Chapter Text
The first hints of spring are in the air, but March is still raw, the kind of cold that slips through coats and scarves and sinks under the skin. Nesta feels it as she pushes her way down the familiar street, grocery bag in hand, wondering for the hundredth time why Gwyn had insisted she stop by the shop tonight instead of coming tomorrow.
“Please, Nes. It’s just a quick errand,” Gwyn had said on the phone. Emerie had chimed in the background—don’t argue, just come. Which, frankly, had made Nesta suspicious.
She’s had one of those days where everything has gone sideways. A massive writer’s block. Elain dropping by to chatter about flowers she wanted to plant in the yard but Lucien didn’t until Nesta’s head ached, then Feyre calling to talk about some guy in one of her seminars that’s equal measures of hot and annoying. By the time she was ready to lock up her apartment and go over to Eris, her bones had hummed with exhaustion.
All she wants right now is to get to the townhouse, sink into Eris’s arms, and let him kiss the sharp edges off her mood. Instead, she’s shouldering a heavy grocery bag through a faint drizzle that has just started, as if to mock her.
The bell above the door chimes when she steps inside, the sound oddly sharp in the quiet. She’d expected the shop to hum with life—at the very least Gwyn humming behind the counter and Emerie dragging a box of stock across the floor with a running commentary. But right now, there’s only silence meeting her.
The shop is dim, shadows pooling in the corners, warm lamplight illuminating only the center aisle. The poetry aisle. It’s as if everyone left already, and they forgot one light switch. The air smells of old paper and something faintly spiced.
“Hello?” Nesta calls, frowning. “Em? Gwyn?”
Her boots click on the wood as she takes a step forward. Then another. She shifts the grocery bag in her arm.
That’s when she sees him.
Eris, at the far end of the poetry aisle.
The center of the path has been cleared, a carpet of wildflowers scattered across the wooden floor. Above, fairy lights are strung like stars, casting a low, golden haze. Along the shelves, there are lanterns containing candles, flickering gently on a phantom breeze.
Eris is leaning against the shelves like he’s been waiting a lifetime.
Her heart stutters.
He looks unfairly good. Dark slacks, white shirt, and a dark suit jacket that makes his hair glow like fire. There’s the faintest trace of nerves in the way he adjusts his cuff, which makes him look strangely vulnerable. He rocks back on his heels when he sees her, watching her as though he’s afraid she might bolt. His eyes—those firebright eyes—are locked on her like nothing else in existence matters.
“Eris,” she says warily. “What are you doing here?”
“Stormcloud,” he says, soft and steady. His mouth tilts into a smile that has a nervous quality to it. “You made it.”
The grocery bag is heavy in her arm. She glances down at it, then back at him. “Did you—did you trick me?”
“I’m afraid I have to plead guilty. I needed to get you to come here tonight.”
Her frown deepens. “Why?”
She takes a step toward him, then another. “What… what is this?”
He straightens, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “The place we met. A year ago to the day.”
Memory slices through her. A drizzle of rain outside, similar to tonight. Her head down, her thoughts a mess, the world too loud. Colliding with a tall solid wall of man leaving a bookshop, asking her if she was alright, handing her back her phone. His hand steadying her elbow. His striking eyes.
Her lowest point. His first glimpse of her.
Her throat tightens. “I remember.”
“I never forgot,” Eris says simply.
Her stomach flips. She shifts the bag, lowering it down to the floor, freeing her hands. “You’re being strange.”
“Strange?” He huffs a laugh, running a hand through his hair as if to steady himself. “No, love. I’m only being honest.”
She shakes her head, overwhelmed. “You’re just acting ridiculous, then.”
“Perhaps.” His smile softens. “But I’m also hopelessly in love with you. And I’ve run out of ways to pretend otherwise.”
Her chest aches. She huffs a laugh. “You don’t pretend very well.”
“True.” He pushes away from the shelf, crossing the flower-strewn floor with unhurried steps. “I never stood a chance, Nesta. Not from the moment you looked at me like I was something worth glaring at. Do you have any idea what that did to me? After a lifetime of masks and games, of fending for myself, there you were—fierce and magnificent and so heartbreakingly beautiful.”
Tears burn her eyes. She tries to scoff, but it comes out shaky. “You’re laying it on thick.”
