"Graves," Luella whispered. "I don’t—I don’t think any words I know are suitable."
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I know the feeling."
They were alike in that way.
The stone had warmed beneath her, wind rising to match the tempest inside her.
"Thank you for telling me… I’ll guard your secrets."
"Do you understand now—why I lied to you?"
She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. "I understand. Don’t ask for anything more—not yet."
Hope flickered in his deep blue eyes; she couldn’t bear it.
The feel of his hand against her cheek, against her chest, grew to be too much. She was wired to yearn for his touch—just as she was the others. Against all her better senses, she wanted him.
Luella trusted nothing about him—yet her body trusted his touch more than her mind ever could.
He read her wants in her eyes, and he surged forward, lifting her mouth up to his as he pressed his lips to hers.
Graves kissed her softly yet deeply, a careful juxtaposition of what they both wanted and needed.
She craved fierce. But he gave her soft.
The softness did not last for long, however.
His lips were warm in a way that made her realize a part of her was still cold.
His stubble scratched her skin, and she sighed into his mouth. In a flurry of shifting feathers, he lifted her onto his lap, her thighs straddling his. She felt him beneath her—his hardness. It made her press against him, searching and desperate.
He stilled her with a hand on her breast, breaking them apart. "Are you sure?" he rasped, staring into her eyes.
Luella nodded, gaze dipping to his swollen lips. "I’m sure."
She hoped he didn’t press for more. She didn’t want to speak anymore. She wanted to feel. To forget. To luxuriate in the wind.
As he kissed her, his hand dipped between her thighs, sweeping beneath the damp fabric of her panties. He pressed his fingers against her heat. She shivered, wings fluttering violently as the waterfall continued to rush at her back. The spray hit her wings. The sensation was incredible.
"You like that?" Graves asked. "You like your wings touched?"
She nodded fervently.
His other palm spanned entirely over her right wing.
"Oh—" she moaned.
The brush of his fingers lit her up. Az had touched her wings before, but it hadn’t felt quite like this.
"How do you know what to d-do so well?" she managed to ask.
Graves’s stubble grazed her neck as he kissed her jaw, fingers working slowly between her thighs as he continued to touch her wings. "I know which spots feel best. Here." He touched the spotcloser to where her wings jutted from her back. His hand moved higher, skimming the topmost edges. "This spot feels different. Vulnerable in its own way." The sensation of his hand against the edges of her wings felt like a thousand butterfly kisses, ghosting against her.
The fingers between her thighs dove deeper into the pool of wetness that was surely soaking his pants, where she sat on his lap.
He teased her entrance, and she clenched up, fear gripping her.
Would he?
