Page 88 of Inked in Bloom
He cradles my quivering chin and captures my stare. “The moment you’ve got enough magic to shift, I’m taking you to the Center.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Now I need you to touch me.”
A twitch of his nose, and my underwear disappears, rainpelting my skin. My legs move wider and I lean back against him. With a pained groan, he peppers kisses up my throat and splays his hands across the valley of my spine. His fingers nudge mine lower, guiding me inside myself. The scent of rain mixing with his musky vanilla fills my senses—decadent and divine. My head falls back against his shoulder, and I whimper, a subtle hum prickling beneath my skin.
“Look at you.” Briar stares at where I’m spread for him. I shamelessly curl my pelvis as much as I can as he teases and toys with my clit. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier.”
His words are like the unlatching of a leash. The pressure between my legs builds. I’m weak, quivering, and taking my pleasure. His brows furrow, his lavender stare piercing me with every ounce of awe rolling through him. The intensity of it terrifies me. Invigorates me.
My body becomes an earthquake, and I cry out against his shoulder, biting into the drenched fabric, wanting to shred it away and let him wreck me.
Desperate to wreck him.
“Again,” I rasp, the euphoria of endorphins flooding my system and a familiar hum returning to my fingertips. But Briar guides me by the wrist, out of my body and into his waiting lips. He licks them clean, pupils blown, then brushes a kiss across my knuckles.
“The faster we get back, the sooner you’ll get more.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” I twitch my nose, still sluggish from seasonal sickness and loose from my orgasm, and slowly shrink down. My bones pop painfully, fur emerging from my skin.
One step closer to more blissed-out Briar shenanigans.
It propels me on, despite the ground shuddering beneath my paws with each heavy plod toward the rabbithole. It blurs and I blink a bit. Lids drooping, I bumble into him, chestnut fur brushing against my side, but he sticks with my pace until we reach the dirt-lined chute. Whether I tumble or he nudges me over the ledge, I’m not certain…
All I know is I fall.
37
MONROE
Iwake up with my glasses askew and a line of drool clinging to my pillow. There’s no pattering of rain, but the gentle aroma of vanilla musk and cedar curls around me. I bury my face in my pillow and inhale, then use it to wipe my chin and readjust my frames.
The room is unfamiliar, yet cozy, like how I’d imagine a fairy tale cottage. The walls are draped with greenery and hanging wisteria in shades of periwinkles, purples, pinks, and cream. I cover my eyes with my forearm, glancing up at the circular window embedded in the ceiling. Sunlight beams down, so bright it’s nearly blinding.
Briar got us back. Relief washes through me, though it’s short-lived when the memory of grinding against his fingers smacks into me a moment later.
“You have no idea how much Iwantwith you, Monroe.”
I squeeze my thighs together, rubbing them against each other and the towel-like sheet covering the mattress beneath me. Layers of plush blankets engulf me, keeping my naked body warm and filling the space with Briar’s scent.
Where is he?
I shift to my elbows. A curved table surrounds half of the bed’s perimeter, and set atop it are a variety of toys, an empty flowerpot with a button at its base, and alarge glass of water with a full pitcher beside it. I reach for a glass, taking a long, slow sip.
I scan over the toys and my eyes widen. Some areveryfamiliar. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved to learn where the items from my nightstand went or mortified seeing them all spread before me. Beside my trusty flower-shaped vibrator are a few other smaller pocket vibes and my favorite sparkly pink glass dildo. It’s dwarfed by the addition of a thick white phallus with veins and subtle flourish marks. I sit upright and zip my thighs tighter, all too aware of the throbbing between them.
The other side of the bed drops to a cushioned stair where a machine is set, numbers and lines moving up and down. An IV hangs there, its coiling tube trailing over my arm. I blink at the tube piercing me, clench and unclench my fist, then drag my attention up to the shaded leaves inked across my skin. They hang from delicate stems, curling around my shoulder and upper arm, and continuing above my collarbone. Eventually, they disappear into the thick peony petals of my mate mark.
I trace the small leaves with my fingernail, and warmth spreads from my chest. Something about the visible recognition of all the work I put in during my spring in the Netherlands fills me with pride. My first flourish mark.
A panel shifts, startling me, and a woman with a bright-violet bun enters, carrying a clipboard. There’s a name tag with credentials pinned to her scrubs: Zelda, Solstice Liaison – Trainee.
She smiles at me, then checks over the machine, jotting down some notes. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I croak, taking another sip of water and setting the glass down on the bedside table. “How long have I been here?”
“About a day.” She removes the IV and holds a hand over where it just was embedded in my flesh. A soft beam of light warms my skin as the bead of blood is reabsorbed and the small puncture closes. “You won’t need this anymore. They wanted to make sure to adequately hydrate you and get some herbs into your system to counteract the effects of your seasonal sickness.”
“If the seasonal sickness is gone, shouldn’t I be back to normal?” I ask, shaking out my arm. While the dizziness and exhaustion has subsided, my hands are still cracked and dry, throat parched along with a different thirst. Something that can’t be quenched with another two glasses of water.
