She felt Maeve’s sniff of disdain like a warm breeze against her temple.Fine. But only because you fed us the good stuff earlier.
Tell the plant-man I like my ears massaged,Oberon chimed in.He should remember that for next time. Also, his ankles taste nice.
Goldie laughed into Splice’s mouth, the sound bright and a little wet with tears. Splice’s hand tightened at the small of her back, and even Maeve paused mid-purr as if to approve. For one ridiculous, perfect second the apartment was exactly what it should be: messy, loud, and entirely theirs.
She felt her cats’ presence retreat, padding off into whatever hidden corners the apartment magicked up for them, leaving her alone with him.
The kisses softened, slowing into something deeper, more reverent. They leaned into each other, every brush of lips a question, every answering sigh a revelation. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, tender as sunlight through leaves.
“You’re extraordinary,” he murmured against her mouth. “Every part of you. Spark and splendor.”
Her heart gave a fierce, aching flutter. “You’re the one who’s extraordinary. Gods, Splice, you’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”
Without a word, Splice lifted her into his arms, holding her close with a steadiness that left her breathless. His stride was sure, unhurried, their lips and breaths mingling in a seamless, silent conversation as he carried her toward the bedroom.
He laid her gently on the bed, as if placing something precious beyond measure. For a long moment he didn’t move, only knelt beside her, eyes fixed as though committing her to memory.
His hands trembled with awe when he reached for her. He didn’t tug or tear; instead, he worked each button loose with deliberate care. The fabric parted, falling aside to frame the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts.
“You are…” His voice rasped, breaking off. He shook his head, as if no words could match what he saw when he looked at her.
Something in his reverence emboldened her. Goldie sat up just enough to pull the dress the rest of the way off, drawing it over her head in one fluid motion and tossing it aside. She met his gaze as she did, watching him watch her, his eyes tracing every curve like a man discovering a masterpiece.
He drew in a breath that shuddered through him, then reached for the lace at her hips. His fingers were gentle as heeased the fabric down, his touch singing over her bare skin. Goldie closed her eyes, a soft hum of pleasure rising in her throat. It was so very different from the raw, consuming passion of the ritual downstairs, but no less wonderful. There was no urgent demand in him, only a quiet, unhurried curiosity, as though each new inch was a revelation he meant to savor.
She opened her eyes again as he shed his clothes. In the soft glow of her bedroom, he was beautiful: all lean lines and strange, perfect geometry, a myth made real. She opened her arms in silent invitation, and he joined her on the bed, their bodies settling together with quiet grace, a perfect fit.
Goldie’s hands moved slowly, reverently, exploring every plane of him. She traced the plane of his jaw, the curve behind his ear, the steady pulse at his throat. He mirrored her, his fingers gliding with cautious wonder, cool against her heat.
“What is this?” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “What does it feel like for you… for theI?”
His eyes fluttered closed, a smile ghosting across his face, pure discovery shining there. “It feels like the earth waking after a long rain.”
Her mouth found his collarbone, trailing feather-light kisses before a teasing lick drew a sharp inhale from him. “Tell me more,” she breathed, fingertips tracing the arch of his shoulder.
"It’s like… sap rising. It’s the moment before a storm, and the quiet after.” He opened his eyes, meeting hers with a fierce, earnest light. “Before, sensation was data. Information to be processed. But this… is feeling."
A soft laugh escaped her, a warm whisper against his skin. "You sound like you're discovering poetry."
"Perhaps I am," he replied, his gaze unwavering.
Their hands found each other in the space between them, fingers lacing together in a silent, sacred promise.
"I want to discover all of you," Goldie whispered, her lips brushing against his again.
He captured her mouth in a slow, sure kiss that spoke of a tenderness deeper than any ritual, a promise more binding than any spell. "And I want to savor every moment."
The kisses deepened, a slow, intoxicating conversation of lips and breath. Emboldened by the tenderness threading between them, Goldie let her hand wander downward, gliding over the solid plane of his chest, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen, before slipping into the heated space between their bodies.
Her fingers closed around his cock.
A sharp hiss broke from his lips, his eyes falling shut as though the sensation undid him at the roots. For a heartbeat he went utterly still, his entire frame drawn taut, a statue carved from startled wonder. He was hot and hard in her palm, the weight and texture achingly familiar yet amazingly new in this hushed, reverent moment.
She stroked him slowly, deliberately, her thumb circling over the velvety crown. His hips betrayed him with a small, helpless jerk, the vines at his sides twitching with pleasure.
“And what does this feel like?” she whispered, her voice a low hum against his skin. “Tell me what you feel.”
For a moment, nothing. Then, a single, dark vine, no thicker than her finger, slid from his waist, curling hesitantly around her wrist.