“Of course I am.” He stops before her, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off his body. “Because you deserve nothing less. You deserve every word, every gesture, every ounce of devotion I can give you. In fact, you deserve more than this—more than me. But gods help me, Nesta, I want to spend my whole life trying to be enough.”
Her lips tremble. “Don’t say things like that, Eris.”
“I mean every damn syllable.” He cups her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear before it can roll all the way down.
His voice lowers, rich and careful. “Nesta, I’ve thought about this moment a hundred times. A thousand. Every version of it ended with me saying the wrong thing, or you laughing at me, or both. But I couldn’t not do this here. Where it started. Where you looked at me for the first time and decided—somehow—that I was worth a second glance.”
She swallows, throat thick. “Eris—”
“Let me finish,” he says, not unkindly, but with a tremor in his voice. “Because I need you to hear this. I know what you tell yourself. That you’re too much. That you ruin things. That you break what you touch. I’ve seen it in your eyes. I’ve heard it in the way you talk about your past.” His jaw flexes. “But Nesta, you are not too much. You are exactly enough. More than enough. You are everything. You’re the reason I want to be better. You’re the reason I believe in more than just fire and fury. You are my home. You are brilliant and sharp and fierce, and you make the world shine brighter just by walking in it.”
Her eyes sting. She looks away, but he tips her chin back gently, his thumb brushing her jaw.
“You think you don’t deserve love. That you’re hard to love. But I am telling you now, Stormcloud, loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done in my entire life.”
Her lip won’t stop wobbling. She tries for banter, for a deflection, because more tears threaten. “You’re very dramatic, you know that?”
“Comes with the hair,” he says, smiling, though his eyes are wet.
She lets out a shaky laugh, another tear slipping down her cheek. He catches it with his thumb.
Then, slowly, Eris sinks to one knee.
Nesta freezes.
“Eris—”
“I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” he says with a watery laugh, “but you’ve ruined that plan already. And gods, I had a whole speech prepared. I was going to be suave, maybe a little smug, make you roll your eyes. But I can’t do it. Because the truth is—”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box, coated in a light blue velvet. He flips it open, revealing a simple gold band with a single diamond, elegant, nothing ostentatious, glowing in the candlelight.
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“—the truth is,” Eris says, voice raw, “that I am desperately, stupidly in love with you, Nesta Archeron. And I will be, for the rest of my life. So I’m on my knees for you, here, in the place where you crashed into me and captured me forever”
“Eris—”
“Marry me,” Eris says. His voice breaks on it, but he pushes on. “Nesta Archeron, marry me. Not because you’re supposed to. Not because anyone expects it. But because I love you, and I can’t imagine a day without you grumbling at me first thing in the morning or you kissing me goodnight before I fall asleep. Because I want to spend every March in this shop remembering that this is where we began. Because you are my Stormcloud, and I want to weather this life with you.”
Silence hums, heavy and full.
Nesta stares at him, her heart thundering, her throat closing. Her tears are spilling hot and helpless.
“You’re on your knees,” she whispers, reaching for banter, for deflection. She sniffs. “I like this.”
Eris huffs a laugh, shaky, eyes glinting. “Say yes and I’ll stay here all night.”
Her lips twitch. “Yes,” she whispers hoarsely.
His eyes widen. “Yes?”
“Yes.” Her voice breaks, thick with tears. “Yes, you ridiculous man.”
He exhales roughly, like he’s was actually bracing for her to deny him. He slips the ring onto her trembling finger, his hands shaking. He presses a kiss to her knuckles, then rises and pulls her into his arms, holding her so tightly she can barely breathe.
“I love you,” he whispers against her hair, over and over, like a vow. “I love you. I love you.”
Nesta clings to him, laughing and crying all at once. “I love you too, so much, you perfect, wonderful idiot.”
His laugh is wet, choked. He cups her face and kisses her—slow at first, reverent, then deeper, until they’re both breathless, both undone.
And then, as if he can’t contain himself, Eris lifts her off her feet and spins her once, twice. She gasps, laughing through happy tears, clutching at his shoulders as he twirls her in the candlelit shop.
When he sets her down, they’re both breathless, cheeks wet, foreheads pressed together.
She kisses him through her tears, while the room still slightly spins.
The cheer that erupts startles her.
Because of course the door at the back opens, and Gwyn and Emerie and Elain and Lucien tumble in, clapping and whistling and crowing.
