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“Then how can I help you to heal? Lorcan has always been the best at knowing what you need. He’s kinder than I am, far more patient. He has a soft touch, has looked after your body these past couple of weeks whilst your heart and mind had time to heal. Arden has taught himself herbology so that he can make your recipes. He’s spent every spare moment when he’s not been watching over you, practising. He’s determined. What can I offer? I’m not like them.”
“Your voice,” I reply without hesitation.
“My voice?”
I nod. “If you’re willing to share it?”
For a long time Carrick just sits quietly, his strong arms wrapped around me as he mulls over my request. I get the sense that he’s going to deny me, and I understand why that might be, given that his love for singing is tangled with trauma. So I offer him a trade.
“If you sing for me, I will give you what you need,” I reply, brushing my lips across his throat, tentatively running my teeth over his collarbone before releasing a long, trembling breath. He remains quiet, waiting, sensing I have more to say. “You weren’t the only one who felt different after that night in the chapel. Biting you, feeling you surrender beneath me like that, it made me feel like I had control for once in my life, it made me feel powerful. Since what’s happened, I’ve felt powerless, Carrick,” I admit. “Maybe together we can rewrite the narrative. You can sing without associating it with your trauma, and I can give you the pain that you so desperately need without associating it with mine.”
“You’d do that?” he asks, rubbing his cheek against mine. I can feel his heart hammering beneath his ribcage as I shift a little in his lap and reach up for his collar, pulling it to one side.
“Sing for me,” I whisper, and when the first note releases from his lips, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck and soothing my soul, I sink my teeth into his skin, soothing his.
Warm blood trickles into my mouth as Carrick’s voice lifts up into the air around us. He doesn’t miss a note as I suck on his skin, my lips and tongue capturing the blood that trickles from him like beaded jewels. He simply holds me closer as I shift in his lap, my hands pressed against his chest as he breathes in and out, a musical organ brought to life with sound.
Tasting him like this as he sings, his chest vibrating, is beyond sexual, it’s spiritual. I feel the notes caressing me, soothing my pain and slowly binding the tears in my heart as a part of him becomes a part of me. I feel power in his submission, honoured that he trusts me enough to try this when I know how hard it must be.
Between us I can feel the hard length of his erection, but it doesn’t distract him from the singing. If anything, his physical reaction tells me that my instincts were right, that he needs the pain to help him find pleasure in singing again. That his trauma shouldn’t stop him from doing what he loves, and that mine shouldn’t be allowed to have power over me either. So I bite him as he sings and when the last note falls from his lips and I gently lick over the tiny wounds my teeth have made, peace settles between us.
For long minutes we sit wrapped up in each other’s arms, sunlight through the window warming our skin until, eventually, he pulls back a little.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, stroking my hair and pressing featherlight kisses across my brow.
“Thank you,” I whisper back, tipping my head back as I look up at him, and he down at me.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes, a little of the tension in them gone now. “Can I?”
I nod, reaching up and cupping his cheek, my fingers gently tracing over his scar, forever reminding me that this man fought so hard to protect me, and later killed a monster to save me.
He slowly lowers his mouth, brushing his lips tentatively against mine. It’s the lightest of touches, searching almost. When he draws back a little, our breaths mingle as he stares deeply into my eyes, a well of emotion in his.
“I’m afraid if I really kiss you, I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to stop there,” he admits.
“I trust you,” I reply, telling him in so many words that I want his kiss, but I’m not ready for more. Not yet.
He frowns, wanting to kiss me but not wanting to break my trust in him. Eventually he makes a decision and presses his lips against mine, groaning when I open my mouth and welcome his tongue.
And so we kiss.
We kiss with mutual trust, with passion, with the soft swell of our hearts beating in unison.
We kiss and kiss and kiss.
And between those kisses he mutters words of affection and love, he talks about a future filled with warmth and laughter, hope and joy, and in return I place my trust in the man who hurt me as a child but promises to love me as an adult.
21
Arden
Bleary-eyed and needing a cup of coffee to wake me the hell up, I walk into the kitchen a few hours after I left it, pulling up sharp when I see Cyn standing at the kitchen island, stirring the pot of ingredients I’d left overnight to steep.
"Cyn!" I say, rubbing my eyes just to make sure that I'm not seeing things.
I blink back my exhaustion, expecting her to disappear, but my fucking heart near beats out of my chest at the vision I see before me.
“Cyn,” I repeat, sounding like a fucking moron. I’m so shocked I can’t seem to do anything more than repeat her name.
