Page 64 of The Fallen and the Kiss of Dusk (Crowns of Nyaxia #4)

ASAR

I had once believed that there was no feeling more intense than being in the presence of gods.

But kissing Mische, touching her skin again after all this time, dwarfed it.

And yet, in the same measure, kissing her made me feel so weak, so fallible, so deeply mortal.

She let out a little gasp against my mouth, and I sucked it into my lungs.

Her lips parted for me and her tongue, silken smooth, slipped free to meet mine. She tasted like redemption.

Her arms wove around my neck, and I pushed her to the bed.

We undressed each other frantically, clumsily.

Our hands struggled to abandon skin in favor of undoing buttons or clasps.

I wanted, needed, to be touching her at all times.

Each kiss, each breath, each stretch of exquisite flesh made me hungrier.

He hands slid under my shirt, flattening over my stomach, while I slipped her blouse over her head. At the sight of her body, bare and beautiful and so real, I whispered a curse with the reverence of a prayer.

She clumsily yanked my shirt off me while I pushed her flat to the bed. My mouth traced her jaw, her throat—pausing there, at the steady beat of blood under the surface, and goddess help me, it hurt to drag myself away. But there was too much to touch, too much to taste.

I kissed her shoulder, her collarbone. Traveled south, to the swell of her breasts—lingering.

One hand reached up to cup the right while my mouth refamiliarized itself with the left.

Her skin smelled like cinnamon and tasted of the sun.

Her knees parted around me, and her hands raked down my bare back, fingers tracing muscles, bones, scars—like she, too, was trying to memorize me all over again.

I pressed my tongue against her hardened nipple, relishing the way I could feel her inhale in her gasp, pushing up against me.

Her shock of pleasure zapped between us—she let me feel it, opening all her mental doors.

I threw my mind wide open for her, too, like windows on the first warm summer night, letting in the solace of the moonlight.

Peace.

For a moment, I breathed against her. Then I kept going, undoing the button of her trousers and peeling back the fabric as I moved down to her stomach, which tensed as she huffed an almost-giggle. “Tickles,” she breathed, and she sounded drunkenly euphoric in a way that made me feel it, too.

I slid her trousers off, revealing the soft flesh where her waist met her hip. I remembered the first time I kissed that curve. I had dreamed of it a thousand times since. Now, the wound from Srana’s blow slashed across it, neatly stitched and bandaged, beads of black blood dotting the gauze.

I stared at that. The wound that had almost ripped her away from me again. But that same wound marked her as closer to life than she had been in months.

I slid one of her arms from around my neck and kissed her palm, her wrist. Then I observed her bare skin—bare skin once again covered with scars, as it had been in life. She even had the tattoo, the finch-like phoenix smoldering beneath decades’ worth of burns.

Mische stared at it, too, a furrow between her brows.

“How—” she started.

But my answer was still the same.

“I don’t care.” I kissed those scars one by one, just as I had the first night she had shown me them. Then, I had hated them because of the pain they represented to her. Now, I loved them, because they meant she was here.

Every thrum of my blood hummed that refrain: You’re here, you’re here, you’re here.

“I don’t care,” I whispered again, and I slid her undergarments down. She kicked them away, and the scent of her desire, thick and sweet, overwhelmed me.

I wanted to touch every part of her that I’d separated myself from via cotton or silk or the fucking frayed threads of my self-control.

I sank between her legs and drew in a deep inhale.

I tasted her slowly at first, getting reacquainted with her skin, the way her inner thighs met the soft lips of her pussy.

When I kissed her slit, rolling my tongue softly against her, her hips bucked.

Her fingers dragged through my hair, as if, even beneath the distraction of pleasure, she couldn’t stop touching me.

My mind emptied of all thought. All that remained was lust.

She let out a fractured moan. Her blood rushed. I felt it throbbing just beneath the fragile flesh of her inner thighs. My fangs ached, and I ran them along her skin, tongue slipping out against the goose bumps they called to the surface.

Mische let out a whimper, the most beautiful sound. My gaze flicked up, my head rising just enough to watch her over the swells and dips of her perfect, naked body. She was watching me, breath bated, hands still clutching at me.

Her want vibrated in the air between us, so pure and unashamed. I loved the way Mische wanted. And I was in no position to deny her now.

So when she attempted to pull me back up, I let her. Let her hands slide over my body as mine slid over hers, taking in every curve, scar, dip, press of bone or fat or muscle. Let her unbutton my trousers and push them away, leaving only skin between us.

