Work Text:
Lucien stared.
The beauty. The terror. The majesty of what he saw.
She stood at the window, her hands gripping the sill, her eyes closed. Vines poured around her like smoke made solid, a million undulating, curling fingers to do her will. They climbed the walls with dizzying speed, thorns sprouting from their thickening limbs; they seized hold of bricks and pulverized the mortar, leaves coating the bark in glossy dark green, interrupted by bursts of white flowers whose scent was intoxicating. Jasmine and honey. The scent of a summer afternoon.
Elain.
The River House was crumbling beneath Elain’s fingers. Her eyes were closed, their rich brown obscured; pulses of power rose from her, the living energy of the earth itself. Needles of panic pushed at his skin. Could he get to her? Would she hear him if he called? Would the vines kill him if he tried to reach her?
Careful not to let his feet sink into the deepening carpet of leaves and roots spreading over Feyre’s rich carpets and punching through her paneled walls, Lucien moved slowly into the room. Toward the window. Toward Elain.
The vines had climbed her arms, curled around her wrists, knotted themselves in her hair. White flowers dripped down her dress, wreathed her head. It was as if she was crowned with stars. Her shoulders sloped under the weight of the vegetation.
“Elain,” he managed, hoarse and horrified. “Elain, please…stop this. Stop.”
He edged closer to her, hoping to reach her before the vines engulfed her entirely. “Elain.”
She looked up. His heart dropped.
Her eyes were blasted white, obscured by a vision. The first power that the Cauldron had given her, channeling this new one…what was it? It was wild and dark and punishing, running through her like a river. And her lashes were wet with tears.
He knew better. He did. Unknown magic should not be disturbed. But to watch her suffer — he could not bear it. He reached out and grasped her hands.
The world fell away.
Darkness ribboned with searing light. Power, and surrender. Elain sat in the middle of a maelstrom, her hair lifted in the silent storm. At her feet, the darkness was absolute; squirming and boiling like tar. A crown of white jasmine sat on her curls, and as the flowers bloomed, their radiance shot out in razor-sharp beams. He was in there with her. She opened her eyes, which were curiously flat and dull, as if they’d been erased from a drawing, and spoke. It sounded like the wind; a torrent of whispers talking as one.
THE LONG NIGHT IS ENDING. THEY WILL WAKE FROM THE DREAM AND FIND IT REBUILT.
“Rebuilt? Rebuild what?” Lucien could not fathom what she might be talking about.
A twitch of amusement. THE WORLD.
The roar built of whispers vanished, echoes spreading like ripples.
Lucien?
He grasped for the familiar; her voice, trembling, afraid.
Are you here or is it another dream?
He squeezed her hand. I’m here.
Did you hear it?
Yes.
She slumped forward, and he tried to catch her. I want to go home.
We are home. I promise. I’m here with you. Just…just wake up. Wake up, Elain…
“…please.”
It was his own voice, speaking aloud; she was staring at him, her own glowing brown eyes back to normal in her ashen face, the jasmine stars bright in her hair. The floor was a riot of vines and leaves, but they stood in a clear circle.
He reached out to touch her, to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
She cringed away like he’d struck her.
The bolt that sent through his chest felt as if it might have killed him. He stood up, and brokenly stumbled out. Away, was all he could think. Before what’s left of my heart cracks like an egg.
—————————
Why. HOW. How had he seen her? How had he entered her dream? Heard her vision?
She raced down the hall after him, and sensed him speeding up. With a burst of acceleration, she caught up just at the top of the stairs, grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him around to face her.
“Don’t you dare,” she spat, her rage spilling into her veins and accelerating her heart; the vines encircling the house listened, flexing like innumerable fingers, eager to move at her direction. He felt it. She knew he did; he tensed under her hand. “Of all the people in my life, don’t you dare run away from me.”
“What IS that?” he exploded, that peculiar light gleaming at the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t flame. It was brighter, like sunbeams. “What manner of power lives in you? Why does no one know about it?”
She looked stricken. “I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone.” She looked around, as though noticing the destruction for the first time. “It’s never been this bad…”
“Well, everyone’s going to have to know about it now,” he retorted. “Since your sister’s fucking palace is in ruins.”
