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Trying to appear casual in case her confidence was unwarranted, Cera stilled her hand on the vine. She recalled the dream she'd had on the night she'd taken Isael's blood. Of walking through a forest, being aware of the trees, not as mindless plants, but as living creatures with their own thoughts and languages.
She didn't know the language of this plant, or if she could even learn it, but she thought she could at least make an effort to communicate with it, rather than force her magic upon it. In her mind she spoke to it, informing the plant that it had everything it needed to blossom and offering her magic to it. The plant didn't respond, either because it didn't understand or,vastly more likely, Cera was being ridiculous. She waited a few seconds, and then willed a tiny bit of magic into the vines.
At least, she thought she did. She wasn't sure exactly how to manage the magic, except to fix her intention and imagine it flowing out of her and into the vines. She didn't imagine the flowers springing to life, and she even managed not to fixate on impressing Isael. As she channeled her energy into the vines, she simply thought,take it, and do what you will with it.
She knew it worked in the seconds before she saw the proof of it. Instead of vaguely pushing forth her intention, she felt a definite pull. It was a bit unnerving, like a stranger tugging at her hair, but she reminded herself that she had offered the magic and quickly willed herself to relax. Once she did, the pull came in earnest and she indulged it, first tentatively, and then with gusto.
The whole interplay took place in less than a minute. Isael didn't have a chance to question what she was up to before all the buds on the vines burst open, blanketing the balcony in fragrant, white flowers.
It looked every bit as stunning as when Isael had created the illusory blossoms, except hers were real and seemed to glow in the moonlight. What was more, she didn't feel nearly as wrung out as she had when she'd last attempted to make the flowers bloom. Intuition told her it was because the magic had been pulled from her, rather than her having to push, and she tried asking Isael, but he just shook his head as he ran his hands over the blossoms.
"I never feel pulled by fire or water. I call the elements and they obey. This is..." He looked over at her, eyes shining. "It's beyond me."
"Not as long as I'm here," Cera pointed out.
Isael cocked his head, and for a second Cera thought she might have gotten a bit ahead of herself. The high lord was quick to wash away her doubts as he pulled her closer and leaned down to press his lips to hers.
Cera had known she'd wanted to kiss him and be kissed by him. Being pragmatic, she'd viewed kissing as a necessary step towards fulfilling her purpose, an inevitable goalpost she would pass on the path toward consummating their relationship, such as it was. Cera even suspected she would enjoy kissing Isael, and that said enjoyment may even outweigh her apprehensions and insecurities.
All of those notions felt rather quaint once his lips were moving against hers. She didn't anticipate how his lips would make her feel light and airy, as if she might float away were he not pinning her against him. Yet paradoxically boneless, as if his grip on her was the only thing keeping her from melting into a puddle.
She also didn't anticipate how his kiss would inspire her to reciprocate, or that she somehow possessed an instinct for how to respond to him. The instinct not only dictated the movements of her lips, which managed to move in tandem with his after a brief, faltering start. It extended down into her body, urging her to move in ways that were foreign to her, yet felt wholly natural.
As she moved against him, something seemed to move within her, brushing against the inside of her skin. With it came a fresh wave of exhilaration and the sensation that she was close to something wondrous.
Her hand moved to the back of his neck, the movement not entirely of her own accord. The atavistic instinct was her guide, like a seasoned dance instructor serving as her lead.
Or perhaps Isael was the instructor and she was merely echoing him. It was his hand that first moved to the back of her neck, cradling her as he moved to deepen their kiss. It was the heat from his body, contrasting sharply with the cold air he'd created, that had Cera pressing herself more closely to him. And when his other hand moved to her thigh and pulled her fully against him, her curiosity wouldn't allow her to ignore the growing hardness at the juncture of his hips. At her first experimental movement against him, Isael groaned into her mouth. The sound elicited a response from her, although her noise was thready and far softer.
'Cera.'
She was sure she heard him say her name, yet she wasn't sure how when his mouth was so firmly fixed to hers. As she pondered this, it occurred to Cera that she also wasn't sure how she was getting enough air. And then, she realized that her lightheadedness wasn't entirely due to a haze of lust.
The second it became apparent that she was starved for air, the need to breathe became urgent and pressing, overriding all else. She pulled back from him and sucked in a breath, but her chest was too constrained to breathe deeply.
"I can't breathe," she all but croaked, her face growing hot with a mix of alarm and embarrassment as she reached back to fumble with the strings of her gown. Maewyn had tied them into severe knots that Cera struggled to work free, even while employing her nails.
Muttering something that sounded like a curse, Isael moved behind Cera. He gripped the neckline of her gown and she glanced back to see a flash of silver before he sliced open the back of her gown.
Cera gave no thought to her immodest position and was quick to take advantage of the lack of constraints. She took in deep, satisfying lungfuls of the fragrant air, until she felt cool and grounded.
Once the urgency of impending asphyxiation had passed, she was able to take stock of her situation. At some point she'd begun to lean back against Isael's chest, or perhaps he'd pulled her against him. One of his arms was banded around her middle, while his free hand stroked the back of her neck in a repetitive motion. With each stroke, his fingers dipped slightly farther down her spine.
Although his touch pleased her, what struck her more was how comfortable she felt while leaning against him. It wasn't just the strange, instinctive connection they now shared, but also a small, growing sense of security with him.
She felt his lips on the top of her head and her back straightened, her toes lifting to rise into his kiss.
"Come to bed with me," he whispered.
Her insides tightened.
"Is that a command?” She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from adding, 'my lord.'
Isael's hand slipped down beneath the fabric of her dress, stroking at the bare skin of her side. As his fingers glided over her they left a trail of heat in their wake.
"Perhaps," he seemed to muse. His voice had gone low and his accent was more pronounced. "It could be an offer. Or maybe it is a plea."
She tried to laugh, but only managed a breathy whine as his fingers grazed the soft, sensitive flesh of her breast. Then, he drew back, gently turning her so that she faced him. Whatever confidence she'd mustered promptly drained from her as he took hold of her chin, drawing her up to meet his eyes.