How easily our bodies aligned around each other. Like the sun and moon meeting in an eclipse.

Her thighs opened. My cock found her entrance. Last time I’d teased her, relished her. I couldn’t now. I was too desperate for her. I wanted to sink so deep inside her that I no longer knew the edges of my own soul.

“I missed you,” she whispered against my lips.

“I missed you,” I murmured, and pushed into her.

She let out a trembling cry and pulled taut around me. Everything disappeared—gods and wraiths and death, war and betrayals, magic masks and cursed axes and all the fears I tried to tell myself I did not feel. Everything but her.

I was whole, entwined in her skin and soul alike.

Wordless moans and whimpers tumbled from her lips, smothered by my kisses. I pulled away just enough to look at her as I withdrew and pushed back into her, slow, savoring every strain of her muscles.

A wince of pain flickered over her face. I halted mid-stroke. Of course. Her bandages. The wound was fresh?—

But she breathed, “No. Don’t stop.” A lopsided smile spread slowly over her lips, and her ankles hooked around my hips, pulling me slowly—agonizingly—back inside her.

“I love it,” she murmured. “Even the pain. It feels—it all feels?—”

I couldn’t resist. I pushed deep, deep into her, her hips rising against the movement as we ground against each other. I wanted to kiss her, but I also wanted to watch her—watch the way that pleasure spasmed across her face, so full and free.

“I want it all,” she managed, fractured with an almost-moan.

I understood now. The pain, the pleasure, the hunger. All were markers of the gift she had somehow, miraculously, reclaimed.

“Then you’ll have it, Dawndrinker,” I murmured against her mouth, and pushed into her again, again, again.

And yet, as her pleasure grew, so did her hunger, building in her mind and mine.

“More,” I commanded. “Take more.”

I rolled over, clutching her body, so that she was on top of me. The angle pushed her deeper against my hips, dragging a low, wordless groan from between my teeth.

I lifted my chin and cradled her head, guiding her to my throat.

I want it all , she had said.

Take it, I said silently to her. It is all for you, Mische Iliae.

And Mische—beautiful, hungry, sex-drunk Mische—did not even protest. Her teeth broke my skin with an exquisite stab of pain. The purr of silken, honey-sweet bliss that shivered through her body and mind alike nearly pushed me over the edge.

Her fingers interlaced with mine as she drank deep, her hips rolling with each swallow.

My world narrowed to the divine mission of meeting each unspoken demand of her body, feeding her every hunger.

I felt a soft but firm pressure slide over my shoulders while her hands ran down my body, and I opened my eyes to see that the shadows had slithered from the corners of the room down to meet us, putting me exactly where she wanted me.

I smiled.

“You’re a stronger Shadowborn every day, Dawndrinker.” My newly freed hands kneaded her thighs. “Quite a talent.”

She extracted her teeth, lips curling into a smile. “I’m committed to my craft.”

My fingernails dug into her hips, and goddess help me, I couldn’t stop myself. I thrust up into her, seeing stars as her walls clenched around me. She reared up, offering me an awe-inspiring view of her body, head thrown back.

I wanted—no, needed—to feel her come. It became my singular purpose.

She was right there, trembling with its proximity. I wanted to hurtle her over the edge, feel her every muscle inside and out vibrating with my mark on her.

Instead, she slid free of me.

I let out a growl of frustrated disapproval that was downright animalistic.

But Mische just gave me a sly smile and lay down, curling against me so her back was pressed to my torso. Her thighs opened, offering me entrance again.

The position offered me access to her entire body. I couldn’t bring myself to resent that. My fingers slid around her inner thigh, holding her open as I pushed back inside her from behind. She was so wet that there was no resistance, as if our bodies begged to be reunited.

She let out a shaking keen. My hands greedily slid down her exposed skin—her breasts, her stomach, the hips that arched and pushed against me, and finally, her slick, swollen bud. As I circled it, her whole body shuddered. She whimpered my name through clenched teeth.

I kissed her ear, her cheek, her jaw. “Tell me what you want.”

She turned her head to shoot me a knowing look. Then she lifted her chin.

Suddenly, I understood why she had shifted positions.

To offer me her throat.

If I had been thinking logically, I might have hesitated. What if there was still some wraith left in her? Worse, what if I took what she wasn’t prepared to give?