“How did you get into my head?”
“I don’t know —“
“What did you do?”
“Nothing! I was trying to reach you! I was afraid you’d die, Elain. I thought you were going to die.” He exhaled, visibly making an effort to calm himself. The lights at his fingertips faded, ever so slowly, back to flesh.
“You didn’t think that I could control it?”
“No, and you wouldn’t have either if you had seen it,” he snapped. “If you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about that, there’s nothing else to say —“ he began.
“Maybe by you,” she hissed. “But I have plenty more.”
Stone-faced, he stood, waiting.
“I’ve been hiding it for months. I was trying to help you,” she said, all in a rush, loosening like soil under a flood tide. “All of you. Feyre and Nesta and Nyx, and you. So you wouldn’t have to…to deal with this mess. With my problem. I didn’t want you to be caught up in this.”
“I have always been caught up in it,” he said bitterly, his voice hollow and strange. “Ever since your sister killed my friend and took on a curse she didn’t understand. Even before you were Made, and I knew what you were to me. I can’t just relinquish that, no matter how much you might wish me to; and what’s more, I never wanted to.”
Heat coiled inside her, so quickly she wasn’t sure how to let it out. Strike, like Nesta would? Strategize, like Feyre? Let it go, like she always had, hoping it would dissipate like smoke on the wind?
No. No, she would not. She took a steadying breath.
“I didn’t ask for you —“
He snorted. “I know.”
She almost bared her teeth; why wouldn’t he listen? “I didn’t ask, but I always needed you. Whenever it was darkest in my heart I always, always needed you! And there was never a time when you weren’t there, even when you kept your distance! I hated you so much for it. So much. I wanted you to leave.”
“Fine.” He crossed his arms.
“I wanted you to leave so I could hate you in peace. Hate my new life. My new body, my new circumstances. Because I did. It hurt to breathe, and to move, and to feel…I wanted to let it all go, and I thought about that so often. Every day, for a while. I dreamed about eating faebane, or stabbing myself with Azriel’s dagger, or…or just fading away. Into the power. I knew it wanted me.”
He twitched, his hands digging into his upper arms. She felt the bond contract, like he’d wanted to pull her close.
“And you were there. Always with warmth, or concern, or a present you thought I’d want, and I did, but I didn’t because I couldn’t have it without having you, and that was too dangerous; or some kind of damned squeeze in my chest like you wanted to hold my hand. To hold me. I didn’t want to. Gods, I didn’t want to. Until one day —“ she faltered.
Brave. Be brave, enough to damn the consequences…
“One day when I knew I was getting better, when I was cooking with Nuala, and I was actually hungry, and we were talking and things seemed normal, and all I could think was how much I wanted you there…”
His face might as well been a carving. Unmoving. Her stomach dropped.
“…so you could see how finally things had become good, and the only thing to make them better would have been you. And by then I didn’t know — I couldn’t tell — if too much time had gone by, if your life was better without me in it, because I had worked so hard to keep you away.”
The silence filled her ears with cotton. The leaves on the vines rustled, caught at the top of the cliff of expectation. She didn’t breathe. He didn’t breathe.
“You couldn’t tell?” His voice was so raw it tore at her heart. “You couldn’t tell that even if it made my life a living hell, I’d do whatever was necessary to make yours better?”
Her laugh was wild. “So here we are, in a hell of our own making.” Let there be no more secrets. It was useless, anyway. He’d always seen her. “How do we get out of it, do you think?”
His face — his beautiful face, angular and foreign and Fae, once the symbol of everything she had feared — crumpled. And the bond squeezed in her chest, hard enough to steal her breath. She reflexively reached out, unable to stop herself.
But he was already moving.
