Page 35 of Unkindness of Crimson Ravens (The Crimson Duet #1)

Crimson Touch

H is soft lips tasted like cigars: bitter and sweet at the same time. Exquisite. The kiss woke every cell in my body, begging for more.

I put my trembling hands on his chest, unable to resist the urge to touch him.

We fought across the room, until my back was against the wall. Until his hands moved toward the back of my neck, toward my hair—

The fear knocked the air out of me; my own hand flew to his in an attempt to stop any further movement.

I gripped his wrist so tightly it hurt my own. I held it as if my life depended on it. My eyes met his when fear prevented my next breath. The room shook.

Francis moved his hands up. He nodded once at me in understanding without moving an inch. I focused on my breath, studying Francis’ eyes. His beautiful eyes. His eyes, no one else’s.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, fighting the battle with my mind. Slowly, I let go of his hand, trusting him not to touch my hair again. It’s just Francis, no one else, I told myself, trying to calm my unresting heart.

Francis held out his own hands as if asking for a dance. Unsure what he intended to do, I took his offer.

Slowly, he kissed both of my hands gently before turning us around, until he was the one against the wall. He put my hands on his chest while placing his own against the wall.

My breathing hilted as I moved my face closer to his. He wanted me in control.

Our lips brushed together as we gazed into each other's eyes. His warm breath tickled my lips, patiently waiting for my next move.

I slowly closed the gap until my lips covered his.

I kissed him with force I didn’t know I had.

I’d never kissed anyone on my own accord and I savored every moment of it.

I let all restraint go as the fear departed my mind.

Francis returned the kiss with so much passion and care that I could not help the sound of pure joy from escaping my throat.

I was no longer in control of my own body: my own thoughts. All I knew was that I wanted more. Collecting all the pieces of bravery I possessed, I undid the buttons of Francis’ shirt. My fingers shook.

His skin was as smooth as a pearl, as cold as the morning of winter solstice. I ran my palms over his torso, memorizing every curve of his body. Every cut, every scar.

I broke the kiss, meeting Francis’ eyes for a moment before turning my back to him. I could only hope Francis did not see how much my body trembled with anxiety as I undid the bow of my gown. I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted this. I needed this.

Francis put his hands on the first button of my nightgown. “May I?” His voice sent a shiver down my spine for all the wrong reasons.

“Yes,” my voice was barely a whisper, the anticipation burned me alive.

“Have you—” Francis whispered into my ear. “I mean, besides... him. Have you—”

“Yes,” I interrupted him. “Before the engagement.”

My gown slipped down my shoulders, covering my exposed chest in dozens of goosebumps. His breath tickled my ear, “Tell me what you want, my Princess.”

A shaky breath escaped my lips. “I want your lips.”

Roses bloomed deep down in my stomach, tightening my insides in their stems, scratching my skin in the most delightful way possible. The thorns pierced the bottom of my stomach, forcing a sweet sound of satisfaction from the depths of my throat.

A trace of his smile touched my skin when his lips brushed over my shoulder, gently making their way up my neck. Every kiss left my skin burning in fire, every breath left my soul demanding more. His hands held the sleeves of my dress, carefully avoiding my exposed skin.

My head flew backward, settling on Francis’ shoulder. My lips were desperate to find his, my hands urgently stretched out to feel his skin.

I buried myself into this man’s neck, counting every beat of his pulse. One, two, three. The dance made my head spin drunk.

Despite our small distance I wanted him closer. I wrapped his hands around my lower stomach, my back pressed against his chest. I needed him closer.

“What else, my Princess?” he said against my cheek.

His low voice woke up the part in me I’d never known existed. My mind quieted, leaving instinct to speak for me. I could not resist the urge to feel the forbidden desire any longer. I wanted it now, more than anything in my life.

I crooked my head, exposing my neck. “Please.”

A low moan escaped his lip.

“Please,” I begged.

My trembling hands slowly shifted the ends of my undone braid over my shoulder. Fear and excitement rushed through my veins as my heartbeat quickened.

