she didn’t have words for.

He groaned again, louder.

And she realized—he liked this.

He wasn’t doing it to please her.

He was consumed by it.

By her.

He wanted this as much as she did.

She felt herself unraveling again.

Not just physically, but spiritually.

Like something deep in her chest was coming loose. Like the part of her that had been waiting, aching, denying, was finally saying yes.

His tongue moved faster now, focused on pressure and rhythm. Her clit throbbed with each movement, her breast sensitive under his rough thumb, pleasure blooming outward like light through cracked stone.

She arched with a strangled moan. Her fingers tangled in the cushion. Her other hand flew to his hair, moss-soft and sun-warmed, coarse in places like bark, impossibly alive. She tugged, not to move him, just to stay grounded.

Pressure built, fast and sharp and impossible. Like her body was splitting apart, flooded from the inside. She was shaking again.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “I can’t—I’m gonna—”

He groaned again. She felt it inside her.

His tongue twisted. Curled. And hit the spot.

“Ooooh fuck—”