He swept her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, and his hands plunged into her hair, sweeping it away from her face, and he was kissing her like she was the only source of air for ten miles, like a drowning man. She opened for him right away, her hands scrambling on his shoulders and face and neck. The scent of him, the bright tang of pomegranate and the smoke and sweetness of whiskey, filled her nose and mouth. The vines around them rustled, a thousand whispers…leave them be, the sun and the earth together, they make the world whole…
He tore open a winnow, rushing around them, bringing them back to his room, somewhere in the heart of Velaris…Elain couldn’t care less where they were, only that he held her and wasn’t letting go, that a ward sealed them inside, that no one could come between them ever again…
Her back pushed against something hard — a door frame —and his leg slotted between hers, bracing her firmly against the wall. She let out a soft sound that disappeared into his mouth. His hands slid over her in a fiery trail, over her collarbone, down her chest and, with only the slightest pause, over her breast, which pearled in aching anticipation. She tangled her fist in his hair and pulled him closer. It was chaos to kiss him like this. It was peace. Hell receding, heaven cascading down. She’d always teased Nesta about the physical intensity of her relationship with Cassian, but now, with Lucien’s leg lodged against her core so tight that even through her dress she felt her pulse in her cunt, she thought maybe she finally understood. She knew what it was to kiss, to have sex, to be in love; this, this was different. This was madness and freedom and heat. It was uncontrollable.
She pulled at his jacket, the fastenings popping under her fumbling fingers. He nuzzled against her chest, twisting under her hands to shed the jacket, which fell to the floor with a light thump, followed by the flop of his shirt. His skin…she’d never felt anything so glorious, so soft between the scars. In her eagerness, she clutched at him, leaving long red scratches on his shoulder. He hissed and bit at her lip, hard enough that she gasped, and then he was kissing her again, tongue stroking hers, their noses dueling for space. He grabbed her at the back of her legs, cupping her ass in a swift motion, and picked her up. Immediately she wound her legs around his waist, uncaring of the skirts that tore in her urgency.
He spun around, and she was falling, holding him tightly, landing backwards on a bed, with him atop her. She knew it was cruel, with their clothes still in the way, but she bucked against him hard, feeling the stiff length of him under his trousers.
He pulled back, and she reached for him, whining her displeasure at losing contact.
“Ssshhhh,” he whispered, and then pressed a finger to the laces of her dress, and dragged it down toward her navel. A bite of smoke hit the air, and the dress loosened from her torso; he had burned it off her, too impatient to wait. It should have annoyed her. She had nothing else to wear, after all. But it caused a curl of flame to spiral from her core to her belly. And his hands were on her now, skin to skin, no more flimsy barriers. He leaned over her, nose nudging hers, drawing her attention.
“Do you really want this?” he whispered, searching her face.
She arched up to kiss him again in answer, her hands pulling at the button on his trousers. Gods, if his skin wasn’t on hers soon she’d burst into flames.
He pulled up and shed the boots and trousers, kicking them away across the floor, and pushed her further up on the bed. Somewhere at the border of her mind it occurred to her that she had been embarrassed the last time a man was naked before her; now, she was only wanting to touch him, to have him touch her. Craving. He leaned away and she heard the groan of a drawer in the bedside table. When he straightened up over her, he had a little bottle in his hand.
“What’s that?” she breathed.
”Just a little oil,” he said, drizzling some onto his fingers. “It helps, I’ve found.”
“With what?”
“Making things feel good,” he replied, with a vulpine grin. She tightened her legs as he poured a slow stream onto her, then spread it around. It warmed from his fingers. Oh, gods. He smoothed the slippery liquid down, into her crevices, between her folds. She bit her lip to keep a ragged moan from escaping, and tugged at his hair. Too long. Too long without his lips on hers.
But he stayed away from her mouth as he bent back over her; his mouth trailed down her neck, he nibbled gently at the skin between her breasts, his hands slid up the backs of her legs, pushing them up and apart so she was spread before him…
…and oh, his tongue.
Curling inside her, every motion of it a tingling rush of heat and cold straight through her abdomen like an arrow. Up, and down, and up again…that filthy…fucking…beautiful tongue…she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing and distantly heard her own moan, breathy and wanton over the rushing in her ears. Gods, she hated him, possibly even more than she loved him, for doing this to her…reducing her to a fire fanned by the wind, embers in her very bones.
He stopped…mother damn him, he stopped…and looked up, and smiled, that sly fae smile that was like kindling to her nerves, the gleam of gold behind his slotted eyelids as he took in her writhing body above him.
