Page 15

KYRIE

I want him.

There’s no rhyme or reason to it, nothing besides need burning through me. I’m still so angry with him.

And yet.

And yet I can’t deny that he’s more to me than some passing fling, he’s more to me than anyone has ever been.

His fingers dig into the skin at my waist, our lips hungry against each other.

There’s nothing sweet or shy about this.

This is a moment of reckoning, of seeing exactly who the other is and still wanting them.

He knows who I am.

Every bit of me. The coward, the liar, the friend, the enemy. He knows every ugly bit of my soul, and still, he kisses me like he might die if he doesn’t.

His fingers go to the buttons on my vest, and I break away from him with a snarl, helping him tug it off me.

Even that small break from his kiss fills me with need, and I push against him, backing him into the stone hearth.

My fingers tangle in his hair, and I moan as his hands slip beneath the long tunic I put on. A whimper catches me by surprise as his fingers find my breasts, and he groans as I rock against him, needing more, needing him.

He breaks the kiss, and I stare up at him, waiting.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to,” he grits out.

“You’re holding my breasts,” I tell him, somewhere between laughter and annoyance at the interruption.

“I am not going to take advantage of you because you feel sorry for me after I told you my sad little story. That’s not why I did it.”

“Sword.” I drop my hand between his legs, palming the stiff length of his cock as he groans and thrusts into my hand. “If you think I want to fuck you because I feel sorry for you, then you are stupider than I thought.”

Something flashes through his eyes. “Why do you want to fuck me, Kyrie?”

He turns me so suddenly that all I can do is mewl in surprise, my tunic catching on the rough stone surface. One hand splays above my head, the other cupping my chin so gently and at odds with the fierceness in his face that it takes my breath away.

“Because you’re mine,” I tell him.

The truth sings between us, golden and glowing, and he dips his head, pressing his forehead against mine.

“Say it again,” he commands.

“Make me.” It comes out on a growl, and I press myself to him, pulling his head down to mine until he kisses me again.

I want it to be like this with him always.

Breathless, easy, hard and soft in equal measure.

A study in contrasts, in opposites—that’s what we are.

Death and life and chaos and order all wrapped up in each other, our souls drawn like magnets, until we’re forced to cling to one another for sanity’s sake.

His mouth plunders mine, and I respond in kind, alive with desire.

Alive.

Alive because of this man in my arms, who’s woven his very soul into the fibers of my existence.

I kiss him hard, I kiss him like I mean it, and he ravages my mouth, my body. There is no softness in this, no gentling of our nails and teeth and sharp edges.

He yanks the suede leggings down, and I moan as his fingers find the slick heat between my thighs.

“So wet for me, mate.” He drags his teeth along the side of my neck, and my heart beats for him.

“I need you,” I tell him, my fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“If you don’t think I’m going to take my time with you, then you’re fooling yourself, Kyrie mine.”

“I need you now,” I say frantically as he strokes deliberate circles over my clit, making me shudder.

“I made you into a goddess, and I’m going to be the first to worship you like one,” he growls, and then he lowers himself, kneeling before me, the firelight flickering across the silver strands of his hair.

He tugs my leggings the rest of the way off, until I’m bare from the waist down.

“Say my name,” he tells me, gripping my ass and pulling me closer.

“Arek,” I moan, trying not to use his name and failing spectacularly. It fits him. “It’s much better than Hairball.”

He bites my thigh and I gasp, then shiver as he licks the red mark.

“That’s for calling me Hairball.” A strong hand pulls my leg over his shoulder.

A wicked smile is the last thing I see before he lowers his mouth to me, and then it’s all I can do to hold on for dear life.

His tongue laps at me, the firelight casting obscene shadows against the walls.

“You taste so fucking perfect,” he breathes, holding me up as I squirm against him.

My knees are shaking already, but his arms are steady around me, his hands massaging my ass as he pulls me closer, inhaling deeply.

Lust pools deep in me, and when he makes languid circles around my clit, I cry out, arching against him.

“So close,” I pant, threading my hands through his hair.

“Come for me,” he says against my sensitive flesh, and I tremble. “So fucking beautiful, Kyrie. Every inch of you was made for me, for me to please you.”

“Oh gods,” I moan.

“There’s only one god you should be praying to right now, and it’s me,” he says in a low voice.

He slips two fingers inside me, and I yell out at the pressure.

