Ludos Imperiales 13
Summary: Rhys and Reader return to the River House after the latest order from the Emperor
Content Warnings: Blood and Descriptions of Injuries (a little more wound tending because they deserve it, as a treat); Drug Use (we're just going to keep using mirthroot as a pain reliever instead of Opium like the Romans used to use); Jealous!Rhys, just a lot of sexual tension, but nothing NSFW (yet)
Previous Chapter/Masterlist
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The River House looms ahead like a crouching lion, the few lights shining through the windows like eyes watching my approach.
Starlight shifts uneasily beneath me, like she can sense my apprehension. I run a hand soothingly up her neck as we enter the front gates, an entourage of the Guard following behind me. Father had sent someone for Rhys before dinner was over, the lights in the guest wing still on. I’d hoped to check on Azriel and Cassian before coming home, but the Guard had made that impossible.
Anise is waiting at the front door as I approach with one of the stable boys at her side to collect my mount.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek when I see her. This is going to be unpleasant.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming home,” she says by way of greeting.
I dismount, pausing briefly to scratch Starlight under the chin before I pass off her reins. “You have a funny way of showing your concern.”
She doesn’t wince, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show an ounce of remorse for slipping me that faebane. My chest tightens; it is an effort to keep my chin up. How could she do this to me?
“I am only looking out for you. As I promised your Mother I would.”
The Guard disperses behind us to attend to their individual duties as I stand there staring up at the place that had once been my sanctuary. This was the one place in the Empire that was mine; where Father couldn’t get his claws into it. It was my safe place to escape to and the one person in this entire godsforsaken place that I thought I could trust had ruined it.
I don’t want to argue with her. These last couple days have been bad enough. I can’t keep my shoulders high as I walk the couple steps to the doorway. When she reaches out to me, I flinch out of reach.
“Don’t touch me,” my powers stir beneath the surface of my skin.
Her weathered hand drops to her side and for a moment we stand there in the doorway, strangers.
I am glad that I never told her the truth, glad that some part of me knew that there were some things she didn’t need to know. I’d thought I was protecting her, but in the end it had protected me.
“You have to see that I made this better,” she tries.
I turn wordlessly and enter the house, leaving her to jog to keep up with me. Half way down the hall, I remember how she’d snuck up behind me last time and turn just as she catches up. Darkness slips from my fingers as I face her, leaving the ether weaving like smoke between us.
She eyes it curiously. “You’re in control again.”
“Go to bed, Anise.” My voice is cold. I sound like my Father.
Now she flinches. “I am helping you.”
“Go,” I repeat. “If I need something from you, I’ll send for you.”
She retreats back a step as the words hit home, as she realizes just how much damage she’s done. I’ve never, not even as a child, treated her like she was a part of the staff, she’d always been family and I’d always addressed her as such. I’d even gotten after other members of the staff for treating her like she was anything other than family. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes and I bite the inside of my cheek as I watch her come to the same realization.
“Little one,” she whispers, voice cracking.
The words come out through my teeth, “Go or I’ll involve the Guard.”
She runs her hands over her skirts and squares her shoulders, even though her breath shakes out of her. “You will understand my actions one day.”
I wait in the hall until I hear the door to her wing of the house open and shut, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides the whole time. Only when I hear the door shut do the tears start flowing and I barely make it to my chambers before a sob slips past my lips. My back hits my door as my body slides out from beneath me and I bury my head in my knees to muffle the noise.
Exhaustion makes all my bottled emotions all the worse and everything from the last few days comes flooding in at once. Anise. The Arena. My mates being flogged and dumped in those awful cells. It is just one thing after another. On top of this lovely new predicament: If I don’t come up with some kind of clever lie, the Illyrians rotting in an Imperial prison are dead and I’ll never have my mates together in one place again.