“Do you want more of that?” he murmured, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.
She sobbed, nodding desperately, pushing her hips up toward his mouth. Oh gods of wind and flame and sun and dark, she’d do anything as long as he just kept going…
He let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Then I’m going to need you to cooperate, Blossom.”
She pushed up onto her elbows and glared at him from beneath her tangled hair. “You bastard.”
He raised an eyebrow, a scorch of flame across his brow, ignoring the scent of her, heady and rich in the air. “Insult me with the truth? No, you’ll have to do better than that,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of her hip as his other hand whispered against her folds. She whimpered, and he kissed further down into the crease where her leg met her torso. So close. Not quite where she wanted him…fuck…
She didn’t realize she’d said it out loud until he looked up and grinned. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, pure heat in his voice, and gave her a long, luxurious lick, a slide up her slit that was electricity and pressure and sparks flying off iron smoldering in a forge, and drew a moan from her that made her sound like a feral beast…and he stopped again.
Elain hissed in frustration and tossed her head back. Was he going to keep her pinned, dangling this sweet release in front of her as long as he could? Yes, she realized, he would tease her, torture her. Because he could. His arms wound tight around her thighs and his nails scratched oh-so-gently near the top of her mound. It was an acute difference in sensation, a tiny tickling pain, adding pieces to everywhere else that she felt him — the scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his lips, the heat, and then the cold, wherever his tongue touched. A shudder, violent and unbound, rippled over her.
“I have a proposition for you, Blossom,” he whispered against her feverish skin. “If you ask nicely for what you want me to do…and be specific, mind you…I will give you anything you want. But you have to tell me what you want.” She opened her eyes, focusing with difficulty. “Do you want to play this game with me?”
She swallowed. What was she afraid of? He wouldn’t hurt her. But after this…if he gave her control and then saw how little she knew, how hesitant and unsure she was…would he want her anymore?
He smoothed his hands gently over her skin, cradling her anxiety that was beating through the bond. “If you don’t, that’s all right,” he said, serious all of a sudden. “But I think you might like it.”
She took a deep, steadying breath, shut her eyes, and nodded. For a moment, he went very, very still. In surprise, her eyes flew open and sought his face…which was tight, drawn. He looked almost in pain.
“Lucien…” she said in alarm.
“No,” he replied quickly. “I’m fine. I’m all right. I just…I never thought we’d be here. I never thought you’d want me.”
Her heart swelled in her chest, the bond warming like a second pulse inside her. “I do,” she said, gently. “I have…for a long time now.”
He tightened his arms around her legs, and she felt a thrill down the bond, a curiosity, need mixed with playfulness. “Tell me,” he whispered.
What did he want to know?
“I…dreamed of you,” she started hesitantly. “Of us…in my bed. In the River House.”
His nose gently swiped at her folds and she clenched, feeling her wetness well inside her.
Oh.
“I…I was on top of you…”
His nose nudged her apex, scenting her, sending a spark through her pelvis. She faltered, and he stopped, murmuring “go on.”
“…and you were…your mouth was on me…”
His tongue swept over her, firm and strong and confident, and she let out a cry of surprise. He was going to do everything she said.
“…so many…small movements…ah,” she squirmed as he enacted her words, the tip of his tongue dancing around where she was most sensitive. “…and then flat against me.”
He pressed his tongue up, and the pressure and warmth sent bright streaks across her eyes. “FUCK,” burst out of her mouth, louder than she wanted. He laughed, gleeful at how undone she was underneath him.
“Don’t laugh,” she whimpered. “I don’t know how to say it, Lucien. Please.”
He nudged her with his nose again, his thumbs playing at the outside of her folds, pressing, massaging, pushing. She felt her fluids start to drip, she was so wet, and he dipped a finger into them and swore, low in his throat. His finger slid around her entrance; she contracted tight. “Ask me again.”
“Please…” she moaned.
“What do you want? My fingers? My tongue?”
“Your…your tongue.” She breathed out and whispered, “And your fingers.”
“Both?”
