Page 28 of Hiss and Tell (Harmony Glen #2)
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A spen
Sebastian’s apartment door opens before I can knock, and he’s there in dark jeans and a soft gray sweater that does nothing to hide his impressive build. His snakes shift restlessly—clearly they’re as affected by anticipation as he is.
“Hi.” His voice is warm yet slightly nervous. “You’re right on time.”
“Hi.” I step inside. His cozy apartment is nothing like the night he cooked me coq au vin. Then it was neat as a pin with fancy table settings and yummy smells and his friends chattering to make things comfortable.
Today, there are ancient books spread across his coffee table, and I can see photocopies of old illustrations. “You’ve been preparing.”
“I wanted to show you everything properly. The texts, the preparation, what the ritual actually entails.” He gestures toward the couch. “Would you like some tea? This might take a while.”
I settle onto his couch, thinking that although this might be one of the most uncomfortable conversations of my life, I feel somehow… calm. I’m not sure whether it’s the sanctuary effect or just that I know and trust this male.
“I’d love some tea. And Sebastian? I want to understand everything.”
As he moves around the kitchen, his snakes seem more animated than usual, clearly affected by my presence in their space. When he returns with two steaming mugs, he settles beside me at a careful distance.
“The ritual has three main components,” he begins, opening one of the ancient texts. “The preparation, the exchange itself, and the bonding that follows.”
For the next hour, he walks me through everything: the ceremonial elements, the specific words that must be spoken, the way the magic flows between participants. We’ve finished the tea, and we’re now standing by the kitchen table looking down at the illustrations depicting the ancient tomb.
“The most important thing,” he says, showing me an illustration of two figures surrounded by golden light, “is that both participants enter willingly, with complete trust. The magic responds to intention and emotion.”
“And after?” I ask, studying the intertwined figures in the drawing. “What does the bond feel like?”
“According to the texts, we’ll be able to sense each other’s emotions, know when the other is in danger. Some couples report sharing dreams, enhanced magical sensitivity.” His eyes meet mine. “It’s permanent, Aspen. Once the bond is formed, it can’t be undone.”
The weight of that settles between us. “Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask. “Forever is a long time.”
Instead of answering immediately, he reaches for my hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. But I need to know you are, too.”
“I am,” I whisper, and something in his expression shifts. The professional distance melts away, replaced by raw want.
“Aspen,” he breathes, and the way he says my name makes warmth bloom low in my belly.
“Yes?”
“I’ve been trying so hard to be respectful, to give you space to think, but…
” His thumb traces over my knuckles. “Having you here, in my space, talking about binding ourselves together forever… it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have not to touch your body in all the ways I’ve been dreaming of. ”
The admission makes my pulse quicken. “Then don’t control it.”
His eyes darken. “Are you sure?”
“Kiss me,” I breathe, and then his mouth is on mine.
This kiss is nothing like the desperate one by the lake or the heated moment in his office. This is deliberate, reverent, every movement a careful exploration. His hands frame my face as his tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him with a soft moan.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Just today?” I tease, nipping at his jaw.
“Every day since I met you,” he admits, his hands sliding down to lift me against him. “Every night.” Those last two words were almost a groan.
I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the couch, setting me down gently before kneeling between my legs. The heat of his body against mine makes me arch into him, seeking more contact.
His apartment is dimly lit, candles flickering on several surfaces, and I realize he’s prepared for this. The thought sends heat racing through me.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead pressed to mine.
“So sure,” I whisper, pulling his sweater over his head.
The sight of him steals my breath—all that carefully contained power revealed in golden-limned green skin and hard muscle. My hands explore his chest, marveling at the way he shudders under my touch.
“Your turn,” he says, his fingers finding the hem of my shirt.
I lift my arms, letting him pull it off, and the way he looks at me makes me feel beautiful, desired, perfect.
“Gods, Aspen,” he breathes, his hands reverent as they map my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”
When his mouth finds my nipple through my bra, I cry out, my back arching as pleasure shoots through me. His snakes curl closer, some brushing against my skin with touches that make me gasp.
But it’s more than just casual contact now. Two of his smaller snakes—not Evangeline, but others whose scales shimmer with golden undertones—begin tracing deliberate patterns across my collarbone and down my arms.
Their touch is silken, cool, creating trails of sensation that make me shiver with unexpected bliss. Another snake weaves through my hair, its scales catching against the strands in a way that sends tingles across my scalp.
“They’re… participating,” I gasp, amazed at how erotic their touch feels.
“Only if you want them to,” Sebastian murmurs, though his eyes burn with desire at my reaction. “They respond to what we both need.”
“I want them to,” I breathe, and immediately feel more of his snakes join the sensual dance, creating a symphony of touches that complement his hands and mouth perfectly.
“Sebastian,” I breathe as his mouth moves lower, pressing kisses to my stomach. “I need—”
“What do you need?” His voice is strained with control.
“You. All of you.”
His hands are gentle but urgent as he helps me out of my jeans, leaving me in just my underwear. When he settles between my legs again, his heat and his tempting nearness make me whimper.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my throat. “Every sound you make drives me crazy.”
His hands roam my body with increasing boldness, learning every curve, every spot that makes me gasp. When his mouth finds my breast again, skin to skin this time, I lace my fingers behind his neck and hold him to me.
