Page 31 of Burning Her Beautiful
He watches me from below—horns haloed by moonlight, eyes molten silver. His hands rest lightly on my thighs, but he doesn’t guide me. He waits.
“Ride me,” he says softly. “Take what you want.”
I brace myself, palms on his chest, and lift my hips just enough to feel the drag of him leaving me. Then I drop back down, crying out as he fills me again.
He hisses, grip tightening. “That’s it. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
I do. Slowly at first, finding the rhythm, letting the stretch and slide stoke the fire in my core. Then faster. Harder. I bounce on him, breasts swaying with each slam of my hips. His cock slams up into me, hitting even deeper now, brushing something devastating inside.
“Varok—fuck—I’m gonna come again.”
“Good,” he snarls. “I want to feel you fall apart on top of me.”
He sits up suddenly, one arm wrapped around my back, the other braced behind him. I’m flush against him now, straddling him in his lap, riding his cock while his mouth finds mine again. Tongues tangle. His thrusts grow sharp and desperate beneath me, hips driving upward.
He groans into my mouth, the sound rough and broken. “Your pussy milks my cock like you were made to hold me.”
“I was,” I gasp. “I am.”
We fall together again, tangled and relentless. He lays me back onto the bed, legs pushed up and pinned wide. His body bows over me, cock pounding into my drenched, aching pussy. I cry out again, voice shaking, body breaking open all over.
“Mine,” he growls into my throat. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” I sob, clinging to him. “Yours.”
One final thrust—and another—and another—until I feel him shudder, hips jerking. His cock twitches inside me, and then he’s spilling, hot and thick, pulsing into me with a ragged moan. I swear I can feel every jet, every ounce. I clench around him, holding him inside.
We collapse together, limbs tangled, sweat glistening. He stays buried inside me, his cock softening slowly, our bodies still locked. I can feel the sticky warmth of him dripping between my thighs, our mixed release slick between us.
He presses soft kisses to my temple, jaw, shoulder. Breath still ragged.
Minutes pass in the quiet hush of afterglow. His hand traces idle circles at the base of my spine. “You are a miracle,” he whispers.
I lift my head. “Miracle is two hearts finding harmony after war.”
He smiles faintly. “You speak like a poet.”
“I feel like one.” I shift, grinning as he hisses at oversensitive nerves. He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to my brow.
Eventually we separate, nestling side by side among tangled linen. My head rests in the crook of his arm, a leg draped across his. The lantern glows low; I reach to extinguish it, but he catches my wrist.
“Leave the light,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
I comply, letting the flame dance across our interlaced forms. Silence settles—comfortable. Thoughts drift to tomorrow’s unknown. Tovor still plots. External kingdoms watch our shifts, ready to exploit weakness.
I voice the worry. “Change feels fragile as glass. One strike could shatter it.”
Varok tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Glass anneals under fire. We faced the furnace already. Every challenge ahead will forge us stronger.”
“But the furnace heats again tomorrow.”
“Then we quench each other between the flames,” he says. “We rest now so strength returns.”
His faith steadies me. Yet I must speak my own vow. Rolling half-upright, I trace a rune on his chest. “If battle rises and you stand in its center, know I will walk beside you, not behind. Promise me you will not shield me from every blade. Let me raise my own.”
He folds my hand within his. “You have saved me more times than I can count.” His eyes gleam. “I vow to fight shoulder to shoulder. Your courage equals mine.”
Warmth blossoms. I lean to kiss the hollow below his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. “Then fear retreats.”
We settle again—spent yet alert. Outside, the songs quiet as the barges dock. Stars wheel above the skylight. A shooting star streaks by; I mark its path, making a silent wish for peace.
“Tell me a memory of childhood,” I whisper, seeking a deeper weave.
He exhales, thinking. “A mountain ridge above the fortress where I trained. I snuck away one dawn and watched the sunrise turn the snow peaks rose-gold. In that stillness I felt small yet infinite. That color—the world breathing—stayed inside me long after battles dulled my senses.”
I smile. “Now you carry rose-gold again.” I brush the pendant’s glow against his chest. “Dawn lives here.”
He draws me tight. “And you—my perpetual sunrise.”
Sleep beckons, heavy and gentle. Before surrendering, I murmur, “Whatever tomorrow brings, remember tonight—proof that joy blooms even among ash.”
“I will remember,” he replies, voice thick with promise.
As lids close, I sense not an end, but a threshold. The intimacy we wove becomes an anchor for the storms ahead. Our bodies, our shared breath, our whispered truths—these form a map when the path darkens.
In half-dream I hear the resonance hum again, distant yet familiar. The song floats through the open skylight, carried by wind from river barges, rising and intertwining with the memory of our joining. It reminds me that every revolution, every law, begins first in hearts willing to beat in unison.
My hand seeks his in sleep, fingers threading. His grip closes reflexively. Two pulses sync once more. The candle gutters out, yet the room remains aglow, lit by the promise forged tonight—fierce, tender, unbreakable.
Outside, the first paling of the eastern sky hints at dawn’s arrival. The city stirs—crows calling, merchants stamping wagons into life. Conflict may shadow the horizon, but inside this chamber, dawn has already risen, blazing brighter than the banners on palace walls.
I hold that light as sleep finally claims me, ready to carry it into the day that waits.