I don’t know if my head or my heart is heavier. I sit there in the dark for a long time, until there are no more tears left to cry. My body feels like dead weight as I try to shuffle my way into the bathroom and clean off the city and all its troubles from my skin. Every move feels like a lifetime as I finish and slip into some sleep clothes and snag the mirthroot from my bedside table. It is sheer force of will that makes me abandon the call of my bed and head out for the kitchen.
Goddess when was the last time I’d slept?
The House is quiet save for the patrolling of the Guard outside and I wearily make my way through the kitchen and into the cellar. Just a few more minutes; I need to know that Rhys is ok. That the journey over didn’t ruin the Healer’s work on his back. Then I can sleep for a couple hours. I can come up with a new plan in the morning. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right in the morning.
The secret passageway is lighter than it should be, the tunnel a shade of gray that tells me there’s light coming from the other end. Distantly, I can hear shuffling.
Anise is the only other person in this House who knows about them, if she’s here, trying to do something to my mate…
My powers flare from my fingertips as I force my legs to move faster, steps rushed as I round the bend. Light spills from the open doorway on the other end, but it’s not Anise standing there in the tunnel. It’s Rhys.
I come to a sliding halt, nearly tripping as my mind catches up with my body.
He keeps a hand on the wall, nearly holding himself upright with his fingertips, bandaged chest heaving from the exertion.
“What the Hel are you doing?” I blurt as I rush to his side. Is he stupid? He’s going to ruin his back beyond repair moving like this!
His dark hair falls messily into his eyes, sweat dripping off the ends from how hard he’s been fighting his own body just to get this far. “I thought…” he fights to catch his breath, even as he raises a hand to touch my cheek. “I felt something down the bond. I thought you’d been hurt.”
Selfless bastard.
I wrap my hand around his wrist. “I’m all right.”
His thumb soothes over my cheek. “You’ve been crying.”
I draw his hand away from my face and pull it down over my shoulders, so the bulk of his weight is now on me and not the wall. “You need to get back into bed.” Gingerly, I slide an arm around his hips, where the damage is the least. His whole body is damp with sweat.
He grunts as we turn back the way he’d come, body moving as sluggishly as I feel. “Why were you crying?” He asks through his teeth.
Goddess he’s heavy! It takes every bit of strength I have to let him use me like a crutch to get out of the tunnels, and the going is incredibly slow. If I make it back to his bed without dropping him it’ll be a miracle.
“I’m just tired,” I say as we pause at the altar. He slips his arm off my shoulders so he can fumble for the door and I rush to close it before he hurts himself.
“Liar,” he huffs.
I get his arm repositioned around my shoulders once it’s closed, strength renewed slightly from the break. Fitting through the door is a little tricky, but finally we manage to get into his chambers and onto one of the beds. His ruined pants leave mud and blood stains over the stark white sheets.
I climb around behind him on my knees to check his bandages, not at all surprised by the fresh blood stains that spread across them, but no less frantic in my search for new ones. I flitter about the room, rummaging through drawers to find fresh cloth and a basin for clean water. Where did I leave those oils and things I’d brought to them the other night? His whole back needs to be redressed.
I’m about to leave the room to grab things from the kitchen, when he catches my wrist to stop me. His grip is not at all strong, I could easily slip from his grasp, but the motion halts me in my tracks all the same. He might have repeated the question, but I was so busy trying to find things, it didn’t register that he had spoken through all the noise in my head.
“Hey,” he says gently, eyes full of concern. “Stop.”
He pulls me closer so I’m standing between his legs, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body. “I’m ok.”
Nothing about any of this is ok. “You shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.”
His hand drifts up from my wrist all the way up my arm and over my shoulder so he can touch my cheek again. The move has to be excruciating, his mouth pinched tight, but it doesn’t stop him. “Tell me what happened.”
Stubborn Illyrian. Of course I’m not going to talk about my problems when his are so much worse, but of course he’s not going to act like they are problems when I’ve clearly been crying about it. We’re both stubborn like that I suppose.
One of us has to bend somewhere, and I’d rather he not jump out of bed to follow after me again.
