Page 145 of The Blade in the Ashes
It had been so long since I'd been this close to him. His scent surrounded me, overpowering nearly all of my other senses, and I only wanted more. More of his smell. More of his touch. More of him.
He stroked a hand through my hair, fingers running all the way to the tips of my hips as he did. His touch was gentle, even as his other hand on my thigh was stiff with barely contained restraint.
“We don't have to, love,” he promised. “If you need more time to—”
“I'm here, Clayton. Not at the castle. Not captive in that town. Here. With you.”
His breath caught, eyes coasting over every inch of my face as he searched for any sign of doubt or fear in my features.
And truthfully, I felt nothing but doubt and fear. I doubted myself, my capabilities. I doubted my powers and if we could win this war without them. I felt terrified of losing any more friends and loved ones. My fear over what Hyrax would do to those I cared for was overpowering.
But those feelings wouldn't go away for a long time, and I didn't want to wait any longer to miraculously feel okay again. I wanted to live now. With him.
I didn't want more time to be haunted by the past few months.
I didn't want more time and distance separating us.
I didn't want to let anything else keep me from him.
I met his gaze without any fear or hesitation and held that stare as I reached for the hand on my thigh. Slowly, ever so slowly, I took his fingers in mine and gently guided them against my skin, pushing them right to the spot between my legs where I needed him most.
“No more time,” I told him, shaking my head. “It's been long enough.”
He breathed me in sharply, a sudden gasp in the quiet room.
But whatever he saw in my eyes must have been enough to convince him how important this choice was for me, because the tether on his control snapped in an instant.
With an arm around my back, he flipped us, laying me against the duvet of our bed as his capable fingers began to work that bundle of nerves over the lace of my undergarments. I moaned instantly at the sensation, fiery licks of pleasure shooting up my spine. His mouth trailed a line of hot kisses down my jawline and throat.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing his thick length against my thigh. “You have no idea how badly I've wanted you these past months.”
I pulled the hem of my shirt, desperate to have it off of me, desperate to feel his skin against mine. Clay seemed to share the need, because he grasped two fistfuls of it and pulled, tearing the fabric clean up the middle as he leaned back and took in the sight of my bare breasts before me.
“And did you think of me?” he asked, grey eyes sparking golden. “Did you dream of me?”
My tongue felt too large, limbs too heavy. The terrors of the past few months faded away under his gaze until there was only this moment and the desperate hunger I felt for him. My core was on fire, my blood molten lava. I was a wire pulled too taut. A volcano just waiting to erupt. I nodded up at him, grasping onto my own breasts as I did, taking their peaks between my fingers. Gods, I needed that touch. He watched me teasing myself, lips quirking in satisfaction.
“Touch me,” I begged.
He reached forward, and I practically bucked off the bed as he grasped onto my wrists, pulling them above my head and keeping them locked there.
“Not yet, love,” he breathed into my ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. “I have more questions.”
Questions? What questions possibly mattered at a time like this?
I was past the point of conversation.
“When you thought of me,” he continued, stopping only to trail his tongue down the center of my chest while his free hand returned to the apex of my thighs. Expertly, he pushed aside the lace separating us and ran his fingers through my folds, covering them in the wetness that was already beginning to gather before he circled them against my clit, alternating between unbearable speed and even more agonizing slow strokes. “Did you most often think of this? Did you imagine my fingers pushing into you?”
He plunged a finger to the knuckle inside me as his thumb continued to work that perfect pace. I whimpered, pushing harder against his touch.
“Or did you think of my mouth? Did you imagine yourself riding my tongue?”
Yes. That. All of it.
He nipped at the skin of my hip, the bite a perfect mixture of pain-laced pleasure.
“Clay.” There was a demand in my voice. A call for action that was rewarded by a second finger joining the rhythm that he pushed in and out of me.
