Page 15 of Beneath the Desert Bloom (Of Beasts and Bloom #1)

Her body spasmed. Her orgasm crashed through her in waves, longer and deeper this time.

Her nipple caught between his fingers. His tongue pushed in deep again as she clenched around it, her toes curling, her chest arching toward the ceiling.

She sobbed through it, legs fluttering around his head, body twisting in his hands.

He didn’t pull away. He held her through it, tongue slowing, then stopping, milking every last clench from her pussy. His thumb still stroking her breast, he moaned softly, enjoying it as she broke open around him.

Nora collapsed back into the couch, chest heaving. Her eyes unfocused. The sound of her blood still pounding in her ears.

She couldn’t feel her toes.

She couldn’t think.

All she could feel was him, inside her, around her, under her skin.

And still, she wanted more.

She blinked down at him.

Asher knelt between her legs, head bowed. His breath was heavy, his body trembling with restraint.

She reached for him, weakly.

"Come here," she whispered, fingers brushing the line of his jaw. "Let me see you."

He looked up, eyes burning, glowing low like embers ready to consume.

And that’s when she saw it.

His cock.

Massive.

Hard.

Throbbing.

Straining against the edge of the loose fabric knotted low on his hips, his cock was impossibly thick and long, the shaft marked with dark, textured ridges that ran along the underside like cords of bark or muscle.

The tip had slipped free, glistening and slick with need, flushed deep and unearthly.

It pulsed with each breath he took, too large to ignore, a thing of wildness barely contained.

“Oh—” she breathed, voice catching, her thighs pressing together automatically.

It looked like it could break her.

And she wanted it anyway.

A soft sound escaped her throat, more whimper than word. She reached again, a tremble in her fingers. Whether to touch him or pull him up to kiss her, she wasn’t sure. She just wanted his weight on her, around her, in her, even if it ruined her.

And then saw it.

A flicker ran across her outstretched arm, like something glowing just beneath her skin, radiating from inside her.

His breath hitched. His gaze dropped, his jaw locked.

Then, he stood and stepped away, like he was resisting temptation, and using all his willpower to do so.

She blinked, stunned, the heat of him vanishing from between her legs, her body suddenly cold. Her chest rose and fell in uneven swells. Her hands still reached toward the space he’d filled.

“No, wait,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, hoarse from gasping.

But he was already at the door. Still hard. Still glowing. Still silent.

And then, he was gone.

The silence was brutal.

Nora lay sprawled across the couch, legs still parted, breath slowly returning to something like normal. The air felt too still. Too sharp.

Her skin glowed with the aftershocks of being touched. Really touched, not with hunger or demand, but with devotion that had no name.

She blinked at the ceiling.

"Okay," she whispered to no one. "Sure. Let’s just… add ‘eaten out by a desert guardian’ to the weird little scrapbook of my life."

The joke tasted dry in her mouth.

Her body was a live wire. Her thighs still trembled. Her breast, the one he’d held like it meant something, ached in the best way. She could feel the ghost of his thumb circling her nipple like a ring left behind.

But her hand was empty. The weight of him was gone.

She brought her fingers between her legs, just to check. To believe it had really happened. Wet. Warm. Still tingling.

She wasn’t dreaming.

He’d been here.

He’d made her come—twice—and then vanished like fog.

"Cool," she muttered. "That’s healthy."

She sat up slowly, bracing for the bolt of pain that should’ve shot up her leg.

But nothing came.

Her ankle, twisted and swollen and definitely not okay hours ago, felt solid. Steady. Suspiciously functional. She pressed on it cautiously, then again. No throb. No swelling. Not even a twinge.

Okay... what the actual hell. Right. Of course the bark man has magic hands.

Her gaze drifted toward the door. He was long gone. But the feeling wasn’t.

Whatever Asher was—whatever this was—he didn’t just touch her. He... rewrote things.

Including her.

She stood shakily and padded to the kitchen. Every nerve in her body felt a little too awake. Like the knobs had all been turned up.

She poured a glass of water and drank the whole thing in a single pull. Her throat still tasted like him. Like salt and sage and skin warmed by sun.

A laugh broke out of her, breathless and small.

Her eyes stung.

She pressed her palms to the edge of the counter and bowed her head.

The ache wasn’t just in her thighs anymore. It was under her ribs, sharp and lingering, like she’d been hollowed out and hadn’t noticed until he left.

And he had left.

Without a word.

No kiss. No explanation. No chance to say please don’t.

Just the memory of his mouth between her legs, the look in his eyes, and that impossible, beautiful body trembling with restraint.

She didn’t know what to make of it.

She couldn’t stop replaying it. The way he’d held her. The way his tongue had—

She stopped herself.

If she thought about it any more, she’d end up back on the couch with her fingers inside herself and a head full of moss and heat.

Instead, she washed her face.

The bathroom mirror caught her off guard.

Her reflection looked undone. Hair wild. Pupils wide. A glimmer still lingering across her chest. There were crescent moons pressed into her thighs from his hands. The skin around her nipple looked raw.

She looked like someone who’d been claimed.

Her eyes lingered on her reflection. She looked like someone in the middle of falling. Maybe not in love. Not yet. But into something.

And yet, why had he left?

Was it her?

Was it too much? Her need, her voice, her body laid open like a book?

Maybe it scared him. Maybe she scared him.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t know what had changed, only that something had. She could feel it buzzing under her skin, like a key turning in a lock she couldn’t see.

She touched her cheek. Still warm. Still humming.

She made her way to the front room and opened the door. The desert greeted her with a soft breeze. The wind was dry and cool. The sky stretched black above her, stars bleeding silver through the stillness.

No sign of him. No shift in the shadows. No figure on the edge of the yard.

Just the dark, waiting.

She stepped onto the porch and leaned against the post, arms crossed over her chest. The night felt too empty all of a sudden. Like a cathedral after the organ goes silent.

Her body still hummed.

She pressed her thighs together. The ache hadn’t left her. It had just changed shape. It lived under her skin now.

She whispered into the dark, not sure if she meant to say it out loud.

"Come back."

A wind gust lifted a curl of her hair. Something creaked in the yard.

She stared for a moment longer.

But the porch stayed empty.

Nora turned and went back inside. Closed the door. Locked it.

She moved like someone half-dreaming, unsure if any of this had happened at all.

The obsidian on the counter caught her eye.

She picked it up.

It didn’t glow, but it was warm.

She curled her fingers around it and sat back on the couch, wrapping herself in the throw blanket Lauren had left folded nearby. Her body ached in strange places. Her mind buzzed. She stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t sleepy, but she wasn’t there either.

She let her eyes fall closed.

And the last thing she felt before sleep dragged her under was the memory of his tongue and the ache of a name still lingering between her teeth.