She kisses me back, and at the same time, cries out. Her back is arching, her body clamping down around my length with so much force that my vision blurs momentarily.
I don’t stop moving. On the contrary, I drive into her harder, as her response matches mine in perfect sync, rising and falling in counterpoint to my thrusts.
One of her hands is wrapped around my neck while the other grabs the ornate backrest of the throne, as she leverages herself against me.
“Ares,” she gasps, and my name on her lips is the only pledge I’ll ever need.
My hand slides between us, my thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves, as she curls. She’s already over the edge. This will just send her spiraling into the abyss. I move my finger just a couple of times before her thighs tense and her internal muscles are fluttering around me as she approaches another orgasm.
“My perfect little curse,” my free hand is tangling in her hair, pulling just hard enough to tilt her face to mine. “Let me see how badly you need your god.”
Her eyes lock with mine, and there’s still defiance, mixing with the surrender. That’s what I love about her.
And then she lets out a sound so broken, so raw, so amazing that some mornings I wake up just to hear it.
I follow her over the edge, gripping her hips as I slam her against me for one last time and empty myself inside her, marking her in the most intimate way possible. My vision flashesdark, power, and something, not quite from this earth, surging from me as my pleasure reaches a new peak.
We remain joined, her body slumped against mine, her short gasps betraying her mortality. My fingers move again over the new wounds. The last time I’ll hurt her. The last time she’ll suffer because of me.
Long minutes pass before she moves, and when she does, her fingers trail along my jawline, then move to my hair, tracing a few loose strands. A few of my warrior braids have come loose, and I didn’t give Brynn time to braid them back together. I used to have someone do them for me. But ever since we’ve returned from McAllister’s estate, Brynn’s been braiding them. I have to admit, sometimes I ruin a few of them just to feel her fix them again.
And judging from the shift in her position, that’s what she’s preparing to do.
“At my feet,” she orders, much more serious than she really is. But I play along, and lift her into my arms, then set her back on the throne as I take a seat next to it right at her feet. Right where she wants me.
But she doesn’t remain there. She jumps to her feet in front of me, unashamed, without the slightest intent to hide her nudity. Then she runs to grab her pants, or more likely, something from a pocket.
“I have something for you,” she says, almost clumsily.
“A gift?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”
She smiles, then closes her hand and makes three quick steps over scattered artifacts until she’s right back on the throne. “Yes, you should.” She chuckles, and it’s not often she does that, and sometimes I’d do anything just to hear it.
I turn to look at her, but she pushes my face away so that my back is to her. Then, she grabs a few strands of my hair and starts playing with them,braiding them together. “I went to this placedowntown,” she says, her fingers still weaving through my hair. “Some kind of potion, crystals, stones, and all kinds of weird things shop. Like a witch shop. Which I don’t believe in.” She makes sure she adds as her voice gains some kind of defensive tone.
“Of course, you don’t,” I laugh because there’s so much she needs to learn about this world. Not witches in particular, more like powers and energies she doesn’t understand yet.
“It’s not the magic that I care about… more like the symbolism,” she extends her hand in front of me, opening her fingers to reveal what she’s been hiding. A metal cuff meant for braids, and at its center, a black onyx stone frames a blood red garnet. “The one who sold it to me said the garnet stone is used to tie another person, a warrior in my case,” she explains. Her voice becoming uncharacteristically unsteady. “While the onyx seals the bond.” She makes a small pause. “It seemed fitting for you, but if you don’t want it...”
This time, I do turn to look at her.
“I mean, I was thinking you could wear it. Like you could have something of … mine. Like I’m wearing your marks.” She stops to look at me, and since my poker face doesn’t betray anything, she panics. “Okay, but it’s not a mark,” she says, much more rushed, almost apologetic. “Fuck. Forget it. This was a bad idea. Just forget this ever happened,” she mutters, trying to stand up. But I wrap an arm around her legs, making her sit down on the throne.
I don’t say anything for a few short seconds because I just can’t help myself from feeding my ego with the desperation in her eyes, but then I let a smile rise to my lips. “I fucking love it.” I grab one of her hands and put it to my lips to kiss it. “And I couldn’t be more proud to wear your mark.” I look at her, serious this time, and I can spot the moisture that’s gathering in the corner of her eyes.
“Okay, turn around so I can do this,” she turns my head, more by force than willingly, but I let her.
She doesn’t handle her emotions well, maybe she never will. I understand, because I’m not all that different. But people like us don’t really need words. We express what we feel, what’s inside, differently. Through acts, through touches, through gestures that say more than a thousand words.
She starts braiding again, telling me I should stay still so I won't ruin her work— like that could distract me from the real meaning of this.
But suddenly, she breaks the silence, picking up right where she left off. “The woman said the stone carries what she calledthe curse of love,”she says, trying to keep her voice even, but I can’t help myself from turning my head and look at her at the wordcurse. “You’re the one who called me your little curse. I thought it was... appropriate.” This time, she says much more relaxed. But I don’t turn my head back. I watch her as she finishes the braid, one that falls right behind my ear and down on my shoulder, then she slides the cuff onto the braid, carefully working to fix it there so it will never fall off. Because I’ll never take it off.
The small jewelry weighs almost nothing, but I feel its weight, grounding, and tying me to the only woman I’d give even immortality for. I marked her, now she’s marked me in return.
The sensation of being tied to one single soul is so strange, so foreign to me before, yet so addictive.
I keep my head tilted back against the throne, resting on her thighs as she works on my other braids. My eyes are half-lidded, but I can still spot the satisfaction in her gaze. She knows she owns me now, but in fact, she’s owned me since the day I first saw her.