Nesta groans into Eris’s chest. “I should’ve known.”
“Obviously,” Eris says smugly, twirling her once more just to make her squeal.
“I can’t believe you,” she laughs.
“You said yes, though.” He kisses her nose. His eyes shine, teary but fierce. “Say it again.”
Her heart pounds. “Yes.”
“Louder.”
“Yes!”
The room erupts once more.
And then Eris kisses her like she’s the only thing he needs in the world.
For a few stunned heartbeats, Nesta clings to Eris like he’s the only solid thing in the world. His arms are iron around her waist, her face damp against his shoulder. She’s still shaking, still processing, still marveling at the gleam of the ring now snug around her finger.
But she can’t ignore the clapping for long. Loud, enthusiastic, merciless clapping.
Eris only laughs, the bastard, and turns her toward the sound.
Gwyn is practically bouncing on her toes, her copper hair flying as she waves her arms. “About damn time!” she shouts.
Emerie smirks beside her, arms crossed. “I was starting to think he’d chicken out.”
Lucien leans against a shelf with infuriating casualness, smirking in the exact same way Eris does when he thinks he’s won something. “Oh, believe me, he’s been insufferable about it for months.”
Gwyn and Emerie have their arms laden with bags that clink suspiciously.
Nesta freezes. “You—”
Emerie sets down her bag with a thud and smirks. “He begged us, really, to make sure everything went smoothly.”
Eris groans into his hands. “Not begged.”
“Begged,” Emerie insists, grinning.
Nesta turns to him, eyes still wet, lips trembling somewhere between laughter and overwhelm. “You—you made them part of this.”
“They’re part of us,” Eris says, steady now, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I wanted them here. Preferably there’d be a little more time after you’d said yes, but still. I wanted you surrounded by love, Stormcloud.”
Elain’s eyes are wet, her smile soft and knowing as she clasps her hands against her chest.
Nesta can’t help the hitch of her breath. “You—” She jabs a finger at Eris’s chest. “You set me up.”
“Well,” he says, absolutely unrepentant. “Did you really think I was going to risk proposing without witnesses to tease us about it forever?”
Her glare wobbles. “I should kill you.”
“Not before the honeymoon, Stormcloud,” he murmurs, kissing her temple.
Gwyn shrieks. “Oh my gods, you’re engaged!” She barrels forward, throwing her arms around Nesta so suddenly Nesta nearly topples. “We’re planning a wedding. This is happening.”
“Slow down,” Nesta mutters, hugging her tightly. “We’re not—”
But Emerie is already there too, trapping Nesta in a squeeze on the other side. “I call dibs on guarding the bar. And your bachelorette party.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes,” Gwyn counters.
Lucien snorts. “I’ll drink to that.” He claps Eris on the shoulder, voice sly. “Well, brother. Congratulations. You actually managed to trick someone into saying yes.”
Nesta huffs. “He didn’t trick me.”
Eris beams like she’s handed him a kingdom. “See? She’s defending me already.”
Lucien grins wider. “Poor thing doesn’t know what she’s in for.”
“Careful,” Eris drawls, sliding an arm firmly around Nesta’s waist. “My fiancée bites.”
Emerie coughs, “Fiancée,” like it’s the funniest word ever.
Gwyn echoes her, sing-song: “Fi-an-cée!”
Nesta pinches the bridge of her nose. “I regret everything.”
“You don’t,” Elain says softly, finally stepping forward. She takes Nesta’s hands, gazes at the ring, then at her sister. Her voice wobbles. “I’m so happy for you, Nes. You deserve this, so much. To be loved, to be happy.”
It does more to Nesta than all the teasing. She swallows hard. “I am. Happy. I really am.”
Eris’s hand tightens at her waist, steady and sure.
Elain hugs her then, and Nesta buries her face in her sister’s hair, breathing her in, fighting the sting in her eyes.
When they break apart, Lucien has somehow produced champagne. “What?” he says. “You think I came unprepared?” He pops the cork with dramatic flair, narrowly missing a bookshelf.
“Careful!” Gwyn squeals, ducking.
“Lucien!” Elain shrieks.
Lucien only smirks, pouring into mismatched mugs and teacups Emerie scavenges from behind the counter. He raises his chipped mug high. “To my brother, the eternal schemer. And to Nesta, who has somehow decided to put up with him forever.”
