Page 49 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

One moment she was arching into his touch and the next, he was…

gone. Disappeared from this realm, likely off to his other one, which always called him back at the worst points.

She refused to let this stand. He was hers, and they were so close to doing what she had wanted to do since the fear had worn off.

That god belonged to no one but her.

Many people had laid claim to the Deathless One over the years. Countless witches had sunk their claws into his hallowed skin. Women who had reveled in his pain, finding pleasure in his gasps of agony. But she was not one of them.

Jessamine would trade years of suffering and pain to sit with him on a throne made out of the skeletons of their enemies, if that was what it took to have him.

And perhaps those were thoughts of madness, of the insanity that clung to him and, therefore, now to her.

She didn’t know. But did it really matter?

In this moment, she wanted to undo every single touch that had ever caused him pain. She wanted him to look down at her with those dark eyes, through those scars that marred his body and face, and she wanted to know that he felt true pleasure with her.

She had followed him into that dark place before, during her dreams. This time, she would do it intentionally.

She turned to the gravestone altar and stretched out on it.

Like the carvings of men and women around her, she crossed her arms over her chest and let her eyes drift shut.

The tug of magic at her core and deep inside her chest, where she was connected directly to him, already told her what she wanted to know.

She could let herself go because this form was little more than a shawl she could don whenever she wished.

Jessamine left her body and joined him in the realm of never-ending darkness. Not dead. Not asleep. Just as herself.

The darkness was as startling as it always was. She blinked, trying to get used to the bitter bite of shadows. Inky hands wrapped around her ankles, trying to hold her in place.

But she knew what they were now. Memories.

The lingering remnants of the witches who had come before her, and how dare they try to stop her.

Hissing, she kicked at the hands even as she ripped at the darkness covering her eyes.

She would see in this realm. She would live and they would not stop her.

A shrieking echo of witches long dead barraged her ears, and with it, the darkness fell away.

And there he was.

Waiting for her.

He sat slumped upon a throne made of bones.

One roughened hand rose to caress the scar on his lip as his jaw bounced.

His legs were spread wide, black leather tight around his lean thighs.

The loose black shirt he wore bared a muscled torso covered in stab wounds and scars that had never healed quite right.

And yet, he was everything she had ever wanted.

Dark eyes flaring with desire, he murmured, “You followed me here, nightmare.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I think you know why.” When he remained silent, Jessamine reminded herself that she was a princess. No, she was a queen. Even a god needed to bow to her. “To finish what we started.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “You want me, nightmare?”

“You know I do.”

He slowly pointed to the inky ground, all commanding energy and powerful prowess. “Then crawl to your god, witch. And I will give you what you desire.”

A small part of her melted at the thought of giving him that much control. Yes, she wanted to crawl to him. She wanted to beg on her hands and knees for a god to give her an ounce of his attention.

But a much larger part of her mind remembered that she was a queen. And no man would ever again make her beg on her knees for anything.

Stepping away from him, she tugged hard on their connection.

Color spilled from the whispered desire on her lips.

Bright blushes and vibrant reds, dripping from her body and spreading across the floor.

Rainbows burst to life around her feet, throbbing with magic as they swirled together.

Emerald greens tangled with golden yellows in a weave of color.

From the iridescence roiling at her feet rose vines, thorny and strong, winding their way around and through the throne she built.

Rosebuds bloomed, decorating the form with bloodred, until her throne was ready for her.

Where the Deathless One sat upon a mishmash of skulls and other bones, her seat was a much more delicate creation made from a woman’s mind and attention to detail. She had conjured herself a throne of delicate thorns, blooming red roses, and hidden bronze underneath.

Mimicking his position, she spread her legs wide, leaning back in her chair. Hooking one leg over the arm, she set her elbow on her raised knee and framed her face with her fingers. “Oh, no, Deathless One. It is you who will crawl to me.”

A pulse of power radiated off him. His throne liquefied underneath him. One moment, he was sitting like a conquering god surveying his spoils, and the next…

Oh, he was on his knees. Crawling up to her with his eyes filled with desire and a predatory movement in his shoulders with every single moment it took him to get to her.

He crouched between her spread thighs, his gaze more than hungry. He was starving.

“You wish me to worship you, nightmare?” he rasped.

“Yes.”

“My pleasure,” he all but growled before spreading her legs farther apart.

The ache in her hip joints was quickly replaced by shock as she felt the tingle of his magic trailing up her calves. She watched as the fabric of her clothing slowly disappeared. A shadow passed over her, leaving in its aftermath nothing but her pale, pale skin.

She had only a moment to be shocked and perhaps slightly embarrassed at being so exposed before him, spread out as she was, but he wouldn’t allow that. Not her Elric. Not her god.

He groaned, long and low, his voice even more guttural as he said, “Look at you, nightmare. So pretty and pink and so fucking wet. All for me.”

How was she supposed to reply to that? She had limited experience in anything related to this, and she’d certainly never spread herself so wantonly for anyone other than him—but if she said that, he would take all too much pleasure in knowing it.

Or perhaps he already knew. Because he looked up at her with those dark, desire-filled eyes and snapped out an order even though she was in charge. “Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when you can open them again.”

She couldn’t. Jessamine just stared down at him in shock and awe and maybe something like intrigue.

A dark band of shadow looped around her head, her eyes.

She was blinded by his magic, as she had been before, but there was no fear in it now.

She saw nothing, she could feel only the featherlight touch of his lips against the delicate skin at the back of her knee. “Do not look. Do not think. Only feel.”

