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I huff but purse my lips in understanding while the heat cloys at my insides. Just a little longer, I hold out. “So, what stopped your motivation?”
“The night you discovered the secret to Master Ivory and the mines. I recognized the fire in your eyes. I offered my soul harem, but it was too late. And when you screamed my name during your consummation, I knew then if there was any hope whatsoever, I needed…” he pinches the bridge of his long, aquiline nose before dropping his hand to the side to conclude, “to let you go.”
I wrinkle my nose, lifting my chin. “You let go too much!”
He sighs and kneads his brow. “I believed you were happy with Allysteir. You were finally his true bride.”
My laughter blows through my cheeks, and I almost double over. Above me, Ary rolls his eyes, and without another word, sweeps me into his arms. I inhale a sharp gasp. Heat swarms my cheeks with a fresh blush, but I somehow recover and coil my arms around his neck. “Allysteir is a lovesick boy. But I want?”
“A lovesick God of Death?” he teases while carrying me closer to the tree.
“I wantyou, Ary. For one night.”
His mouth crashes against mine. Cold and bitter enough to cause me to shiver, but my warmth counteracts his. My blood ignites from his delirious mouth plundering mine. Ary’s tongue traces my lips, delving inside to taste me deeper while his hands roam along my neck, my arms, the sides of my body. Gasping and moaning into his mouth, I lift my fingers to his robe, only for Ary to set me on the ground. Before I may protest or try to touch him again, the God of Death seizes my wrists and pins them above my head to the tree. I inhale deep, licking my swollen lips, but I thrust my hips, my only struggle beneath his dark force.
Hovering a hair’s breadth above my mouth, Aryahn Kryach murmurs, “I warned you I would catch you, little wonder. You wooed me and taunted me for months.” His eyes deadpan with mine as he grins with a secret revelry. “Now, it’s my turn.”
“Oh!” I gasp when he binds my wrists with his shades, tender but unbreaking. Tiny bolts of lightning tingle my spine, prickling the hairs on my body to static.
Heat rockets my core from Ary’s words, the image of the God of Death wooing me, seducing me. Now, the shift on my body suffocates me. Flushed warmth spreads to my bosom. My nipples turn erect to strain against the thin shift.
When Ary reaches up to release my hair from its confining braids until all my waves waterfall down my shoulders, I arch my neck, leaning forward, lips starved for his. My rouged nipples peak through the transparent shift, and I know the God scents my arousal.
At first, he brushes the backs of his knuckles along my one arm. I clench my teeth and squeeze my eyes over tears, recognizing the taunt in his delay. He sniggers, but I don’t open my eyes, surrendering myself to his control as he builds the tension, stroking me everywhere but where I truly desire. My arms, my neck, my hips, my feet, only lingering on my erogenous zones as light as his shades with those knuckles.
After what feels like eternity, it’s too much. I twist my wrists against the chains and cry out, “For the love of Death, Ary!”
“Yes,” he croons against my mouth, proud tongue invading to devour, swarming my head with dizzied heat. “Say it, little wonder. Say it now,” he demands.
I moan and thrash again, leaning forward to capture his mouth. In vain when Ary steps back, beaming at me, assured of his control and my inevitable surrender. For all must surrender to Death.
So, I dip my head low, scrutinizing him under my lashes, eyes narrowing to sultry slits as I respond, “I, Isla Bandye, a human, love you, Aryahn Kryach, God of Death.”
Ary steps forward and palms my heart. I whimper when the edge of his hand covers part of my breast, but he’s not finished with me.
“Human flesh, human heart, human mind, but the soul of the Goddess of Life, of Rebirth, the Goddess of Spirit,” he defines.
And I conclude, “Of Resurrection.”
From neckline to my shins, he tears the shift in one long divide. I lurch from the action, my breasts thrusting out more.
Ary’s deathly eyes sweep across my form, burning and searing until gooseflesh forms upon my skin. His gaze lingers on my breasts, then journeys to the soft plumpness of my belly, along the silvery thicket covering my mound, and finally my thighs. I flinch when his fingers stroke my mound first. I sigh and moan when he captures my mouth in his, tongue warring with mine. He devours my whimper when he cups my breasts. Slowly, he takes his time. He explores, fondles, palms admiring the flesh and pulling desire through my whole body until my center weeps from need. Without even knowing, I urge my hips toward him.
“So eager, my greedy, little goddess,” he murmurs against my swollen mouth, tone playful, eyes glinting. “Tonight, I will teach you the art of patience, Bandye.”
“Oh!” I gasp when Ary circles my nipples with his fingers, rubs his thumbs across them in slow brushes until I’m straining against his shades, choking back sobs. More heat, more tension builds inside me, and I embrace the need to unleash.
Ary chuckles, observing the scarlet heart rosebuds growing along my arms. “Patience, little wonder. I will bring you to full bloom.”
I roll my eyes with a disbelieving huff from his poor humor, but Ary collars my neck, pressing my head to the tree. “Hmm...if you make such a gesture again, my sweet human goddess, I may need to do more than taunt you.”
“How about this for a gesture?” I taunt him back, raising my sole middle finger into the air from my bound wrists.
A dark chuckle. Head bowing to my brow. “I will pay you back for that, Isla. But for now...”
I suck wind through my nose when he pinches my nipples, then dips his head to lick a trail down my throat and lower to close his mouth around one erect bud. Scarlet heart petals fall from their flower centers as he feeds on my left breast, tongue stabbing and circling the nipple to savor the pomegranate juice. My thighs part involuntarily, my sex starved for his fingers, his mouth, his...
All my thoughts muddle and my eyes roll to the back of my head when Ary rubs my nether lips with two fingers, parting the inner folds softer than a snowflake. The tension inside me grows, a fuse igniting, burning to its last thread.
