Splice lifted his head, his eyes blown wide with a mixture of awe and raw, burgeoning lust as he stared down at her. “Goldie,” he breathed, her name a prayer.
His mouth crashed down on hers, the earlier tenderness giving way to a fierce, consuming hunger. This was a kiss of possession, of a man starved for a taste he was only justdiscovering he craved. He plundered her mouth, his tongue stroking against hers in a rhythm that was both a duel and a dance, and she met his ferocity with her own.
His hands continued their exploration, a slow, meticulous worship that set every nerve in her body alight. He traced the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the swell of her hips, his touch both a question and a claim. When his fingers brushed the damp heat between her legs, her back arched off the bed with a sharp gasp. The flowers above them pulsed in unison, their light intensifying, their scent deepening.
He broke the kiss to trail a line of fire down her throat, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her collarbone.
His mouth continued its devastating descent, over the curve of her breast, his tongue flicking out to taste her nipple. She cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as pleasure, sharp and blinding, shot through her. He suckled her, a low, guttural sound of pure satisfaction rumbling in his chest. He was learning her, mapping her, and in doing so, he was discovering the vast, uncharted territory of his own desire.
Goldie cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as pleasure, sharp and blinding, shot through her. He suckled her gently at first, then with deeper intention, a low, guttural sound of satisfaction rumbling in his chest. He was learning her, mapping her, and in doing so, discovering the vast, uncharted territory of his own desire.
But Goldie was no passive offering.
Her hand slid between them, fingers curling around the hard, heavy length of him. He gasped as his hips bucked instinctively into her palm. He was hot to the touch, impossibly solid, pulsing with a life force that felt both deeplyhisand borrowed from something far older.
Above them, the green light from the vines shimmered, leaves fluttering like breath caught on the edge of a moan.
She smiled, wild and wanting, and pushed herself upright.
With one swift, fluid motion, she tangled her fingers in his vine-like hair and pulled him in for a bruising kiss, then used that startled breath against his lips to flip their positions. She surged up, tackling him with all the power in her body, and pushed him onto his back.
The mattress bounced as she straddled his hips, her thighs bracketing him, her hair falling in a copper curtain around them both.
Goldie looked down at him, flushed and trembling beneath her, and grinned. “Mine,” she whispered, like a spell, like a promise.
She started at the base of his throat, her tongue tracing the line of a vein pulsing there, tasting the salt and magic on his skin. He tasted of rain-soaked earth, something green, and a deep, masculine musk that was uniquely his. She moved lower, her lips and tongue mapping the hard planes of his chest, her teeth gently grazing his nipple. A sharp hiss of breath was her reward, and she felt his hips buck beneath her.
Empowered, she continued her descent, her mouth searing a hot, wet trail over the hard ridges of his abdomen. When she finally reached his cock, she took him into her mouth, a slow, deliberate claiming.
A strangled groan tore from his throat, his hands fisting in the sheets, his body going rigid beneath her. Goldie smiled against him and began to lavish him with slow, meticulous attention. She relished every inch of him, the strange textures, the way he throbbed on her tongue, the helpless sounds he made when she hollowed her cheeks and sucked a little harder.
Suddenly, a vine unfurled from his body and slithered between her legs. It circled her clit in a single, maddening loop before beginning to stroke, slow and deliberate.
She tried to pull back and protest this thoroughlyunfairadvantage, but his hand came up, gently but firmly holding the back of her head.
“Stay,” he commanded, his voice a raw, broken rasp. “Take me while I takeyou.”
She had no choice. She was trapped in a feedback loop of exquisite torture. Every slow, deep pull of her mouth on his cock was met with a relentless, expert flick of the vine against her clit. The sensations warred within her—the drive to give him pleasure, to push him over the edge, and the selfish, all-consuming need building in her own core. The flowers above them pulsed frantically, their light a strobing, dizzying dance, their scent thick and intoxicating.
The vine picked up its pace, circling and flicking, a devilish, maddening rhythm that pushed her higher and higher. She could feel his climax building, his body trembling, but her own was closer, a tidal wave about to crest. With a final, desperate sob against his skin, she came undone. Her orgasm ripped through her, a violent, convulsing wave that made her body seize.
She collapsed, her mind a blissful, empty void. He was still impossibly hard inside her mouth. After a long moment, she lifted her head, and glared at him.
“Not fair,” she growled, surging up and crawling over his body until she was straddling his chest. She kissed him, a hard, punishing kiss that was all teeth and tongue and promise. It was a kiss that said,You have no idea what you’ve just started.
He met her fire with his own, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her flush against him. Then, he rolled, reversing their positions in a seamless motion. She was on her back again, pinned beneath his solid weight, her hands trapped between their bodies. He was in complete control once more, and the lookin his eyes was no longer playful. It was a raw, aching, desperate need.
He looked down at her, his gaze tracing every feature of her face as if memorizing her. He lifted one hand, the movement slow and deliberate, and gently brushed a stray strand of her glittering hair from her forehead. His fingers, cool and slightly rough, stroked her cheek with a reverence that made her heart ache.
He lowered his head until his lips were just a breath from hers, his voice a raw, broken whisper that shattered her completely.
“Every moment before you was a half-life, Goldie,” he murmured, his leaf-green eyes shining with an ancient, unbearable love. “You are the first real thing I have ever known.”
His whispered confession, raw and breathtakingly honest, shattered the last of her playful defenses. All the teasing, all the fight, dissolved into a wave of love so fierce it stole her breath. This was it. The truth of them, laid bare in the glowing, magical grotto of their bedroom.
She looked up at him, eyes shining, her smile trembling on the edge of tears.
“I used to sparkle my way through everything,” she whispered. “Charm and quips and glitter, whatever people needed me to be. It was easier than letting them see the parts that hurt.”