I sigh as I lean my forehead down against his, relishing in the contact with him. The bond feels as if it hums in relief every time we touch and some of that tension that has sat coiled in the base of my spine for the last couple of days eases in his presence.
“Anise was waiting at the door when I arrived,” I admit.
His eyes go dark for a moment. He apparently wasn’t so delirious in his cell that he’d forgotten what she’d done to me either. The tether in my chest heats as some of his anger shoots down it.
“She’s the only real family I have,” the words slip out of me despite my best attempts to swallow them. “And she isn’t even sorry for it. She said someday I’d understand.”
“There’s no excuse for doing that to you,” he growls. “She could have gotten you killed.”
It’s not that drastic, it’s not like she threw me into the Arena. “We have enough enemies,” I sigh. “It would have been nice to have someone in our corner.”
“You’ve got us,” he assures as I absently trace my fingers along his bruised jaw. There’s several days worth of stubble growing out of his face; I think I like him a little scruffy looking. “Others will follow.”
I frown a little at that, remembering the conversation with my Father.
“What?” The frown does not escape him.
“You just reminded me of the conversation I had with my Father over dinner.” I pull away to resume looking for bandages. As much as I could stand here, tracing the planes of his face for hours, memorizing every inch of him until it’s burned into my memory, talking about all this is starting to make me antsy again. I need to do something with my hands. I don’t exactly want to be looking him in the eyes when I tell him my Father told me to seduce him.
“A comparison I’d rather not have made,” he huffs.
I return a moment later, carefully balancing a bowl full of water in one hand and bandages in another. “Are you able to turn around?”
He tries to, I have to give him credit for even attempting after all the movement he’s already made tonight. He gets all of an inch, face twisting in agony, a sound somewhere between a sob and grunt slipping past his clenched teeth.
It’s going to be too painful and too hard for me to try and turn him around, my best bet is to climb around the other side and pull him back to the opposite edge so that cleaning him up doesn’t soak the bed and leave him to sleep in a puddle.
“This is going to hurt,” I say apologetically.
He huffs as he tilts his head back, leaning against my shoulder as I get my hands on his hips. The jasmine and citrus scent of him envelops me. The urge to lean forward and press my lips to his neck is overwhelming as the bond roars for more contact. My mate is in pain, and it feels like that little tether linking us together demands I do something, anything to fix it.
“It already hurts, it can’t be worse,” he says.
“On three?”
He draws a shaky breath. “On three.”
“One,” my fingers dig into his hips. The sheet, theoretically, should move with his weight, making it easy enough to slide him backwards, but I know even this amount of pressure will break open whatever scabs might have formed along his back. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok, Darling,” he assures, but I still feel him tense in preparation.
Which is exactly why I pull him backwards on two instead, so he’s not so tense it makes it worse.
“Fuck!” His shout is loud enough to wake the house and now I’m tense, waiting for one of the Guard to come running, but no one does.
“Sorry.” I say once I’m sure its safe.
His breathing is ragged as he asks, “What happened to three?”
“You were too tense, it was gonna make it worse.” As is, I see a new swatch of blood staining his bandages.
“Cruel, wicked thing,” he huffs, as I reach around him to untie the knot of bandages at his chest.
I move as carefully as I can, wincing every time blood sticks the bandages to his flayed skin. The wounds look better today, if you can call deep gouges in his skin better. The swelling has gone down. Despite the fresh blood, the cuts are still clean, no sign of infection to be seen.
I pass the mirthroot and liter I’d brought from my chambers into his hands in silent offering as I start the terrible process of cleaning out the cuts. The room soon turns hazy under the smoke as he brings it to his lips and breathes in deep. The pain has to be terrible if he isn’t even trying to fight me on using it.
I try not to make a mess of the bed, but the sheets are probably already ruined considering he’s still wearing the pants from the Arena. He really shouldn’t sleep on them after this, but at this point in the evening I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get him out of them and into a clean bed.