Crooking his fingers, he strokes me gently from within, and I pulse all around him.

When he finds my bud of pleasure, I nearly fall over, screaming out his name as I come hard and fast.

It’s even better than I remember, being with him, and instead of being tired or overstimulated, I still want more.

I pant, so close to another orgasm as he continues to lick me.

“That’s right, Kyrie.” He nips at my inner thigh, and I stare at him in wonder, need guiding my hand to his cock as he stands up.

“I need you,” I whimper.

“Good,” his teeth scrape against my neck, and then he bites down hard enough to leave a mark.

This, this is what I’ve needed, what I’ve been missing.

Him.

All of his contrasts, all of his shades of grey, and every last one of his hard edges.

Without warning, he pulls my tunic up and over my head, letting it drop on the floor beside us. I can’t bear to look away from him, and my nails scrabble at the hem of his shirt until it’s gone too.

His scars are silver in the firelight, and I press my mouth to one, desperate with desire. My hands flutter over his muscles, needing to touch all of him, uncertain where to start.

The air is thick with magic, like the entire world is holding its breath, hinging on this moment.

His hands grip my hips, lifting me higher.

My back scrapes against the stone, and the brief sting only adds to the overwhelming sensation of him.

We both groan as he lines his cock up with my center, and he thrusts without warning, capturing my cry as he fills me.

Everything stops, time fragmenting at our joining, at the pleasure in it.

At the rightness of it.

“Kyrie,” he says, dragging out of me only to thrust back in. “Say it again.”

I know what he wants to hear, but the command makes me want to disobey.

I lean forward as he pulls away, biting his shoulder as he thrusts deep.

“Say it again,” he snarls, then kisses me, the pace quickening, becoming more chaotic.

Instead of answering, I smirk.

He growls, silver hair falling in his eyes, and he’s so beautiful, so raw and powerful, that I want to say it.

I don’t.

He pulls out, his body quivering. “Say it or I stop.”

“No.”

He hisses out a breath, then pushes my shoulders down. This—this I don’t mind. I sink to my knees, digging my fingernails into his firm ass.

The tip drips with moisture, my pleasure shining on his veined member.

I don’t waste any time, because two can play at this game.

I drag him as deep into my mouth as I can. Our tastes mingle on my tongue, and he groans as if he’s dying, a firm hand behind my head, guiding me as I work him relentlessly.

The muscles on his thighs stand out, carved from stone, a masterpiece. His balls hang heavy and low, and I take them in one hand, tracing my fingernails against them. Gods, even these are perfect.

He’s on the edge now, I can tell—losing himself in the feel of my mouth, like putty in my hands. I smile around his cock because I’m in control here, all of this powerful man is mine?—

I gasp as he hauls me off of his cock, raising me up. Thick arms lock around my waist as he carries me over to the table. The half-eaten plate of food clatters to the floor as he hoists me onto the smooth surface.

One hand goes to my chin, his thumb forcing itself between my lips.

I suck, and fire ignites in his eyes.

For me.

All for me.

“Say it, you stubborn woman,” he snarls.

I bite the tip of his thumb, but he doesn’t move. “Is that how you want this, then? You want a fight? You’ll be begging me for it.”

“Make me,” I say, and he shoves my legs apart before the words even leave my mouth.

His hand grips my thighs, spreading me apart, baring me wide for him.

My chest heaves as he drinks me in, staring at me.

Something softens in his face, making my heart ache.

“Let me in, Kyrie,” he murmurs. “Let me love you the way you need.”

I swallow, but he doesn’t give me time to think, setting himself upon me like a starved man at a feast.

“Oh gods,” my voice breaks on the words, and a rumbling growl is the only proof he’s heard me. “Sword, gods, I’m so close again.”

The balls of my feet go to his shoulders, and I’m lifting my hips, trying to force him to give me what I want. His teeth scrape the sensitive bundle of nerves and I cry out, so close to coming my entire body feels like it might explode.

A cool gust of air makes me drag my fingernails across the table surface, and I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.

“Say it, Kyrie, tell me.”

“I’m yours. You’re mine and I’m yours,” I whine, and he makes a fervent noise of approval.

Something clicks into place deep inside me, rendering me breathless.

At the same time, he plunges two fingers inside me, licking me, sucking me, right where I need him to.

“Mine,” he growls, and he flips me onto my stomach, supported by his arm around my waist. His other arm is on my thighs, holding me in place as he shoves inside of me.