“Cheers,” Gwyn says brightly, clinking her mug against Nesta’s. “To love. To my cousin and my sister. No wait, that’s not right—”
“Cheers, to Nesta and Eris. Gods save us all,” Emerie says, grinning wide.
The toasts rise and Nesta, cheeks pink, raises her own mug. Her hand shakes, but Eris steadies it with his own.
“Cheers!” everyone choruses.
Nesta hides her face in Eris’s shoulder, cheeks blazing. He doesn’t let her—he nudges her chin up, smug as sin, making her clink cups with him.
She mutters, “This is too much.”
“It really isn’t. Cheers, fiancée,” he whispers in her ear, savoring the word, sending a flash of heat through her body.
The evening unravels into warmth. Plates of food appear—Elain must have stashed them somewhere. Candles burn low, laughter bounces off the shelves. Gwyn and Emerie come up with the most horrible ideas for the bachelorette party. Lucien ends up lecturing them all about the superior symbolism of an autumn wedding, earning a book chucked at his head by Eris.
Nesta eventually sits curled against Eris in her chair, her legs draped over his lap. Every so often, someone makes a sly comment—Emerie about Eris’s hopeless heart-eyes, Gwyn about Nesta’s dopey smile, Lucien about how revoltingly domestic they look.
Eris only soaks it in. Every tease, every jab—he basks, utterly shameless.
And Nesta, for once, doesn’t feel the urge to claw her way out.
Lucien teases Eris mercilessly about finally being tamed.
“Tamed?” Eris scoffs, lounging with an arm draped around Nesta’s shoulders. “She’s the storm. I was just smart enough to chase it.”
Gwyn clasps her hands dramatically. “Ugh, someone write that down.”
Later, when they’re all sprawled around the coffee table, Gwyn leans over it from her perch on the rug, her chin propped on her palm.
“Show us again,” Gwyn demands. “Come on, Nesta, you can’t just flash it once and then hide it.”
Nesta rolls her eyes, but she lifts her hand anyway. The diamond winks under the fairy lights.
Emerie whistles. “Gods, Eris, you didn’t go halfway, did you?”
“I don’t do halfway,” Eris replies smoothly, though his hand tightens almost imperceptibly around Nesta’s. His grin is wicked, but his eyes are still glassy, still a little red-rimmed from earlier.
“You’re going to blind people,” Lucien says dryly. “Not bad.”
Elain, soft-voiced but certain, adds, “It’s perfect.”
At some point, Gwyn jumps up out of her chair. “If no one’s going to get up, I will,” she declares, scrolling through her phone. A moment later, tinny violins and a jaunty beat fill the shop.
“Not that one,” Emerie protests, rolling her eyes. “That’s the song you tried to make me do squats to. Absolutely not.”
“It has a good rhythm!”
“It has trauma attached,” Emerie deadpans, and Gwyn sticks out her tongue.
Lucien rises with a flourish, bowing low to Elain like some gallant lord. She giggles and places her hand in his, and suddenly the two of them are twirling between the shelves, her skirt flaring, his red hair catching the glow of fairy lights.
“See?” Gwyn says triumphantly. “That’s the spirit!” She tugs at Emerie’s arm until, muttering, she allows herself to be dragged into the open space. Within seconds, Gwyn has her spinning clumsily, laughing so loud Nesta can’t help but smile watching them.
Later, when Lucien puts on some godsawful old record and drags Elain into a slow dance, Gwyn and Emerie join, locked in each other’s arms. Eris stands, holding out his hand to Nesta.
She smiles softly, placing her hand in his.
He pulls her up, guiding her to the center of the makeshift dance floor. He tucks her against him, warm and solid, swaying lazily to the crackling music.
When he kisses her—soft, lingering, reverent—the others cheer.
Nesta buries her face in his chest, mortified. “Make it stop, please.”
“They’re happy for us,” he murmurs, kissing her hair. “Let them cheer.”
“They’re going to tease us forever.”
“Let them. I’m never going to stop twirling you, or kissing you, or touching you, Stormcloud. Might as well get used to it.”
And then, true to his word, he lifts her right off her feet and spins her in a dizzy circle until she’s laughing, clutching at him as the whole shop whoops around them.
For the first time in years, Nesta isn’t bracing for impact. She isn’t waiting for the wave to pull her under.
She feels like she’s home.
They keep swaying.