“Please, Lucien. No stopping. Oh, mother of mercy, please…”
The Mother must have heard her, because Lucien leaned in again, and gave her no quarter as he pressed two fingers slowly inside her. His mouth moved up her slit to rest against her clit, sucking firmly the entire time. But now, he increased the pressure of his hand, sliding up to hook against her front walls, pressing, pressing, stroking, pressing. Elain couldn’t stop herself; her hips moved as if given life of their own, fucking herself hard and fast against his hand. One of her hands gripped her breast, seeking friction anywhere she could get it; the other slid down her abdomen toward his face, between her folds, his tongue still swirling against her apex. He let her, a groan gutteral in his throat; she couldn’t tell what part of the bursts of pleasure came from his fingers, her fingers, or his tongue. She didn’t care. His name was a shivering sigh inside her mouth, over and over again, until without warning, heat exploded along her nerves, and tremors overtook her. Tears pooled in her eyes and her vision blurred and died, color and black blooming like oily drops on water. “LUUCIENNNN…” she wailed, again and again, as he didn’t stop, kept going…gods, there were threads unspooling inside her, she was going to die on his fingers, on his face…and she flooded, with a sharp sound, shaking uncontrollably, his lips sealed against her and chin soaked with her pulsing juices. He moaned himself then, busily sucking and savoring.
Time stretched out, seconds expanding into relentless minutes. She couldn’t tell how long the bubbles in her blood pushed her insides into swirling, tumbling circles. It felt like it went on forever. She couldn’t bear it; she never wanted it to end.
When it finally did, it stole all the strength from her muscles. Weak and exhausted and eroded, numb from hips to toes, she plunged her fingers into his hair and pulled. Up…up, damn you, I love you, my beautiful Blaze, I love you, I love you. The bond was racing with joy, both of them too raw, too tired to do anything but feel it, like a shore battered by tide. His lips…she needed him, needed his mouth, his kiss, his warm arms…
He obliged, sliding up her body, trailing her own moisture over her stomach, following her goosebumps up to her breasts and neck, and finally her lips, where they kissed hungrily.
Tasting herself on his mouth, shreds of her mind came back to her. Her poor sweet Lucien, he’d spent her almost senseless without taking anything for himself…part of her wanted to give back the annihilating pleasure he’d given her if only to punish him for being so good, so cauldron-damned good, the bastard, my beautiful bastard prince of sunshine and fire. She slipped her hand around his cock and bared her teeth in a wild smile as he sucked in a sharp gasp; then wrapped one leg around his waist and guided him toward her entrance, slick with the oil he’d smeared on her and soaked with her own release. He resisted, just enough that she pulled back and met his eyes.
“Are you sure? We don’t have to…” he whispered, and she nodded, oh yes, she was, more than sure. She wanted him at her mercy. As desperate for her as she had been for him. She pushed at his chest until he sat up, and she sat up too; then, holding his gaze, demanded, “Lie back.”
He complied, stretching out onto his back, as she straddled him and slid forward against his cock, her hand sliding up toward the tip and twisting. It twitched in her hand and his throat constricted. “Where’s the oil?”
He shook his head dizzily, thoughts scrambled like egg, every motion loose and trembling as the fluttering of threads in the wind. “I think…it fell on the floor.”
She pushed up onto her knees and looked over the edge of the bed as he made a petulant noise at the loss of her touch. She smiled, pressing a kiss and a light scrape of her teeth to his shoulder…be patient, love, just a little longer…and leaned over the edge of the bed to grab the vial, which indeed lay discarded on the floor. Her legs were still wobbly enough that she lost her balance. With a yelp, she tumbled over the side; he sat up, sweeping his arms under the sheets to catch her, hands hot on her thighs to keep her from hitting the ground. For a breathless moment, they hung there, and then burst into riotous laughter. Elain felt the warmth inside of her grow, reaching out tendrils, seeking him again; rolling back onto the safety of the mattress, lips and tongues eagerly searching one another out.
When she broke the kiss, his eyes widened at the sight of her atop him, dripping some of the oil into the palm of her hand. And then closed with bliss as she stroked him, smoothing the oil over the soft skin, gently but intently, her eyes on his face.
