He tasted faintly of mint when his lips met hers, the lingering freshness of toothpaste somehow making the kiss feel unexpectedly intimate. She began to unbutton his shirt, her hands drifting slowly upward, tracing the firm planes of his stomach before spreading across his chest. She eased the fabric from his shoulders, her fingertips following the sculpted line of muscle to the hollow beneath his collarbone, lingering there for the briefest moment before gliding over the broad curve of each shoulder. The shirt slipped gradually down his arms beneath her encouragement until, with a final tug to free the cuffs, it fell soundlessly to the floor between them.
She drew back only far enough to look at him. There was something endlessly fascinating about the contrast between the immaculate gentleman who had arrived at her parents' house only days before and the man standing before her now, his pale hair loosened, his shirt abandoned, his eyes fixed entirely upon her. The artist in her wanted to remember every line of him. The woman in her wanted only to close the small distance that remained between them.
He smiled. “Are you going to look at me? Or…” He reached out, catching her by the waist and drawing her into him so that their lips met.
The meeting of their bare skin stole the breath from her lungs, a soft, involuntary sigh escaping her as she melted into the warmth of his embrace.
The cool freshness of mint dissolved into warmth, and with an unexpected flash of amusement she wondered whether she would ever again taste toothpaste without thinking of him.
Her head tipped back instinctively, exposing the graceful line of her throat, and his lips followed without hesitation, each lingering kiss sending quiet ripples of sensation through her until she could no longer remember where one ended before the next began.
She felt her bra sag as he released the catch, and he spun her, pulling her back to his chest, his arm crossing her chest in order to cup and tease her breast whilst he continued to torment the skin of her neck. Her head rocked to the side and her eyes closed, submitting into sensual surrender.
“Good girl,” he breathed into her ear. “I forgot to ask… Are you on heat suppressor?”
“No.” Her eyes opened and she bit her lip. She really should be, she realized. She was on the human birth control. But her return to her parents’ home had been intended to be a short stay, just for Niava’s wedding and a few small social events, and hadn’t included a proposal from a Fae Lord.
“I am glad,” he purred the words as his other hand slid into her panties. “I’m looking forward to starting a family with you.” Her knees buckled and he chuckled. “Oh, yes,” he murmured into her ear, his hand holding her upright. “Such a good girl, Lysara.”
She drew in a shuddering breath, and released it, her head sagging forward until her chin reached her chest. He kissed the knob of spine exposed as her hair fell forwards. “Yes,” he answered himself. “A man in my position couldn’t ask for a better bride.” There was an edge to his voice that caught her attention despite what his hands were doing to her, and she lifted her head. “Fate is a cruel mistress,” he eased his fingers into her with a groan.
She moaned, her thoughts scattering.
“How should I take you tonight?” He wondered, his voice hoarse. “How flexible are you?”
“Mmm,” she could barely find a syllable, her attention entirely on what he was doing to her body. “Fairly flexible.”
“We’ll see,” he decided and removed his fingers, stripping off her panties, before shoving his jeans off his hips, and stepping free. “Sit on the bed.”
She sat heavily and wondered if he intended for her to use her mouth on him as the position put his cock on an accessible level. He was hard, pre-come beading on his tip, and she licked her lips in anticipation.
“Fuck,” he said, his tone dark. “You look at me as if I am a candy. I like it. But lie back.” He lifted her legs as she obeyed placing her ankles on her shoulder. “Alright?” He asked her his eyes burning.
“Yes,” she was breathless as she realised where this would go.
He braced a hand near her shoulder, reaching between them to adjust himself against her, groaning as he breached her, his entry eased by his pre-come and her slick. For a moment, he paused, his eyes closed. “Fuck, so good,” he said to himself more than to her. “Let me know if it is too much,” he opened his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you…”
“You won’t…” She arched her hips seeking more of him. “I’m not that breakable. I can take it.”
“Greedy girl,” his smile was lecherous. “Wait and I’ll give what you want.” He leaned into her, his bodyweight bringing her legs towards her and sinking his cock deeply as her hips rose. “Fuck,” his groan was filthy. “Just how flexible are you?”
“More than that…” Greedy was an understatement, she thought. She wanted him with a yearning that reached far beyond desire. She wanted the impossible—to draw him so close that they no longer felt like two separate beings, but one.
He braced his hands by her shoulders, bringing her knees to the mattress to either side of her head. “Fuck me,” his voice was hoarse. “That doesn’t hurt?”
“No. Oh god,” she gasped as he ground himself against her.
“Good?” He asked. Her reply was incomprehensible, and his laugh was throaty in response.
He began to thrust. The position opened her fully to him, and he took full advantage, grunting with the force of his strokes, arching his hips into her, slowly lifting, and holding her in place by gripping her legs behind the knees whilst he took what he wanted. His hair fell over his eyes, hiding from her, and his mouth hung slack, utterly absorbed in their bodies meeting.
It was so intense that she wasn’t sure if she would die from the pleasure of her orgasm when it finally broke, her fingers clawing into the bedclothes as every slap of his skin against hers pushed her closer.
The wave broke, and her moan was wordless, her throat silenced.
He held her, as he groaned out the final throes, and his chin slowly dropped to his chest. He was breathing hard now, a fine sheen of perspiration catching the light across his brow. A single bead gathered at the tip of his nose before falling, cool against the warmth of her skin.
When his eyes met hers, something inside her tightened.
The heat that had filled them only moments before had vanished.
In its place was something she could not understand.
Grief.
Raw and unguarded, so profound that for a heartbeat she wondered whether she had imagined it. It made no sense. Only moments earlier he had held her as though she were the only thing in the world that mattered. Now he looked at her as though he had lost something precious.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence stretched between them until, with a slow breath, he looked away.
And then he pulled back. “We should get some sleep,” he said as he disappeared into the bathroom.
Lysara remained where she was for several long moments, staring after him.
Eventually she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.
Her legs felt strangely unreliable beneath her as she crossed to the bathroom. She washed quietly, moving almost automatically through familiar motions before drawing the thick bathrobe around herself and tying it a little more tightly than was strictly necessary.
She rested both hands upon the vanity and lowered her head.
The tears came without quite becoming tears, burning somewhere behind her eyes as she struggled to understand what she had seen.
Slowly, she lifted her left hand.
The emerald caught the light.
Only that afternoon he had slid it onto her finger with such certainty, promising her a future at his side. Now the deep green stone seemed almost to watch her, its polished facets reflecting a woman she scarcely recognised.
She closed her fingers over it instinctively.
What happened?
She could not escape the feeling that something had changed. She simply didn't know whether it had changed in him...
Or in herself.