“Stormcloud,” Eris murmurs when the song ends, low so only she hears, “you make me the luckiest man alive.”
She clutches his lapel, still trembling. “I love you.”
“I love you, always,” he answers, kissing her again as the shop glows with warmth, laughter, music, and family.
Her forever.
The noise and warmth of the bookshop lingers long after she and Eris step into the night.
Outside, the drizzle has softened. The streetlamps glow hazy, painting everything in a pale golden shimmer. Eris slips his coat around her shoulders before she can protest, his hand finding hers, fingers threading tight.
They walk the short stretch to his townhouse in companionable silence, his thumb stroking over her knuckles the whole way. And even with the drizzle, even with her hair sticking to her cheeks, Nesta feels lighter than she has in years.
The warmth inside of his home chases the damp from her skin.
Eris hasn’t stopped touching her since she said yes. His hand at her lower back. His thumb at her knuckles. His mouth against her hair.
“My fiancée,” he whispers as he closes the bedroom door behind them, like he still can’t believe it. Like he needs to say it to make it real.
She shivers. “Say it again.”
He does. The word scatters across her skin with every kiss—her lips, her cheek, her collarbone. My fiancée. My Stormcloud. My everything.
Her ring is heavy on her finger, and she keeps staring at it like if she blinks it might vanish.
Eris notices. “You keep looking like you’re not sure it’s real. Like you’re not sure I’m real,” he murmurs, pulling her onto the mattress with him. His palm presses to her jaw, thumb stroking under her lip. “Do I need to prove it?”
Nesta breathes out a laugh, shaky. “Maybe.”
He groans like she’s just undone him. Then his mouth is on hers, hot and deep, his tongue stroking hers until she’s clinging to him, until she forgets her name and can only think of his.
Clothes scatter. Her sweater over the chair, his shirt somewhere on the floor, her bra unclasped with one flick of his clever fingers.
When he hovers over her, she thinks she might dissolve under the weight of it all—the love in his eyes, the tenderness in his hands, the aching reverence in his voice.
It starts out slow.
Fingers brushing over her jaw, mapping her face like he’s memorizing her all over again. Lips dragging down her throat, lingering at the hollow between her collarbones.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against her skin. “So fucking beautiful, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”
Her chest squeezes. She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. “You deserve me,” she says fiercely. “You’re the only one who ever did.”
His groan is broken, guttural. “Nesta.”
He peels away the rest of her clothes piece by piece, deliberately, reverently, as if each button undone is a vow renewed. When she’s bare beneath him, his eyes darken, hunger and awe warring in his gaze.
“So perfect,” he whispers. “My love.”
His mouth finds her breast, worshipping her with tongue and teeth until she’s arching, moaning his name. His hand slides down her stomach, and when his fingers part her folds, she gasps, heat flooding through her.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice gone rough. “Already so wet for me. For your fiancé.”
The word makes her clench around nothing, makes her thighs fall wider. He notices. Of course he does. He always does.
“You like that, don’t you?” he teases, kissing the swell of her breast. “Being mine. Me being yours.”
She bites her lip, nods, gasps when his fingers circle her clit just right. “Yes. Yes, Eris—”
“Say it for me.” His eyes burn into hers, his fingers relentless. “Say who you belong to.”
“You,” she chokes, hips lifting to meet his hand. “I’m yours. Always.”
His groan vibrates against her skin. “Gods, Nesta.”
He slides two fingers into her, curling perfectly, pressing against the spot that makes her see stars until she’s trembling, crying out into the dim room.
He doesn’t give her a reprieve.
While she shudders around him, he shifts lower, spreading her thighs and draping them over his shoulders. He nudges her with his nose before he dives between her thighs, his mouth hot on her—hungry, devastating, nipping and sucking until she’s hurtling toward her orgasm.
Nesta’s cry breaks into a laugh of disbelief. “You’re—insatiable—”
He hums against her, the vibration making her buck. “For you? Always.”
His tongue drags over her clit, slow and filthy, then plunges into her, and she fists his hair, grinding helplessly against his face. He eats her like he’s starving, like she’s his favorite meal, like he’s waited his whole life for this.
When she comes, it’s with his name torn from her throat, her body thrumming with pleasure until she can barely breathe.
She’s still coming down when he moves back over her body, mouth wet, eyes molten.