“What happened with your Father?” He asks as the mirthroot starts to take effect, his shoulders relaxing, breathing evening out.
I wince as I dab at a particularly deep cut. “He’s getting impatient.”
Rhys snorts at that.
“He wants to know if you had allies,” I continue. “He doesn’t think you could have beat him without any.”
“What did you tell him?”
He deserves to know about his men; I hate that I have to be the one to tell him. “He’s been trying to get it out of your men.”
He flinches like I’d hit him.
“His attempts have been unsuccessful, even Amarantha is at a loss. Brannagh offered her services in trying to pry the information from their skulls.” How exactly do I go about explaining this next part? “I told him to wait, that you trusted me enough to tell me eventually.”
“He believed you?”
I use a dry cloth to dab the water off his skin. I don’t want any extra moisture beneath the bandages. “He made some… suggestions on the methods.”
He turns his head enough to look at me, the collar scraping under his chin. “He wants you to torture me?” There’s a bit of laughter in his tone, but there is genuine curiosity there.
“Not exactly,” I’m stalling now, embarrassed to even say it out loud.
“How do you ‘not exactly’ torture someone?” He retorts.
I take his hand and raise it gently, so he can hold one end of the bandage in place so I can start rewrapping his chest. “He um…” I take my time, making sure the lines are even and not too tight, pausing every now and then in case he needs to tell me this is making the pain worse. “Well he sorta suggested I appeal to the bond…”
I know I’m not making sense, but my cheeks are such a deep shade of crimson I can feel the heat coming off them.
“Darling?”
“He might have told me I should try to seduce you, since that’s all he thinks a bond is anyway.” The words come out in such a massive rush I’m not even sure he can make sense of it. It certainly takes him several seconds before a grin splits across his face.
“You’re messing with me.”
“I genuinely wish I was.” I grimace as I reach around him again to tie the bandages, hands near trembling as the knot tightens over his heart. The beat is steady, even thanks to the mirthroot, unlike mine, pounding in my ears from the embarrassment.
“But you agreed to do so?” There’s still a hint of amusement in his tone, but I do not miss the octave in which his voice drops, becoming huskier. His scent changes, just slightly, just enough for me to catch it.
It’s not like I hadn’t made out with Azriel a couple days ago, I shouldn’t be surprised by my mate’s reaction. Yet the blush still tints my cheeks, heart still hammering beneath my rib cage as I climb off the bed to clear away the mess I’d made. Distance is good. I need to keep my head clear; I definitely don’t need to be thinking about him like that when he’s as injured as he is.
“The alternative was letting Brannagh have her fun, or Amarantha,” just the thought of either of them being anywhere near my mates or their men makes my skin crawl. If they so much as look in their direction…
I give myself a little shake as I toss the soiled water out the nearest window and finally turn back to face him. Half bathed in moonlight, he looks like he’s waiting for someone to start carving his likeness into a slab of marble. There’s an ethereal glow in the flecks of silver in his eyes, like a thousand glittering stars. Even bloodied, beaten, he’s still the most handsome male I’ve ever laid eyes on. I could stare at him for hours and not grow weary of it.
“He only needs to think it’s happening,” why am I rambling? He knows this. This is part of the game, I only need my Father to think I was obedient. “I didn’t… it seemed like the right thing to tell him.”
His grin is devilish, teeth glinting in the moonlight and I can’t help but feel like I just caught a lion in the middle of a hunt. “You’re not even going to try?”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting out the response I want to give him. This is stupid. We both need rest. He needs to get out of his ruined clothes and sleep. I need to focus. This is not the time to be flirting with this idea.
I move slowly, unsure of myself now as I kneel at the side of the bed, hands reaching for the laces on his muddy boots. I know he can’t bend to take them off. There’s still ash from the Arena over the laces, black smudges dotting my fingertips just from putting my hands on them. He almost died. I almost lost him and Cassian to that Arena.
Rhys’s eyes widen. “I was kidding.”
