Page 34 of Beneath the Desert Bloom (Of Beasts and Bloom #1)

IT STARTED WITH a flicker.

A shimmer at the edge of her vision, so faint it might have been heat haze or trick of the sun. But it came again. A glint across the sand, brief and soft and oddly rhythmic. Not light bouncing, not glass or water. Something older. Slower.

She blinked once and it was gone.

But the feeling lingered.

Like the edge of a dream that refused to fully vanish.

She stepped out into the yard, mug in hand, still warm from sleep, barefoot in the powder-soft dirt. The air was warmer than it should have been for early morning, thick with the scent of blooming creosote, cracked stone, the faintest trace of sage.

The light had changed, deeper in tone, as if it had thickened overnight. Shadows lingered longer in the corners. The sky was streaked with rose and honey.

She looked down at her bare feet.

Three small flowers bloomed from her footprints.

The wind wrapped around her ankles, tugged at the hem of her shirt, curled along the mark at her throat.

Inside, Asher moved through the house. She could feel him, sense him. The weight of him on the boards. The heat of him across the threshold. He was humming low, his rhythm synced with hers in a way that still made her ache.

He stepped into the doorway just as she turned.

Their eyes met. She smiled.

He stilled and tilted his head.

Then stepped down into the yard.

She turned toward the basin without looking back.

They walked barefoot through the morning hush.

The Hollow Wash lie ahead, like the memory of a place. The Watcher lay cracked in the distance, vines creeping gently through its fault lines. Flowers swayed where blood had once soaked. The air felt heavy with resonance.

Every part of her was aware. Her skin tingled where his hand had rested hours ago. Her breath felt too large for her lungs. Her chest, her thighs, her throat were all open, all humming.

When they reached the heart of the basin, the wind died down. The light shifted. The quiet grew deeper.

Nora stepped forward first and pressed her palm to the dust.

It hummed through the ground, then through her.

Up her wrist. Through her chest. Beneath her ribs.

An answer.

The land didn’t want blood anymore. Or ritual. Or fire.

It wanted celebration.

She wasn’t walking toward transformation.

She was the transformation.

And now it was time to bloom.

She stood and turned to him.

Nora pulled her shirt over her head with slow, unhurried grace. The morning light kissed her bare skin as it was revealed, sliding down the curve of her back, across her glowing shoulders, along the lines of her ribs like it had been waiting to worship her. She let it.

Her breasts were flushed, her nipples already tightening in the soft air. Her stomach glowed faintly, a low pulse of light that shimmered down between her hips like something that had bloomed from the inside.

Behind her, Asher stood motionless, watching.

Not like a man overtaken by lust.

He observed her like a god finally seeing the shrine built just for him.

She turned to him slowly.

“You’re staring again,” she said softly, teasing.

He stepped forward without a word, hands finding her waist, gaze locked on hers.

“You’re lit up again,” he murmured.

She smiled. “You bring it out in me.”

He looked at her, eyes burning, and dropped to his knees.

She stood before him, bare and radiant, the desert warm at her back.

Asher touched the inside of her thigh slowly.

She shivered.

He leaned in and kissed the place where her hip met her belly, then lower, lips gentle against her skin.

Her breath caught.

And then his mouth found her. His tongue moved like it had been carved to worship her. Broad and textured, ridged on the underside, slick and hot, he licked through her with slow, deliberate strokes, pausing at her clit just long enough to make her moan before dragging away again.

“Oh god,” she whispered.

He groaned softly into her, the sound sending vibrations through her core.

He licked her again, this time slower. Pressing in. Tasting.

Then his lips closed around her clit.

Her knees buckled.

He caught her by the hips, holding her steady as he buried his face between her thighs. His tongue moved in circles now, then flicks, then long, heavy drags that left her trembling.

Her body tingled.

The air around them danced, heat and breath mingling, thick with the scent of bloom.

“Asher—” she gasped.

His only answer was a deeper moan.

He slipped a hand between her thighs. One finger traced her fluttering entrance.

Then another.

He didn’t push in.

His mouth never left her clit, his tongue working and lips sucking, so slow and focused it made her want to cry. She rocked against his mouth, helpless now, the pleasure rising like steam from the ground.

When his tongue dipped lower, circling her opening, her breath stuttered.

His tongue slid into her and she sobbed.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop—don’t—”

He moved his tongue in slow, deep strokes, fucking her with it, letting her ride his face as her cunt fluttered around him.