“Eris—”
“I need you,” he rasps. His cock hard and flushed and perfect, demanding and aching against her thigh. “Need to be inside you, Stormcloud. Need to feel you wrapped around me.”
She pulls him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his tongue, groaning when he rolls his hips against hers, the head of his cock nudging her sensitive clit. “Then what are you waiting for?”
His control frays with those words.
He moves to sit up and pulls her with him until she’s kneeling between his legs and he’s sitting back against the headboard. He holds out his hands.
“Come here.”
Her breath catches, but she obeys, swinging her legs over his lap, straddling him. The heat of his cock presses against her, and the sharp intake of his breath is enough to make her shiver.
“Stormcloud,” he whispers, voice gone rough. “Look at you. All mine.”
“Yours,” she echoes, surprising herself with how fiercely the word leaves her.
He kisses her like she’s just given him the world. His hands drag down her back, settling at her hips. “Show me,” he rasps.
She sinks down on him slowly, every inch of him stretching her, filling her until she gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders.
His head falls back, a strangled curse leaving him. “Fuck, Nesta. You’re so—tight, gods, you’re perfect.”
She rolls her hips experimentally and his hands clamp down on her waist, his control visibly slipping. “Careful,” he warns, though his eyes are molten. “You’ll make me lose it.”
“Good,” she pants, and then she starts moving in earnest—slow at first, rocking against him, then faster, her pace driven by hunger, by hours of pent-up need.
Eris bites back a groan, thrusting up to meet her rhythm. “That’s it. Ride me. Fuck, Nes. You feel like heaven.”
Nesta gasps as the head of his cock brushes that spot inside her over and over, pleasure crackling through her. She braces her hands on his chest, riding him harder, faster, until the sounds leaving her are nothing but breathless cries.
“You look like a goddess,” he grits, his thumb sliding between them to circle her clit. “And you’re mine. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you fall apart.”
Her release hits fast, sharp, pulling a ragged moan from her throat as she clenches around him.
He doesn’t let her slow. His hands guide her hips, his thrusts rougher now, pounding into her until she’s whimpering, overstimulated and desperate.
“Again,” he growls, his forehead pressed to hers. “Give me one more, Nesta. I know you can.”
And she does—shattering again, body trembling in his hold.
Eris follows with a guttural groan of her name, spilling into her as he buries himself deep, his grip iron-tight at her waist.
When the storm of it passes, Nesta slumps against his chest, both of them slick with sweat, their breaths ragged. His arms wrap around her, anchoring her against him, his lips brushing her temple.
“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’ll never stop saying it.”
Nesta laughs, wet and shaky. “Good. I’ll never stop needing to hear it.”
He twirls a strand of her hair around his finger, and tips her chin up to kiss her deeply, languidly.
She doesn’t expect him to move again so soon. They’re still tangled, her body heavy against his chest, her cheek damp where she’s pressed into the curve of his neck. But then his hand slips down her back, slow, teasing, fingertips ghosting over the swell of her ass.
Nesta shivers. “Eris—”
“Shh,” he murmurs into her hair. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
Her laugh breaks on a gasp as he lifts her off him, pulling out and gently rolling them until she’s on her back and he’s braced over her. The streetlight gilds him, painting him in gold, making his hair shine like fire, and her chest tightens at how breathtaking he looks—flushed, kiss-swollen lips, eyes burning into hers like she’s the only thing that matters.
“I can’t get enough of you, Nes. Never. Let me have you again,” he whispers, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lower, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. His voice is rough but quiet, almost reverent. “Slowly. I want to savor every sound you make.”
Nesta’s legs fall open before she realizes it, heat surging back to life in her belly. His fingers brush down her sternum, over the rise of her breasts, as though cataloging every inch of her he’s already claimed.
He trails kisses down her throat, lingering over the hollow. Then her breasts, where he lavishes her with soft licks and sucks until she’s squirming, still hyper sensitive, clutching at his hair.
“Eris…” she breathes, half-plea, half-warning.
“I’ve got you, Nes,” he assures, voice rough with awe. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this—” He punctuates with a slow drag of his tongue across her nipple, sucking it into his mouth, making her arch. “Wrecked, exquisite, mine.”
He worships his way down her body, pausing at her hips to press reverent kisses to her softest places, the parts she never thought anyone would touch like this. Every kiss feels like a vow.