“I know.” There is some resistance in the leather, but I manage to get his boots off and toss them near the door. I can clean them tomorrow. There’s probably blood in them, if the stains on his socks are any indication.
My hands drift slowly up his calves, over his knees and thighs. He’s all lean muscle beneath his ruined pants.
The violet of his eyes rapidly shrinks until it’s nearly all pupil as I lean forward to untie the laces of his leathers. They have to be Illyrian made, there’s nothing quite like these in the Empire. I definitely didn’t find them in the markets the other day. It’s fitting. I think a piece of me might die if I had to see him in Imperial clothes, dragged around like a dog on a leash.
“I think…” I check the door to make sure no one has crept up on us when I wasn’t paying attention. “I think I can crack the collar, so that you can heal faster.”
He slowly, stiffly raises a hand, fingers caressing my cheek. “You know you can’t do that. He’ll know it was you.”
“There has to be some way for me to help you?” I press.
“You just did, Darling,” he returns. Voice so low it makes a little shiver run down my spine.
I hope and pray my own scent isn’t so obviously changing.
“Can you lay down, so I can get these off you? You shouldn’t sleep in them.”
If he wasn’t so clearly in pain, the way he flops onto his side on the bed might have been comical, face buried in the sheets with a muffled grunt. I help roll him fully onto his side and then make my best attempt at being quick to pull his pants over his hips, trying my hardest not to catch his underthings and leave him completely naked in the bed.
Still, that damn blush won’t leave my cheeks, because I’m undressing my mate and we’re both very aware of each other at this moment.
I toss the pants onto the floor with his boots. I’ll deal with the mess in the morning.
I don’t ask for permission as I crawl under the covers; I don’t think I need it, not when he immediately draws his arm around my waist, fingers tapping along my hip in a silent plea to be closer. We’re nose to nose now, sharing a breath and I can’t stop myself from tracing my fingers over his bandaged chest.
“Thank you,” he says softly, fingers idly toying with the loose fabric of my nightgown.
“We should probably try to get you a bath in the morning.”
“Only if you join me,” he purrs.
“Could you even raise your arms above your head to wash your hair if I didn’t?” I retort, trying to keep the conversation from going too far.
“Probably not,” he concedes.
My fingers travel higher, over that awful collar, the gorsian stone feeling like it saps some of the ether beneath my skin from a simple touch alone, and over his stubble lined jaw. It’s a pleasant sensation against my smooth skin, but I’m more interested in the yellowing bruise beneath.
“Who did this to you?” My fingers trail higher, to the cut beneath his eyebrow. “You didn’t get these in the Arena.”
“Couple of the guards the night before,” he says, eyes drifting closed under my ministrations. Exhaustion ripples down the bond, I genuinely don’t know how he even has his eyes open, let alone how he managed to make it half way down the tunnel looking for me.
“Their dead males,” I promise.
He snuggles closer, bandaged chest brushing my own, lips ghosting over my neck as he rests his head against my collarbone. My whole body shivers under the contact, heat pooling between my legs. I know my own scent has changed.
“You’re going to be too busy seducing me for violence, Darling.”
I snort despite myself. “I’m serious, Rhys.”
“So am I,” he says with a yawn. “I think you should give it your best shot.”
A challenge the bond shimmers in response to, the heat pooling between my legs turning into an ache that’s becoming hard to ignore. “Ask me again tomorrow,” I grumble, fingers dragging absently through his hair as I fight my neediness to shut my eyes. We can figure this all out tomorrow. Tonight I can hold my mate. Tonight, that’s enough.
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It’s by some miracle that Anise doesn’t come storming down the secret passage in the morning; especially since I sleep way past breakfast, the sun high and streaming through the curtains by the time I finally drag myself awake. Rhys still slumbers beside me, exhaustion keeping him under, even though he’d kept an arm around my waist all through the night.
