Page 29

29

F ilak’s groan into Daisy’s mouth was harsh, hungry, relieved. His hot mouth crushing hers, his tongue thrusting between her lips, as his hips ground against her over the fur, and his sharp claws stroked at her gold-encircled throat.

Sólin mín .

He didn’t say it, but Daisy could feel it in the urgency of his body, the craving of his kiss. And she was returning it with just as much desperation, her hips arching up to meet his, her hands stroking swift and greedy against his warm skin. Touching him, caressing over the sharp angles of his face, the elegant taper of his pointed ears, the faint stubble on his bare scalp. The long line of his neck, the silken skin of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, as he ravaged her mouth in the dark.

But it only whipped Daisy’s hunger higher, careened her into a fierce irrational craving that trampled all the questions and hesitations beneath it. There was only this, only heat and fervour and magic, only gasping as Filak shifted his weight, and yanked away the fur between them. And then he yanked up Daisy’s shift too, and pulled it off over her head with a distinct ripping sound, leaving her entirely naked beneath him — but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, only his warm bare body settling back down against hers, his heavy cock streaking wetness against her thigh. Suggesting he’d already been naked too, he’d planned to do this, oh gods, but Daisy still didn’t care, and her hand even stroked down his long back, and gripped at his arse.

Filak’s groan hitched ragged into her mouth, his body juddering over hers, and then — no, no — he drew backwards. Away . So sudden and disorienting that Daisy whimpered, groped for him again, fought to drag him back, please —

But that was a low, breathless chuckle above her, a brief caress of claws against her straining neck. “ Stay , sólin mín ,” came his heated, husky voice, firing deep into her belly. “ Peace .”

Stay. Peace . More common-tongue words from Rosa’s book, and Daisy shuddered all over, and obeyed. Staying , waiting, as she heard a faint clink of something — of wood, or glass? — and then felt Filak’s hand slipping down her belly. Stroking warm and reverent, further and further, until it slipped between her thighs, and then guided them wide apart.

It left Daisy spread-eagled and fully bared on the bed, the cool air prickling against her skin. And even despite that protective cover of darkness, she again shivered all over, and fought the urge to hide her exposed, swollen-feeling crease, the way it was convulsing at nothing, needing to be filled…

But Filak wasn’t filling it, was he? No , no, he was just… touching. And not stroking or caressing now, either, but instead making careful, purposeful movements with something pointed. With … his claws .

Daisy’s distant shouting thoughts briefly broke through the maelstrom — he was using his claws on her, there , on her body’s most sensitive, vulnerable places — but she somehow held herself still, waiting. Waiting , feeling, learning, because he was…

He was drawing .

Daisy shuddered again, her breath catching in her throat — and suddenly her full concentration was on this, on following those distinct strokes of Filak’s claws. Just the same way he’d done that first night together, but this time, his strokes kept circling around her wet quivering heat, again and again, and then… radiating outwards.

He was drawing… a sun . There . A sun to match his own.

And wait, did that mean he was using ink on her again? He was marking her again?! And before Daisy could stop it, she groped in the dark for his other hand, for the one that wasn’t touching her. Feeling down his forearm, his wrist, and finding… something solid, sitting in his palm. Something solid, and cool, and rounded, like a bowl, or a jar.

His ink.

Daisy stared blankly into the dark, up toward where Filak’s face would be, and she could feel the distinct prickle of his eyes in return. Studying her, watching her response, as his claw moved to dip into the ink, and then brazenly stroked up her belly.

“ Sólin mín ,” came his voice, cooler and harder than before, almost like a challenge. “ Sálufélagi minn. Mín .”

My sun. My mate. Mine .

And it was a challenge, or maybe even a test, just like what Rosa had accused him of with all those other women — but this test had Daisy split wide open in the dark, while he used his deadly claw to paint his ink between her legs. To again mark her as his own, in the most shockingly intimate of ways.

Daisy’s thoughts were spinning now, reeling between the dungeon the latrine the blood, the flowers the sketchbook the sun. It is a way to invoke the prayer, you must seek beauty and worth, jewels to best befit a sun…

And instead of refusing, or raging, or running, like any rational person should have done, Daisy took a shaky breath, let it out. And then… she spread her legs even wider. Showing him more. Inviting him to do whatever he wanted with her, oh gods…

Filak’s answering groan was low and raw, his claw skittering against her skin — and in a sudden movement, his body shifted over hers, and there was a distinct clink of glass against the table beside the bed. And then both his hands were here again, spreading warm and possessive against her thighs, pushing them even further apart. Opening her for… for…

A hiss of hot breath. A flutter against her coarse hair. And then, oh fuck — his tongue .

Daisy arched and cried out, staring wild and unseeing into the darkness — but yes, yes, it was Filak’s tongue. Stroking slow and wet and purposeful up her spread crease, licking her, tasting her — and then plunging hot and deep.