By the time he reaches her thighs, she’s trembling. He pushes them wider apart, anchoring them with his palms, and looks up at her, eyes dark. “Watch me, Stormcloud.”
Then he licks into her, slow, deliberate, tasting the mess between her legs. Nesta jolts, the overstimulation shocking, but Eris doesn’t relent. His tongue is slow at first, deliberate, dragging through the combination of them, savoring the mingled taste of sweat, salt, and sex. It’s filthy, shameless, and it makes her pulse stutter in her throat.
Nesta cries out, her back arching, one hand flying to his hair, warring between pushing and pulling. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t tease this time—he devours her. Long strokes, slow circles, the perfect pressure until she’s gasping, until her thighs are quivering against his hold.
“Gods, Eris—”
Her chest rises too fast, her skin too hot, betraying her.
The drag of his tongue is slow, deliberate. As if he truly means to savor everything. Nesta’s breath catches hard in her throat. He laps everything up, groaning low in his chest like he wants every trace of the both of them combined.
Her cheeks flame. She presses her fist against her mouth, desperate not to let a scream escape, but her body betrays her anyway—hips twitching, thighs trembling.
“Gods, you taste like sin,” he murmurs against her, his voice unsteady, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.
It’s too much. Too intimate. She’s overwhelmed from his relentlessness, from the way he lingers at her clit until her back arches off the sheets. She thinks she might cry from it, from the confusion, from the pleasure ripping through the shame.
He doesn’t stop. He eats her until she’s whimpering, until she’s close to breaking again, and only then does he pull back. Her chest heaves in relief and loss all at once as he crawls up her body, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.
And then his mouth is on hers.
The kiss is hot, slow, devastatingly deep. His tongue pushes past her lips, insistent, and Nesta tastes it instantly—him, her, both of them together. She makes a muffled sound, a half-hearted protest, but Eris kisses her gently, coaxing rather than demanding, letting her feel the heat of him, the softness beneath the filth.
She shudders. The intimacy of it is staggering. He’s sharing it with her, making her complicit, and gods help her, part of her melts into it. She feels him harden against her.
When he finally pulls back, her lips are wet and swollen, her body trembling all over again. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, his expression softer than she expects, almost tender.
“Don’t we taste good, Stormcloud?” he whispers. He releases her wrists and cups her cheeks, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb.
Nesta closes her eyes, overwhelmed, her heart thrumming against her ribs.
“Yes,” she whispers, aching and throbbing from his ministrations.
Eris smiles faintly, his forehead brushing hers, his weight pressing her down as if he means to hold her there forever.
He stretches over her again, lining himself up, and pauses. “Tell me.”
Nesta cups his face, breathless. “I want you. Always.”
He pushes in slowly, filling her inch by inch, and Nesta moans at the exquisite stretch, the aching fullness that feels like too much and not enough.
He moves with agonizing patience at first, rolling his hips, stroking deep, kissing her like she’s precious. Every thrust is reverent, his forehead pressed to hers, his hand clasped in hers against the pillow.
Her body meets his rhythm, need clawing up again, and his control slips. His thrusts deepen, rougher now, angled just right until she’s gasping, clinging to him, nails dragging down his back.
“Eris—please—”
He grits his teeth, driving harder, one hand sliding down to circle her clit. “Come with me, Nesta. I want to feel you come around me. I need to feel you.”
He circles her clit, and she does—crying out, body tightening around him—he follows, spilling into her with a guttural groan, collapsing against her with his face buried in her neck.
After, the room is quiet save for their ragged breathing. Eris doesn’t move, still buried deep inside her, still holding her like he’ll never let go. He’s tracing lazy circles on her shoulder, whispering soft, filthy, reverent things that make her laugh and shiver all at once.
“You’ll never be rid of me now, you know,” he says finally, voice gone rough.
“Well, that’s good,” she answers, surprising herself with how steady she sounds. She tips her head up, meets his eyes, lets the words fall. “I don’t want to be.”
For a long moment, he just looks at her—like she’s undone him completely. Then he pulls her closer, his lips against her hair.
“My Nesta,” he whispers, lips brushing her temple. “My beautiful Stormcloud.”
Nesta tilts her head to kiss him, slow and lingering, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. “Forever,” she says softly.
And in the soft hush of the night, with the ring still heavy on her finger and his heartbeat pressed to hers, Nesta knows it will be.