And then, his fingers replaced his tongue.

One slid in first, thick and ridged, textured like desert bark.

He eased it in and out, circling it around inside her, stretching her as she moaned softly.

Then he added a second, stretching her. Filling her. Worshipping her.

His mouth returned to her clit, sucking, circling, licking in time with every deep, sweet pump of his fingers.

She came with a cry, legs trembling, wet and open and ready.

As she caught her breath, panting, gasping, her skin still buzzing with heat and light, she looked down at him.

He looked wrecked. Ravenous. And still reverent.

“Lie back,” she said, voice hoarse and certain.

He did. She climbed over him slowly, slick and trembling, the desert warm at her back.

And then she reached for his cock.

It was flushed dark, thick with need, ridged and leaking. Her fingers wrapped around him, and he groaned like she’d torn something out of him.

She stroked him once, slowly and firmly. Then she rose onto her knees and guided him to her entrance. Their eyes met.

“You’re not human anymore,” he rasped, voice raw.

“Neither are you,” she whispered.

And then she sank onto him.

He stretched her in ways that made her breath catch, her head drop forward, her mouth fall open around a soundless cry. Her cunt fluttered around the sheer pressure of him, the ridges, the impossible width, the heat.

Her knees shook. Her hands braced against his chest.

But she didn’t stop.

She took him inch by trembling inch until he was fully seated inside her.

Her whole body thrummed.

Her vision blurred.

She rocked her hips slowly, deliberately, dragging her clit against the base of him with every pass.

The friction was perfect. The fullness divine.

Her cunt clung to him, tight, wet, sacred.

She moaned with each downward grind, each slow press of his cock dragging against nerves that had never been this open.

He groaned beneath her, head thrown back, golden eyes wide and wild.

“Fuck,” he choked. “It’s like the land made you for this.”

“It did,” she said. “For you.”

She rode him harder, more sure now, the rhythm building in her thighs, in her belly, in the mark glowing at her neck. She was vibrating with heat, with light, with the ache of something just about to break open.

He gripped her hips, eyes darkening.

“Turn over,” he growled. “Let me finish.”

She did, onto her hands and knees, trembling and slick, glimmering like the sky had opened beneath her skin.

He thrust back inside her in one slow, brutal push. Deeper now. Angled. Brutal. Perfect.

She screamed.

The sound was ritual.

His cock slammed into her, dragging ridges along her swollen walls, pulsing thick inside her. His balls slapped her clit. Her breasts swung with every thrust. He fucked her like the desert had written this moment in stone.

The angle forced him deeper, harder, stretching her until it was almost too much. Almost.

She felt everything. Every ridge inside her. Every snap of his hips. Every grunt against her spine.

“Oh my god—yes—fuck me—just like that—”

He growled low, leaned over her, teeth grazing her shoulder. His weight pressed down, his hips slamming into her ass as her hands dug into the dirt.

The sound of their bodies meeting was wet, rhythmic, and sacred, echoing through the basin.

He reached down and found her clit, circling her, making her shake.

And she came violently, glowing, gasping his name.

Her cunt clamped around him, tight as a fist, hot and unrelenting. Her orgasm ignited something in both of them as his cock pulsed deep, and the flare under her skin bloomed out like wildfire.

She squeezed him, milking him, pulling him deeper, like her body was demanding every last inch.

He groaned, a sound torn from somewhere ancient, and stilled.

“Fuck—” he gasped. “I’m—”

He thrust once more, deep and brutal.

For one breathless second, the whole basin glowed.

And then he came.

He growled into her throat, hips jerking, cock swelling inside her, thickening, locking them together, like her body refused to let him go. She came again as she felt every pulse of him flood her, fill her, hold her open.

Like they were meant to stay joined.

Like the desert had written this into the stone.

And all around them, the desert bloomed.

Cacti unfurled. Moonflowers opened. The air thickened with the scent of green and root and heat. Her skin surged with golden light.

They were bound.

Breath to breath.

Blood to blood.

Root to root.

And Nora collapsed into the dirt, Asher still inside her, his body wrapped around hers.

She pressed her cheek to the ground, still panting, her skin still buzzing with heat and light.

“Well,” she said. “That was… not reversible.”

Asher let out a soft, ruined sound behind her, in-between laughter and breath.

He leaned over her and pressed his forehead to the back of her shoulder.

“Good,” he whispered. “I don’t ever want to go back.”

He kissed the curve of her spine and didn’t let go.