He’s even more beautiful when he’s asleep, somehow. All the sharp planes of his face relaxed, no worry to furrow his brow. My hands itch to trace the fractions of light splaying across his bronze skin, following the patterns over his full lips and high cheekbones, but I won’t risk waking him.
I can hear the Guard patrolling outside. I don’t know how often they actually come inside to ensure their prisoner hasn’t escaped. Yet, I allow myself a few selfish moments to lay there, drinking him in all the same. What I would give for real mornings like this. No collar around his throat. No Guards outside. Just the two of us, tangled under the sheets, exploring each other.
My chest aches at the loss. What I would give to be normal people. I would get up and make breakfast in a small kitchen, no staff to worry about gossiping over my every move; I’d bring my mates breakfast and wake them up with gentle kisses. There would be no pain, no wounds, no Empire.
“You’re going to burn a hole in my head,” Rhys says, voice thick with sleep, startling me out of my revery.
Despite my better judgement, I lean forward and press a kiss between his eyebrows, his skin warm from the sunlight and not a fever for the first time in days. That’s a good sign, at least.
His arm tightens around my waist, holding me against the firm planes of his chest.
The bond thrums, I get a flash of blatant need down it so intense it makes my head spin. My eyes go to his lips, watching with bated breath as he takes me in, eyes once again dark and hungry. It’s a hunger I feel rumbling beneath my own skin. The bond aches for the contact.
And yet there are footsteps outside the door, and a key rattling in the heavy lock they’d added to ensure there’s no escape.
There’s no time for words, Rhys releases his grip on me and I all but throw myself out the secret entrance, barely getting the door shut before the main one opens and the patrol stomps their way in.
I wait on the other side of the closed door, listening for telltale signs that someone had caught me, but it never comes.
There’s no sounds of them giving Rhys trouble either, just them checking to ensure he hasn’t somehow slipped out a window. Never mind they’re all too small for him to fit through, they have to be sure.
I wait until I hear the lock click back into place, but despite my base instincts, I turn and head for the opposite door. Everything in me screams to turn around, to find out what direction this morning might have otherwise gone before the interruption, but the rational part of me wins out. I need to make my presence known in the house. I need the staff to see me moving around, doing something other than hiding out. I will have to check on Rhys later.
---
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I find a free moment. After stealing some food from the kitchen, an Imperial steward had arrived with a mountain of paperwork to fill out from the GamesMaker. Turns out, even in an “undeserved” victory, there were still bets to sign off on, and payments to make. I spend several hours sifting through the paperwork, followed by a second steward with demands from the Arena’s Healer. At least they bring news of Azriel and Cassian with them: Their wounds are healing, about as slowly as Rhys’s, but slow progress is still enough progress to ensure neither of them will lose their wings. The steward refuses to allow me to send supplies back for my mates’, they only want payment for their work and the paperwork signed for the Healer so he has proper documentation that I’m the one who ordered him to do this. Seems there’s bureaucracy even in the underbelly of the Empire.
There’s a dull headache echoing in my skull from pouring over all the numbers. I rub my temples absently as I slip back through the tunnel to check on Rhys. I can’t ask any of the staff for help in this, it’ll only lend ear to gossip. I’ll have to do all this myself.
He’s sitting upright, on the edge of the bed so he can watch out the chamber door, when I enter.
“You didn’t come right back,” he pouts.
“I unfortunately have appearances to keep… and a lot of paperwork,” I say, making a face. I hadn’t realized rebellions still required all this paperwork.
“Appearances didn’t stop you from kissing Az,” he says lowly.
“Is that what this is about?” I ask as I come to stand between his legs. Instinctively, I take his chin between my forefinger and thumb, tilting his head back so I can look him in the eyes. “You’re jealous?”
Those violet eyes gleam in defiance. I know that I’m only holding him like this because he’s allowed it. Even with the gorsian stone in place, he is far from powerless. Everything about him screams predator, like a large cat in the wild, sleek and beautiful, but deadly nonetheless. I’d be no match for him in a fight; at least out of practice and untrained in combat as I am now. Maybe one day, with time and training (I can picture it now: Cassian, shirtless, drenched in sweat marching me through the paces…) could the playing field be level, could I see just how equal we are. But not now, as I am.