“Sebastian, please,” I gasp as his hands slide lower, teasing the edge of my panties. “I need you to touch me.”
“Here?” His fingers ghost over me through the satin fabric between my legs, and I nearly come off the couch.
“Yes, there, please—”
When his hand slips beneath the lace, I cry out at the first touch of his fingers against my most sensitive places. He finds me already wet, ready, and the low growl that rumbles from his chest sends vibrations through me.
“So perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, deeper. “You’re so ready for me.”
His fingers explore me with reverent care, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch against him. When he finds that perfect spot, my back bows off the couch.
His fingers move with deliberate precision, one sliding deep inside me while his thumb circles the bundle of nerves that makes me see stars. “You’re so wet for me,” he growls, his voice dropping to frequencies that vibrate through my bones. “So ready.”
When he adds a second finger, stretching me, preparing me, I can’t hold back the moan that tears from my throat. “That’s it,” he encourages, his fingers curling to hit that magic spot inside me. “Let me hear how much you want this.”
“Sebastian, please,” I beg, not even sure what I’m asking for.
“I know what you need,” he says, and there’s something different in his voice now—something primal that makes my pulse race. “Let me taste you.”
Before I can respond, he’s sliding down my body, pressing kisses to my ribs, my stomach, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. His snakes create a crown above his head as some brush my arms and shoulders with touches that make me shiver.
When he hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them down my legs, his eyes shift to that otherworldly golden glow that shoots a frisson of fearful desire through me.
“I’m going to taste every inch of you,” he promises, his voice rough with barely contained hunger. “And then I’m going to make you come on my tongue until you’re screaming my name and begging me to stop because you can’t take any more pleasure.”
The first broad stroke of his tongue through my folds makes me cry out, my hips bucking against his mouth. He tastes me like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to collect every drop of my arousal.
“Fuck, you taste like honey and sin,” he growls against my wet flesh, the vibration making me clench around nothing. “I could live between your thighs.”
When I arch against him, seeking more, his control snaps.
His mouth becomes demanding, aggressive—tongue fucking me in deep, rhythmic thrusts that mimic what his cock will do to me later.
He seals his lips around my swollen clit and sucks hard, making me scream his name so loudly I’m sure the neighbors can hear.
His hands grip my thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading me wider, keeping me completely open and vulnerable to his assault. “Stay still,” he commands when I try to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. “Let me devour this pretty pussy properly.”
The sucking sounds are sexy as sin. Then he stops long enough to speak. “You taste like my personal addiction,” he growls against my flesh, the vibration making me tremble. “I could eat you for hours and never get enough.”
As he settles between my thighs as though he could be comfortable there for the rest of the night, he breathes, “That’s right, love. Let me make you come.”
“God, Sebastian,” I gasp, and he responds by intensifying his attention, his tongue circling and flicking in ways that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
When I look down at him, something in my chest catches. His pupils have changed—still golden, but now slit like a reptile’s. His skin seems to have a subtle luminescence, and when he meets my gaze, I see something wild and possessive that should frighten me, but only makes me burn hotter.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, and his answering growl vibrates against my sensitive flesh.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he becomes more focused, more intense, using his tongue and lips and the gentle scrape of teeth in ways that make me lose all sense of time and place.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me steady as I writhe beneath him, and I can feel the carefully controlled strength in his grip.
This is what he’s been hiding, I realize dimly. This power, this intensity, this primal male who wants to devour me completely.
“I’m going to—” I start to warn him, but the words dissolve into a cry as pleasure crashes over me in waves. He doesn’t pull away, instead helping me ride out every tremor until I’m boneless and gasping.
When he finally raises his head, his pupils are still slit, his breathing ragged. There’s something fierce and satisfied in his expression that makes my heart race all over again.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my inner thigh. “You taste like heaven.”
I reach for him, needing to touch him, to return the pleasure he’s given me, but he catches my hands.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice still rough with that otherworldly quality. “If you touch me now, I won’t be able to stop myself from taking you completely.”
The promise in his words rekindles a fire low in my belly. “Would that be so terrible?”
“No,” he admits, his eyes slowly returning to their normal amber hue. “But when I make love to you for the first time, I want it to be perfect. I want it to be part of something magical that binds us together forever.”
His words penetrate the haze of pleasure, and I remember why we’re waiting. “The ritual.”
“The ritual,” he confirms, gathering me against his chest. “Can you wait a little longer? For something that will make us one in every way that matters?”
I curl against him, feeling his sanctuary effect wrap around us. “So, the ritual?”
“Soon,” he promises, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Very soon. But for now…” His hands stroke my back gently. “Let me just hold you. Let me memorize this moment.”
We stay like that for a long time, skin to skin, hearts beating in rhythm, anticipation humming between us like a living thing. This restraint feels more intimate than anything else we could have done.
“I love you,” I whisper against his chest.
“I love you, too,” he murmurs back. “All of you. Your strength, your courage, the way you protect what matters to you.”
As the candles burn lower around us, I realize that waiting isn’t about denying ourselves pleasure. It’s about choosing something deeper, something that will last beyond physical desire.
It’s about choosing forever.