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“What if Fate tells Mydusia about us?” I breathed out.
Coen huffed a small laugh and continued tracing my cheek. “Fate doesn’t work like that, little hurricane. She isn’t loyal to any figurehead, or else every faerie king and queen in history would have had a vigate.”
Right. As Barberro had once explained to me, vigates were rare enough to be revered. Fate rejected most couples who entered her temple, pleading for a bond stitched together for eternity.
Which brought me to my next fear…
“What if she says no, Coen? What would happen to us?”
I’d been imagining it over and over: the two of us walking out of whatever the hell the temple looked like, heads lowered, an invisible wedge pushed between us at the knowledge that Fate hadn’t determined us worthy of loving each other. Maybe our first interaction shouldn’t have been him throwing me over his shoulder and marching me off to an alleyway. Maybe our first kiss shouldn’t have been a fake one to disguise the fact that he was giving me a magic suppressant. Maybe our first times saying we loved each other shouldn’t have been followed by memory loss and a stab to the heart.
What if Fate was looking for something less… messy?
Coen’s brows furrowed, pained understanding darting over his expression.
“What would happen to us if she said no?” he repeated and shook his head. “Nothing, Rayna. I’d still be just as in love with you as I am now. I’d still want my future to be you. And if Fate disagreed, then I’d give her the middle finger, put a ring on yours, and keep choosing you for the rest of my life anyway.”
Relief surged through me. My head cleared, fingers tingling as if all the feeling had coursed back into the tips of them. If Fate said no, Coen and I wouldn’t be over. She could determine our future, maybe, but not our love.
“And if she said yes…” I mused.
“Then we’d get the added benefits that Nara and Barberro enjoy.”
A bond that transcended all other magic. Mind-to-mind communication no matter the distance. And—
“Would your dick really grow by two sizes?” I snorted.
I honestly couldn’t imagine Coen’s any bigger. It had started straining in his pants since the moment I’d put that sponge against his chest, but he hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to himself at all. Only me.
The moment I flicked a glance down to check if the situation remained the same, my pulse quickened. He was still bowed over me, hands fisting the blankets on either side of my neck while I lay naked beneath him. And yes, the situation remained the same. My legs tried to clamp together to smother the sudden need for friction, but Coen himself was in the way, fitted between them.
His nostrils flared. Pupils skated down.
“I doubt it,” he finally said, though I hardly remembered what we’d been talking about. “Barberro’s magnified vision probably makes things appear bigger than they actually are…” In my head, his voice rumbled against my thoughts. But let’s not mention another male’s name right now, okay?
Okay. I reached out and ran my fingers down the line of his abs. Maybe I should take a look at yours, though. Size comparison for before and after, you know?
As soon as the thought slid out, I wanted to slap myself on the forehead. I actually lifted my arm to do so when Coen caught me by the wrist, pinning my arms above my head near the pillows of the berth.
I didn’t need my arms to pull him closer. My Object Summoning was precise enough, controlled enough to drag his mouth to my lips. And when the taste of us melded together, I completely liquified.
He crawled over me, tongue diving deeper, hands roaming up and down my body as if tracing the mold of my very existence. Now that his lower body was closer, I used my magic to tug off his pants and wrapped a hand around his cock.
“You got that measurement down?” Coen murmured in my ear.
I laughed, and he used the moment my head came back to put his tongue on my neck. His canines scraped against my delicate skin, not enough to break it but maybe enough to leave a mark, and God, I needed him inside me right now. Not just for the friction, but for the closeness, the oneness this moment could give us.
My hand tugged him nearer. Coen tutted, and then his own hands were there instead. Grazing over my clit with too much tenderness, lighting every nerve ending until my core was tumbling and tightening all at once.
“How long have you been soaked like this, little hurricane?”
His voice was gruff, veering on a groan. I pumped him slowly, my fingers squeezing around his girth.
“Probably—for about as long—as you’ve been like this,” I panted.
He groaned against my neck. Victory sparked through me, but only for a moment before his strokes between my legs became harder, more punishing, and I melted into a writhing mess beneath him.
His fingers pushed in, curling in the perfect spot. Stars scattered across my vision. The tension inside me uncoiled at once, a great wave crashing down.