Daisy shouted, because Filak’s tongue was inside her, and it was wondrous . Long and sinuous and slithering, like a fat hungry snake seeking to burrow itself all the way inside, and Daisy writhed and convulsed against it, as another shocked shout rang through the room. And oh curse her, what if Rosa and Julian heard, would they come in again, would they walk in on Daisy freshly painted and spread-eagled on the bed, with Filak greedily feasting between her legs?!

But Filak only betrayed another satisfied laugh, rumbling deep into Daisy’s very core — and then he plunged his tongue even deeper. This time hard enough that she could feel his sharp teeth, scraping against her sensitive swollen skin. More danger, more threat, something else she should be resisting or running from, but she only shouted again, and writhed and convulsed against it. Maybe even pressing further down onto it, wanting more of it, craving that perfect edge of pain threading through the pleasure. Gods , it was good, he was good, his tongue curling and stroking exactly where she wanted it — and then his sharp claws found her inner thigh, and scraped slow and deliberate against her skin.

Daisy writhed and shouted again, her head arching back, and oh, that was his other hand, in the same place on the other thigh. Scraping down in stunning, dizzying tandem now, surely hard enough to leave marks. But between his tongue and his teeth and his low vicious laugh, it only wrenched her closer, closer, please —

The ecstasy blazed and crashed, burning through her in a feral trammelling blast, breaking her apart. Smashing her into a thrashing, sputtering mess, even spurting hot fluid onto Filak’s face, into his scraping gulping mouth. While the distant shame shouted and wailed, she hadn’t done that in years, and what if he — what if he…

Kept licking. Tasting . Kissing . The sounds thick and sloppy now, rising loud and brazen and debauched between them, along with the distinct rumbling purr of his groan. As if… as if he’d wanted it. As if he’d planned for it. As if he’d coaxed it out of her, making it his.

And when he gave her one last, hungry lick, and then heaved himself upwards over her, Daisy was sprawled, wet, wide open, waiting. Needing it, desperate for it, as his straining cock found her slick open heat, and slammed itself fierce and deep inside.

There was no teasing or gentleness in it this time, only the raw hammering of his hips, the wet squelches of slapping skin, the frantic shouts from Daisy’s mouth. The rhythm of his hard cock impaling her again and again, swiving and pumping her and using her, until — until —

He howled as he broke, as his body juddered and spasmed, and shot out harsh and furious inside. Flooding her with thick molten heat, rushing and pooling between them, and gushing out around his still-spurting cock. Painting them both in a surge of more hot fluid, pouring it out onto the fur, unfurling its musky sweet scent all through the room. His . Hers .

Daisy couldn’t have said how long it lasted, or how long they stayed there afterwards, their wet spasming bodies still notched together, still clutching and quivering with the lingering pleasure. Feeling each other, learning each other, finding beauty and wonder in the darkness. And speaking, too, whispering back and forth in that one language they both knew.

And though there were no words in it, Daisy could almost feel the truth hovering behind it. She’d missed him, today. He’d missed her, too. He hadn’t meant to upset her in the latrine. And she hadn’t meant to accuse him of something he hadn’t done, or compare him to Lew . He’d wanted to explain, but he’d been so unthinkably angry with Rosa , maybe even with all his kin, and he hadn’t known how to find a way to tell Daisy what he meant.

And even this, tonight, just now — it had been part of it, too. Him again showing her, in the one way he had. Showing her she was his. Showing her they matched, they belonged. Placing his prayer on her skin, in her most intimate place. And then brazenly kissing it, licking it, as if…

Daisy’s hand fluttered up, found his soft, still-wet mouth. His mouth that still felt a little sticky, too, tacky, the way drying ink might have felt…

The recognition flashed through her thoughts, widened her eyes on where his face would be — because he’d done to himself what he’d done to her. Painting her with that fresh ink, and then kissing her. Staining his lips. Showing the world what this was, again showing how they matched.

Sólin mín.

Daisy swallowed, hauled in a shaky breath — and with a lurch upwards, her lips found his. Kissing him again, oh gods, letting him put even more of that fresh ink on her mouth. And he did it, he wanted it, betraying a low, hoarse moan as his lips gently met hers, tasted hers, marked her again as his own…

When they finally drew apart again, Daisy felt trembly and strange all over, and increasingly cold and wet, too. But Filak’s hand spread warm and reassuring against her face, and with a careful shift of movement, he sank down onto the fur beside her, and gathered her into his strong, capable arms. And then he pulled up the fur again, settling it heavy over them both, and fully ignoring the mess of sticky fluid still smeared all over them.

But the rest of it felt so warm, suddenly, so soft and cozy and safe, finally lying sated and boneless in her devil’s arms in the dark. Just the way it was supposed to be, perhaps, and Daisy belatedly shoved aside that alarming thought, and burrowed closer into his side, into the sweet scent of his neck. Into that smooth steady caress of his hands, the brief kiss of his stained lips to her hair.

“ Sofeu, Daisy mín ,” he said, husky and soft, his meaning unfurling all too clear through Daisy’s foggy thoughts. Sleep , Daisy mine. Sleep .

And on that strange, quiet certainty, Daisy finally closed her eyes, and slept.