It’s a heady rush that trails down my spine, sitting hot and heavy in my lower belly.
“Yes,” he says, voice barely a whisper, like he doesn’t dare admit he wants it outloud. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve barely been able to think every time you walk in the room. Everything about you is captivating.”
My heart skips a beat in my chest. What does someone say to that?
“And I told myself that I would be patient, that I had to be patient, that being honest about how godsdamned badly I’ve needed to know what you taste like is a danger to all of us. I have managed to tamp down on that urge every day… and then Azriel comes back one day after you’d asked for him to accompany you and he can’t stop talking about how soft your lips are, or the way you card your fingers through his hair. He won’t shut up about how your body feels again him and damn me I almost walked through that fucking tunnel and risked everything just for a single taste.”
I am royally and utterly fucked.
“And I know that it’s stupid, but I can’t stop myself from wondering why you haven’t tried with me. What’s so wrong with me that you would choose him first? That you could make that move with him and not me?” His hands move tentatively to my hips, as if he’s scared that I’ll evaporate if he touches me.
“You have orders to seduce me and yet you pull back.”
I’m in too deep to back out now. I can’t just walk away from this one and pretend that I don’t have an answer for him. I’ve never seen a male look so vulnerable in their lives. This battle hardened, Illyrian rebel is pouring his heart out onto the floor in front of me, and I think I love him all the more for it. Because he could, and maybe he should be, cruel and harsh and angry at the world, angry at me for being born what I am, but he’s choosing not to.
“I never meant to hurt you,” I say and he gives a nearly imperceptible shutter of relief. “I’m just…” The words lodge in my throat, heart hammering beneath my ribs. He’s so close, it would take a mere heartbeat to put my lips to his. “I’m scared that if I start I won’t be able to stop.”
And that’s the truth. I barely kept my head with Az and that was after we got caught and nearly ruined everything before it even had a chance to start. We’re in even deeper now and how can I let my heart get the better of me? How can I be selfish when people are dying?
“There’s also the matter of you barely being able to stand,” I mutter.
He grins then, face aglow with starlight. “My mouth is still working fine, Darling.”
“I guess we could test that,” I say, leaning in a hairwidth closer.
His hands grip my hip tighter in anticipation. I can practically taste his desperation through the bond and our lips haven’t even touched yet.
“I think we should,” he agrees. I press my lips to his in a quick peck, intending to tease him and pretend to pull away, but before I can even get anywhere, his hand jumps from my hip into my hair, tangling in the long strands as he pulls me back in for a real, proper kiss. I feel the rumble of a moan against my palm as I brace myself against his chest. The jasmine and citrus scent of him envelops me as he slips his tongue behind my teeth and there’s only one, dangerous thought in my head: I’d been right; now that I’ve had a taste, I never want to stop.
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@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime,
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@marrass, @lia-h-r, @celestialzdiviner, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @tenshis-cake,
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@of-outerspace, @erencvlt, @corvusmorte, @lindsayjoy444, @raccoonworld,
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@byteme05, @art1012, @the-tummo, @kiwi-mothball, @onthewaytotimbuktu,
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@dreamloud4610, @justtryingtosurvive02, @sapphichotmess, @nishinoyastoes, @acourtofladydeath,
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@amelya5567, @cardanenthusiast, @auraofathena, @edance2000, @acourtofbatboydreams,
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@getosimping, @georgiadixon, @throwing-up-butterflies, @marv3lsold13r, @mystirica-18,
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@lucilia9teen, @elaselat, @deadlydemon, @erin-reads-stuff, @crytipcme, @manicmanuscription, @fhgsvsbnh
As always let me know if you wanted to be added to the tag list, and thank you all for being so patient I know it's been a hot minute since I updated. Might make the next chapter smutty as a treat.