“Do you like that?” she asked, searching his expression with her big brown eyes.
“Blossom,” he whispered, then his face contracted as her thumb probed the slit at the head of his cock. “Yes…yes.”
“I’m doing it right?” she said, softly, continuing her slow up-and-down.
“Mother of mercy, yes.”
“I want…” she stopped, trying to find the right words, as she kept stroking, applying steady pressure, hoping this was working, was it working? “I want to be good for you. Like you were for me.”
His eyes opened; in the good one, pupil dilated to near black, she could see him struggling to focus. She slid her other hand up his chest, marveling at the slice of his collarbone and the dip at the top of his sternum, and he grabbed her wrist to loosen her grip. Then he tangled his fingers with hers.
“You want to be good for me?” he whispered, and she nodded, lifting up and leaning forward until she could fit him, hard but slick with the oil, against her entrance. “You are. So, so good. Please. Tell me…more. Tell me how.”
“I want to take you…inside me…” She watched him as she slid onto him…so slowly, so gentle…he held rapturously still for her. The stretching might have hurt, like it had with Graysen, if they both hadn’t been so slick with their fluids and lubricant; but it was not at all painful, only growing pressure and sparks of bright pleasure. She kept a grip on him to stay steady, and feeling the breadth of him just barely inside her, parting her walls slowly and smoothly, she let out a low, vibrating sound.
He sat up on his elbows instantly. “Did I hurt you?”
Tears sprang to her eyes, her vision blurring. She shook her head, near-violently. “No. Fuck no, gods, Lucien…it’s so good…I can feel you everywhere…oh.” Her voice died a little more with every thrust, every push that brought him further in.
He collapsed backward, his arms sliding up her legs to rest near her hips, squeezing gently at her muscles as they spasmed, trying to keep her movement slow and even.
“Elain,” he whispered, and it turned from breath to moan. “Cauldron drown me…you feel so fucking good.” His head arced back, spine arched, and she thought, I could kiss him there on his throat, just there…and astounded at how bold she felt, she just leaned forward and did it. No more locking herself inside herself. It was so free. He sighed low in his throat as she tasted his skin. It was like she could feel every tiny thing about him, coming through and flooding her awareness with him, with all the beautiful things he could do and that she could do to him.
She slid further onto him. So full…their fit so swollen and slick…he groaned, mouth slack, and she nipped at his lower lip. Let me, she thought, and the bond rolled in her chest with the tide of her desire. Let me take you.
It took another few slow, blissful moments before she came gingerly to sit on his hips, holding as still as she could. They paused, chests heaving.
“Are you all right?” he panted, fingers dancing around her waist.
She took in a gulp of air and nodded. “What…what do you want me to do?”
He pulled her hands forward and placed them on his shoulders, bracing her with her back at a steep angle, She let out a soft, startled sound; when she moved, everything changed. Their faces were close now, his flame and heat radiating enough to warm her all over. It was exquisite. She would never get used to it, never not want it. “Roll…uhm. Roll your hips…forward.” He sounded breathless, like he wouldn’t be able to talk much longer. She didn’t think she could either.
So she tried to talk with her body instead. The way the earth talked to her, in sweeps and gusts and needs and wants that felt rough all around, hacked out of the rock that lay beneath everything. She took him in, again and again, sliding up and down, going from aching fullness to blazing, needy emptiness with each roll. Her heart raced. The second heartbeat next to hers matched it. “Fuck, Elain,” she heard him moan, a rhythm so steady it could have been a prayer, over and over again. He lifted under her to match the roll of her hips, and her mind evaporated. She couldn’t think anymore; it was all too much, fire on a mountain, rocks clashing in chasms, water rushing up to cover everything. She wanted only him, only Lucien, her light and anchor. Her blaze in the darkness. Her home at the end of the world.
And with a deep breath, a gasp, and a stutter of his hips, he came. Filling her, warming her to the backbone. It brought on her own climax, less strong than before but still rippling around him, carried away by the rocking of their bodies. She collapsed limp atop him, wanting his touch everywhere. His skin everywhere, slick and sticky and burning against hers.
