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He leans in and kisses the tear from my cheek, and when his lips slant over mine again, he tastes salty. I’m tasting myself, my sorrow, on his tongue, and it feels right.
Like we’re sharing the pain, and that makes it easier to bear.
To know I’m not alone.
One by one, everyone I’ve ever loved has been ripped away from me. But not Ilarion. He won’t leave me. He’d never, ever leave me.
He pulls me down on top of him on the couch, so that I’m straddling his hips and that throbbing shaft between his legs is stroking a tease against my wetness. He bends down and sucks a nipple between his lips, biting down gently enough to elicit a gasp and a riptide of pleasure.
His lips and tongue work my sensitive nipple without mercy, each suckle and flick and tug sending more shockwaves straight to my pussy. He reaches between us, dragging his fingertips along my slit and teasing my clit until I whimper for more.
That’s when he sinks two fingers inside me.
I gasp and squeal, riding his fingers while he teases my nipple. I’m the one on top, the one who should be in control, and yet Ilarion steals that away so that all I am is a mess in his hands. I’m whimpering and moaning and begging him for more.
“Now,” he growls, once my thoughts are mush and my body is a live wire. “Ride me, my littletigrionok.”
I’m not naïve enough to believe that anything has been sorted out. This feels right for now, but then again, it always does when we come together like this. It’s everything in between that complicates matters.
But I don’t want to think about that right now.
Now is for giving and taking. For falling apart.
My mouth falls open in a silent cry of pleasure as I push down, taking him inside me. Ilarion grabs my hip again and pulls me the final few inches.
Fuck.
Fuck yes.
I grind and rock my hips back and forth, listening to my body, feeding it after all those torturous weeks of denying it what it really wanted.
I’m in control, and I want to lose it with him.
Our breaths mingle together as I lean forward for balance, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck. He’s panting as hard as I am, and with the way my breasts are rubbing against his chest, I can feel his heartbeat pounding as fast as mine.
It crosses my mind that this is the kind of sin that might land me right in hell’s lowest circle. But with every labored thrust, every delicious rub against the sweet spot he hits so perfectly inside me, I’m coming to realize something I unconsciously decided a long time ago.
If sinning feels this good, hell might be worth it.
64
ILARION
When it’s over, I walk her back to her room. The whole time we’re snaking through the house, all I want to do is take her hand.
But it’s one thing to fuck her on the couch.
Touching her likethatis something else entirely.
She’s silent as we walk, and the silence is somber. She’s thinking about Celine. She’s worrying about the consequences of what we’ve done. We haven’t crossed the line once; we've done it twice now.
We can no longer call it a simple mistake.
When we reach her door, she stops and turns around before she’s even opened it. “I don’t think you should come in,” she says abruptly, as though she’s been working up the courage to say that the entire walk here.
“Okay.”
Her forehead crinkles with anxiety. “We shouldn’t have had sex, either.”