How could she do anything else? Without her sight, all she could do was focus on the sensation of… him.

His fingers turned into claws. Deadly pinpricks of pain that decorated her thighs even as his warm, scarred lips trailed up the inside of her legs.

All she could feel was the thrill of his warm breath fluttering across the pulse in the crease of her hips.

The way he whispered against her flesh, words that made her feel powerful and wanted.

“So pretty. So smooth. You taste divine.”

She felt a bit like she would fall apart long before he touched her, and then a clawed hand slid even closer. The backs of his fingers trailed up her belly, gently drawing circles on her skin as he drew closer and closer to her breast.

Then she heard him sigh, a pleasant sound, as though he had finally found peace.

As his fingers closed around her nipple, she felt the warm, wet slick of his tongue licking in one long, flat movement.

She arched into him, somehow pressing her breast into his grip while grinding herself against his mouth.

She must look obscene, but it didn’t matter.

That one lick was enough to send her mind spiraling off into another realm.

His deep chuckle vibrated through her core. “Hold still, nightmare, or I will make you.”

“I don’t think I could hold still if I tried.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

A loop of what she could only assume was dark magic trailed around her wrists, pinning them over her head to hold her exactly where he wanted her.

“Do you need me to control your legs, too?” he asked, all too amused at the turn this had taken. “Or am I allowed to enjoy you now?”

Breathing a little hard, she shook her head. “Not the legs, please. I’d like to wrap them around your head.”

His deep groan made her grin. “Oh, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“I thought you couldn’t die,” she whimpered as he turned his attention back to her inner thighs, sucking hard enough to leave marks and sending sparkles of pure pleasure dancing through her body.

“But if I could, what a perfect way to go.”

Her breath caught at his next heated lick, which delved between her folds. She tilted her head back against the throne, sinking into the pleasure. This wasn’t a transaction. It was her feeling and him feasting.

Elric eased her into it, every long, slow lick ending at the bundle of nerves between her legs.

He lovingly stroked her with such gentle circles that she could have believed he wasn’t there, if she hadn’t felt the tension coiling desperately in her belly.

He pressed tiny kisses against her, learning the taste of her and taking his time to find the spots that made her twist against the bindings on her wrists.

He indulged in her.

And he was loud.

He groaned with her, his fingers digging into her flesh, eventually grabbing twin handfuls of her ass to lift her to his mouth.

She was arched in her seat, her back bent as far as it would go as he drew her closer, sipping her like she was the finest of wines.

He grunted into her, moaning as she did, his hands flexing against her flesh the more she enjoyed herself.

There was no hurry, no eagerness for her to come quickly so that he could get to the main event. He didn’t seem to want to rush her, because every time she got marginally close to that wonderful peak, he drew back. Slowed down. Blew a cooling breath on her rather than licking as she wanted.

A drop of sweat rolled down her collarbone, blazing an icy trail between her breasts that made her realize she couldn’t stand this any longer. She needed him, wanted him. She wanted more.

“Don’t make me beg, Elric,” she whimpered, rolling her hips against his tongue, which was back to its teasing, all-too-light touch.

“But you sound so pretty when you beg.”

Who was she kidding? She wasn’t above begging him to give her what would likely be the most explosive orgasm of her life. “Please, then. For fuck’s sake, Elric, please.”

“Please what?”

The words caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what to ask him or what he wanted to hear.

He leaned down and sucked on her clit, hard enough to make her arch into him and for her to clench desperately around nothing. He released her with a slick sound before snarling, “I want to hear all the filthy words from that pretty mouth, princess. Tell me exactly what you want.”

A flare of anger and defiance burned in her chest. “I want you to stick your tongue in me and make me come like the monstrous god you are.”

There was a low moan before he did exactly as she asked.

She was filled, not with his tongue, but with two thick, scarred fingers that speared inside of her and scissored.

He hit something deep within her that no one had ever hit before, and she froze, holding her breath as though her body knew something wondrous was about to happen.

Then he latched onto her clit as he had before, sucking hard while swirling his tongue in a firm circle that had her plummeting, coming so hard it almost hurt as she clenched down around his fingers and cried out as she never would have, as a princess should not even imagine doing.

He stayed with her through all of it, moving his fingers gently now, spiraling her down from the orgasm, which seemed to go on and on because he was a master at playing her body.

And when he loosed his bonds of dark magic, she slumped on that throne, panting and dripping with sweat. Only then did he let the blindfold fall from her eyes. She stared down at her own body, a foreign creature now that she knew it could do that, and saw him.

He grinned up at her wolfishly, his lips slick with her wetness as he moved his fingers in and out of her, the shallow movements somehow still sending shock waves of pleasure pinching through her form.

It was madness that they had done this, but she never wanted to see anyone else between her thighs.

And gods, she had hooked her leg around his neck. She hadn’t even realized that she was holding on to him for dear life, one leg around his neck and the other spread wide by his hand.

“How pretty you look, undone by my hand.” He licked his lips, eyes rolling back. “And the flavor of you, nightmare. That is not one I am ever likely to forget.”

“Happy to please,” she whispered, still stunned at the sight of a god kneeling between her legs.

“Oh, you very much pleased me. Now rest, my darling and divine.”

“You don’t want to—”

He interrupted her. “I do what I want, nightmare, and soon I will indulge myself in your body. But only when I have a physical form to take you with. Sleep. You’ll need your rest for what I intend to do with you.”

She drifted away from his realm, back to her body, which did indeed need rest. But his words lingered in her mind. He wanted a physical form, so they could really touch. And she realized she desperately wanted that as well.