"You imagined this?" I smiled, picking up the pace slightly, my bad knee only twinging slightly.
"All the time," he admitted, a flush spreading across his chest. "Is that okay?"
"More than okay," I took one of his hands and guided it to where our bodies joined. "Touch me here."
He followed my guidance eagerly, his clever fingers quickly finding the right pressure, the perfect rhythm. The dual sensation of him inside me and his touch against my clit sent waves of pleasure building through my body.
Our magic continued to mingle, his necromantic energy and my prophetic power creating swirls of purple-blue light that danced around us like the ghost butterflies he'd conjured earlier. It wasn't the explosive magical feedback I'd experienced with Zane, but something gentler, a harmonious blending rather than a collision.
As our movements became more urgent, Milo's control began to slip. "Winter," he gasped, his eyes wide with wonder and a touch of panic. "I'm close, I can't?—"
"It's okay," I reassured him, increasing my pace. "Let go. I'm right here with you."
He came with a cry of surprise and pleasure, his body arching beneath me. The sight of him lost in ecstasy, combined with the perfect pressure of his fingers, sent me over the edge moments later. We clung to each other as the waves of pleasure washed through us, our magic flaring brightly before gradually subsiding.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, skin damp with sweat. Milo looked at me with such wonder and gratitude that it made my heart swell.
"That was..." he searched for words, failing to find adequate ones. "I don't even know how to describe it."
I smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Good? Amazing? Life-changing?"
"All of the above," he laughed softly, pulling me closer. "Thank you for being my first."
"Thank you for trusting me with that," I settled against his chest.
We lay in comfortable silence for a while, our breathing syncing naturally. Milo's fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine, following the path of my prophetic markings.
"Are you okay?" I propped myself up to see his face. "Any regrets?"
"Not a single one," his expression was peaceful. "Well, maybe one tiny regret that I didn't kiss you the very first day we met."
I laughed, relaxing back against him. "That might have been a bit forward. 'Hi, I'm Milo, I raise the dead and by the way can I kiss you?'"
"When you put it that way," he chuckled, the sound vibrating pleasantly against my ear.
A soft clacking sound at the door made us both look up. One of Milo's tiny skeletons had appeared, politely covering its eye sockets with one hand while extending the other to offer us a mug of steaming tea. I had no idea how it was able to carry it, it was bigger than it was.
"Thank you, Jeffrey," Milo called, his voice warm with affection. "Just leave it on the table."
The skeleton set the mug down carefully, gave what might have been a thumbs-up, and retreated, still keeping its eyes covered.
"Your skeletons are surprisingly considerate," I couldn't help being amused.
"They take after me," Milo grinned, pressing a kiss to my hair.
I shifted to look at him properly, struck by a sudden realization. When I touched his chest, something flashed briefly in my vision, an older Milo, his curls touched with gray at the temples, laugh lines around his eyes deeper, but unmistakably him. Still beside me, stronger, more confident, but with the same warm smile that made my heart skip.
The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving me slightly breathless. I didn't tell Milo what I'd seen. Instead, I leaned in and kissed his cheek, whispering against his skin:
"Still alive, still here."
He looked at me curiously but didn't question the words, just pulled me closer, our bodies fitting together as if designed for exactly this closeness.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Rook
