Page 155 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

As I pump myself dry, making primal noises I have never made before, Ellya watches me confidently like the little fucking minx she is. I know at this moment all those creeping blushes up her neck have had nothing to do with embarrassment or shyness, but more her own burning desire for me.

When my orgasm finally ends, and I am a panting mess covered in sweat and my own cum, she watches me with pure satisfaction, making my inner beast purr.

“Do you like seeing a king come so completely undone for you, Ellya?” I ask her breathlessly.

She gives me no words, and I suck in a sharp breath when she leans over me, her tongue passing over a long rope of cum on my chest, cleaning it off. She swallows it down audibly, and I stare at her in rapt awe.

“Now I’ve had a chance to taste your salt, too,” she says in a sultry voice.

I can’t help but laugh before I pull her mouth to mine, greedily tasting my pleasure on her tongue.

In the bathing chamber, I clean myself up before pulling on a clean pair of my loose pants that I had stashed for moments such as this.

She was right—I was being presumptuous.

Upon returning, I find Ellya changed and in bed, laying on her back. I climb in next to her and lay my head on her breast, hugging her close to me. The melody of her heartbeat against my ear stokes the light in my chest, the flame dancing to new heights while she runs her hands through my hair.

“I love your hair,” Ellya tells me as she strokes me tenderly.

Humming, I nuzzle in closer to her, bathing in her scent. “This has been one of the best days of my life, Elly.”

Her fingers slow. “You do remember that I stabbed you in the heart today?”

I chuckle against her soft skin. “How could I forget?”

Ellya begins her ministrations again. “How do you feel now?”

“Tired and a little weak, but I have suffered worse.”

That is not entirely true. The excruciating pain I felt when my breath returned was unlike anything I have experienced before. It felt as if my heart had been splattered with a fiery hammer.

Even my wounds from the lonyx paled in comparison to coming back from death.

Purging the contents of my blood-filled stomach burned like acid, scorching my flesh raw, and the taste has not yet fully faded. But for what came after, it was worth the momentary suffering.

I would welcome a lifetime of suffering if it would ease Ellya hers.

“We have a busy day tomorrow, are you ready for me to leave so you can sleep?” I ask, and herfingers still again.

“You’re leaving?” She does not sound particularly happy with the idea, her displeasure producing grin from me.

Hugging her tighter, I say, “Only if you would like for me to. I would much rather stay here and hold you.”

“I want you to stay,” she says quietly.

We do not sleep and instead talk late into the night. I am surprised when she opens up to me about her time with Locane without me asking. Although I saw everything he said and did, I only saw from his perspective.

My hands clasp hers against my chest while she pours her heart out about the fear and self-doubt he instilled in her. How she is still struggling to not see the truth in the midst of all his lies.

Ellya in turn listens to me talk about my own stories with Locane—so different from hers.

Stories of us as boys, when we were always together. When he was more than my brother, more than my best friend. When we were truly two halves of the same whole, like our mother would always tell us.

Staring vacantly at the ceiling, I tell Ellya about how even before our powers developed, we could communicate without speaking. Well into adulthood that connection lasted, only having to communicate mind to mind when we were not directly in front of each other.

Ellya begins to stroke the panes of my cheeks as I tell her about the person Locane used to be, carefree and spontaneous, much like her father. Locane and Milo were always getting into trouble, close in the way Kraeston and I are close, and I was always forced to ground them while growing up.

She never looks away from me as I tell her about how Locane used to laugh easily and care deeply. He used to sing while hecooked and baked for our large family, spending hours preparing lavish meals or time-consuming pastries and desserts. He always beamed with pride at everyone’s enjoyment.