It was a few minutes before the brightness faded behind her eyelids. He shifted and slid her toward the side, where she landed softly in cool sheets and shuddered with aftershock at the drag and stretch of him pulling out of her. She clenched around nothing, her body grabbing for more, begging for more. He slumped into the pillows, lying still, the hiss of their urgent breathing slowly quieting.
She thought he might already be asleep — certainly this exhaustion, pleasant as it was, needed to be satisfied, and she knew men were tired after the act — but he reached out an arm and scooped her toward him, touching her up and down, massaging the curve of her ass and the dip of her waist, up, up her torso until his thumb skimmed the swell of her breast. She dove into him, legs winding around his, tucking her head against his chest and bringing her arms up to press against him. It was messy, sweaty, beautiful. Not at all like she had imagined it, but nonetheless — perfect.
He kissed her, hard and dark and demanding, one hand firmly tangled in her hair and pulling her head back to meet his, tongue sweeping into her mouth and teeth scraping her lips. She moaned against his mouth. What had he done to her? It was everything. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more.
He was too busy kissing her to hear what she said the first time she said it, the tip of his tongue tracing little patterns over her pulse. But she insisted, pressing her nails into the skin of his chest in rigid little crescents, just close enough to pain that, his attention caught like a fish struggling on a hook, he looked into her eyes.
“Again,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed with shock. “What did you say, Blossom?”
“Again,” she murmured, an edge sharpening in her voice.
“You’re insatiable,” he whispered, his voice pooling just underneath her ear. She shivered, her body come alive again.
“Fuck me again,” she said, and there was no hesitation there. “Until we’re both…too tired to go on.”
He shook his head like he was trying to clear cobwebs from his brain. “Elain, you’ll…you’ll be sore, we can’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she said, threading her arms around his neck and wrapping them tightly closed. Now she had him, he wasn’t getting away, not again. “Do you want me to ask nicely?” His eye dilated suddenly, surprise flooding his face. Delighted at how she affected him, she gave him her best approximation of what she thought of as Lucien Mischievous: a smile, eyes hooded, coy.
“Please, Lucien,” she murmured into his ear, pressing against him. “Will you show me more?”
He closed his eyes and his hands curled around her back, the stroke changing from soothing to stimulating, from gentle to possessive.
“Do you…should we try something different?” he asked, his voice rough from the attention she was giving his neck and collarbone. She dragged her tongue across the protrusion of the bone, nodding, tasting salt and savory and growing urgency.
“Yes,” she whispered. His hands tightened around her before loosening again.
He released her and sat up, then turned to guide her to lie face down on the bed, and fitted a pillow under her hips and upper thighs. She wiggled with impatience, and he lightly smacked her ass with one hand, then smoothed his palm over it. “Greedy,” he said lightly, his tone smoky with his own arousal, but amused, too. “Hold still.”
She tensed as his weight pressed her down into the mattress. His fingers slid between her legs, spreading her, smoothing more of the oil on her, mingling it with her fresh wetness and the residue of their earlier climaxes. She was trapped; she couldn’t move; she didn’t expect to like it, but oh, the sweet surrender of it…it was like being drunk, or in some kind of frenzy.
Frenzy. Was this what it would be like to truly be mated to him? To accept the bond?
She gasped as he slid into her, his hips pushing her forward against the pillow. She rocked, bucked backward, forcing him deeper, and the pressure from the front and the back increased. She let out a breathy little wail. Different, he’d said. Mother of mercy, that did not do it justice. It was even better than before, the heaviness and heat of his cock notched right against the very spot that had made her flood against his face…
“Lucien,” she sighed. She felt him smile against her ear, and his arm snaked around her waist.
“Tell me to stop if it hurts you,” he said. She nodded, her breath coming in bursts, frantic for him to move.
“Relax,” he whispered, and she did, her body melting into the bed, shocks swimming inside her blood, spreading through her gut and up her spine. Gods, to feel this way forever.
And as he moved, inside her and above her, she wept with joy at the sensation of it. To have this. To have him. She’d suffer again, all of it, to feel this with him now.
Earth and sun, together, the world outside murmured, to any of the dreamers who would listen. Together. To banish the long night.