“I will keep you safe,” Francis said softly before his sharp teeth pierced my thin skin, forcing my lungs empty.

A quiet cry escaped me as the sweet pain rushed across my body: straight into my mind. My breathing hilted with every passing moment, my eyes rolled back.

The blood rushed toward my open wound, happily departing my body. Unable to keep quiet any longer, I let out a loud moan that echoed through the room.

More. I wanted to tell Francis, yet I forgot how to speak.

My throat itched and burned at the idea of my blood on Francis’ lips. I brought his hand toward my lips.

My mouth opened, anxious to feed the foreign creature within the depths of my soul. My lips wrapped around his thumb; his hand gently grasped my chin. I sucked on it until my teeth broke through his skin, letting the blood flow onto my tongue.

I gasped when the first drop reached my throat, cooling the fire that grew within. My tongue danced across his open wound, absorbing his blood like a sponge.

His blood melted in my mouth like honey. Everything spun. I almost fainted.

Francis’ loud moan interrupted my racing thoughts as he leaned against the wall.

My neck immediately longed for his mouth. “More,” I cried out without relinquishing his thumb.

His tongue brushed across my sickly wound, licking every drop of blood from my skin. “Patience, Princess.”

I all but lost my mind, for tears of joy flowed down my cheeks. “Please.”

“You will faint if I don’t stop,” Francis whispered, his fingers wrapped around my own. “What’s the matter?” His crimson thumb stroked my lips, turning me to face him.

My lips devoured his.

The taste of his blood mixed with mine destroyed any restraint left in me.

Without breaking our kiss, I forced us toward my bed. The back of my knees hit the frame as I dragged Francis’ body atop my own.

Our gazes met. His amber irises bored into my skin, burning every cell of my body. “Tell me what you need, Princess.” He leaned into me.

“You.” I caught my breath. Every cell in my body screamed for his touch. “I need you.” My hands reached for his trousers, undoing them.

“Are you certain?” he asked me carefully, yet did not stop my hands from sliding his trousers down.

“I am.” I wrapped my legs around his waist.

A loud moan escaped me without my permission as he entered my body. My hands clung onto his shoulders like a drowning person would to a straw. His lips covered every inch of my neck, his tongue cleaned my fresh wound dry. My back arched from the sensation, exposing my chest for Francis’ lips.

More. I wanted to cry.

The creature inside of me was not yet satisfied. My skin burned as his lips swept across my scar. My chest ached as his mouth covered the center of my breast. His teeth gently brushed my nipple with every thrust of his hips. Good Gods.

Each thrust attempted to tame the neverending thorns deep in my stomach, each thrust made flowers bloom with new power.

The creature demanded its orders be followed.

“Please,” a hoarse moan echoed through the room. I had no idea what I begged for.

Francis’ thumb journeyed its way to my mouth; my teeth wrapped around his finger, reinjuring his healing wound.

Francis’ moans sung in unison with my own, engulfing the room in pleasure.

His free hand drove into my thigh in a painful delight; but he retreated it in an instant, depriving my exposed skin of his touch. I swallowed the blood in my mouth as my trembling hand guided his near my bud. I drew a breath.

“I will keep you safe,” he whispered. “Just tell me to stop and I will.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. My grasp did not loosen when I placed his fingers onto my flesh. Controlling their every move, I allowed Francis’ fingers to touch me.

Each stroke healed a long broken part of me, every touch calmed my racing mind.

His hips slammed against mine, forcing the air out of me; his blood soaked my tongue, bringing me back to life.

I sucked onto his finger, refusing any drop of crimson go to waste as he buried himself deep inside of me, stretching my entrance in sweet satisfaction.

“You are divine, my Princess.” Francis' breathing heaved.

“Francis—” My body exploded in a delightful euphoria. Relief washed over me when the room filled with the sound of pleasure.

“Cordelia,” Francis’ hoarse voice stumbled through the fog in my mind when his relief filled my insides.