“Arek,” I moan, and the name—his name—feels right.

He feels right. Perfect.

Mine.

He slams into me, gently working my clit with his fingers, his mouth nibbling soft kisses across my neck, and it’s so good, so much?—

I grind against him, whipping my hips back and forth in an effort to find my pleasure. The feel of him is unbelievable, and his movements become more erratic.

“You feel so fucking good, so tight and wet for me.” His voice is a growl, and it drives me higher, towards bliss.

It doesn’t take long until I’m starting to fall apart again, stars exploding across the backs of my eyelids like we’ve made some magic of our own. He thrusts once, hard, and I cry out as he bites the side of my neck, a possessive gesture that has me tightening my grip on him, holding him in place as he comes.

Even the rapid rise and fall of our chests are in sync, and he stares deep into my eyes, like he can see into my very soul.

It feels as if he’s touched a piece of it.

I smile up at him, emotions raw, but breathless and tired, sated and sleepy. I’m practically limp in his hands, pleasure still rippling through me as he murmurs my name like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Pulling out, he kisses down my spine.

His spend drips down my thighs, and I slump onto the table.

I can hardly think past the sensations still rocketing through my body like fireworks.

A warm towel gently rubs between my legs, cleaning me up, and I shudder from the stimulation.

“You are so perfect.”

Sleepily, I let him dress me again, somewhat aware that he’s cleaning up the mess we just made. Before long, he’s picking me up, kissing my temple, my forehead, my cheeks.

His eyes are wide with wonder, and he can’t seem to stop touching me.

“Mine,” he says.

I don’t answer, only because I know it will piss him off and I’m a shithead like that. A smirk raises the side of my mouth.

“Kyrie,” he says, warning in his tone.

I raise a finger and boop him on the nose. “Arek.”

His face softens slightly. “I like when you call me that.”

I sniff, glancing away. His long legs are eating up the hallway, and we’re already nearly back to our room.

“It’s much better than the hairball noise,” I finally agree.

He huffs a laugh, then kisses me again between my eyebrows, the merest brush of his lips.

“Are you okay?”

I sigh, closing my eyes and letting my cheek rest against his chest.

A heartbeat sounds in my ear, another. Ten more.

“Kyrie,” he says warningly.

“No. I’m not okay. I’m still…” I search for the right word, and can’t find it. “Hurt.” My nose scrunches. “That’s not even true. It’s more than hurt. I don’t trust you, and I’m not sure I ever will.” Saying it out loud makes it hurt more, as if I’ve just torn open a freshly healed wound. “But I can feel it, whatever this is between us, and it feels right.”

He doesn’t answer, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I never finished telling you why I didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“I’m sure I can imagine why. You wanted me immortal. It seemed the easiest way, right? To lie.” I raise an eyebrow. “Trust me, I know that. I shouldn’t have trusted you in the first place.”

I fall silent. Saying it out loud is painful, wretchedly so, and that darkness that consumed me threatens at the periphery, a vast sadness yawning wide inside me.

“I wanted to tell you?—”

“I’m sure you did.”

He swings open the door to his room, our room, because I’m not sleeping alone anymore—I’m smart enough to know how possessive a god can be. I’ve already lived in the clutches of one.

He sits me on the edge of the bed, my cheeks in his hands as he kneels in front of me.

Lines of worry deepen the otherworldly beauty of his face, and he’s breathtaking. All rugged male power, harsh and stark and craving softness all the same.

“Sola put the curse on the chalice you drank from. The one who would eventually fulfill the prophecy would be tied to me, and I would be forced to kill them to turn them Fae.” His gaze darts between my eyes. “If I told you, the curse would have killed you before I could. There was no way forward.”

I blink, then close my eyes.

“Say you forgive me.”

A moment passes, his thumbs rubbing against my cheeks.

“I can’t,” I choke out. I open my eyes.

His expression is devastated.

“I can’t yet,” I say again.

“Yet,” he repeats. A brush of his lips against mine. “Yet.”

“I’m so tired.” It’s all I have to say for him to undress me for bed. Gentle hands tuck me into the soft sheets, and then he’s pressing up against me, holding me tight.

I told him I was his.

And I am, and he is mine.

But I’m not sure yet will ever happen.

I’ve only just found a name I can even stand to call him by.

How can I forgive him when I don’t trust the story he’s just told me?