Page 115 of The Golden Rose Of Valenul

“I should have told you before the wedding,” she rasped, silently cursing the cracking of her voice. “You deserved to know before making your decision—about the scars and the… the ra—”

“Stop.” Azriel took hold of her wrist as he kicked away the dress and knelt before her. For a long moment, he stared up at her, his own eyes rimmed with silver, before pressing his forehead to her bare stomach and wrapping his arms around her legs. “That monster’s actions could never keep me from you. I love you, Ariadne, until the very end. Do you know what that means?”

She sucked in a burning breath. “Hmm?”

He looked up at her again and slowly stood, his hands running up her thighs and waist as he went. “It means I breathe for you—every single part of you—until this very universe ceases to exist, and even then, the void of eternity could not keep me from you.”

Words failed her. After Darien’s death, she assumed marriage would be a contractual obligation. Loren’s interest in her—prior to the reveal of his true nature—had been more than she had hoped for. She believed she could love him as he had hinted he loved her.

With Azriel, everything happened naturally. After he put himself between her and the dhemons attacking on Vertium, she trusted him. He understood her, it seemed, better than she understood herself. When he avoided her after the lashings, it ate away at her. Now she knew the reason why: she loved him even then.

To have him see her—all of her—without questioning his love was incomprehensible.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, the tears finally breaking free and sliding down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand.

Azriel released a long breath as though he had held it, awaiting her response. He wrapped his arms loosely around her again. “I meant what I said—nothing has to happen.”

She shook her head against him and laughed quietly before leaning her chin on his chest to look up at him. “No, Azriel. I need you to rewrite it all with me. I need you.”

Cursing under his breath, he stooped down and swept her up into his arms, planting his mouth on hers as he walked from the washroom. The cool air shifted across her bare skin, sending goosebumps up and down her body. His insistent exploration of her lips and tongue tightened her core and puckered her nipples.

They did not make it to the bedroom before Azriel laid her down. When he pulled away, she found herself on the chaise lounge before the fireplace, the flames’ warmth licking up her toes and ankles. He shouldered out of the jacket and yanked the cravat from his neck, all the while eyeing her body laid out before him. Off went the vest, and by the time his hands reached the buttons of his shirt, he bent over to kiss her again. This time his lips trailed along her jaw and neck, drawing a small gasp from her as, once again, her entire body tightened with that heated sensation.

Ariadne drew her knees together, hips shifting so her thighs rubbed her sex. His shirt fell away, exposing the scarred chest and back she had already seen.

He laid a heavy hand on her stomach, lips brushing against her earlobe as he said huskily, “If you ever want to stop, say so. No questions asked—we’ll stop.”

She nodded her acknowledgment, his words of understanding only heating her core more.

His hand slid down her body to her hips and held firm, slowing the grinding she had already begun and leaving her wanting more. Before she could express this, Azriel sank to his knees beside the chaise. He gripped her thigh, just above the knee closest to him, and urged it wide so the air—a sensational mix of temperatures—rushed against her exposed, slick sex.

Slow and steady, he drew his fingers up and rested the heel of his hand against her bud. Mouth moving from her neck to her collarbone, he said, “Now keep going.”

When she moved her hips again, that wonderful, tight heat washed through her. So different was it from her own hand that she could not stop the light moan that escaped her. She felt more than saw—gods, her eyes could not focus on anything—Azriel grinning against her skin before pulling a taut nipple into his mouth and sucking.

He paused as she gasped, releasing the tip and drawing his tongue over it again languidly. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly grinding her clit against his hand. Each movement wound her up a little more, searching for the release she knew would come with time.

“Good.” He kissed his way from one breast to the other and swirled his tongue around the other nipple. He drew it into his mouth and sucked again, that magnificent tongue flicking along its tip. When he let it slowly pull from his lips, he locked eyes with her and said, “I want to taste you. Is that okay?”

For a moment, Ariadne did not know what that meant. She blinked down at him, her sluggish brain scrambling to keep up with what it was he wanted next. It was not until he removed his palm from her mound, letting his fingers slip between her folds before bringing them to his mouth, did she understand.

A new fire burned in her at the very thought of that talented tongue against her sex. He licked the wetness from his fingertips, and she let her head fall back as she said, “Gods, yes.”

He adjusted his seat to the end of the chaise and, holding her hips firm, dragged her to the edge. She squealed, her smile mirroring his. Azriel stretched her thighs wide, draping one leg over his broad shoulder, and drew his fangs down the soft, sensitive flesh of her inner leg. The anticipation built. His eyes almost glowed as he watched her every breath. The closer he moved, the more she twisted in his grasp, hips thrusting up to meet him.

The warmth of his mouth on her sex nearly sent her over the edge on its own. She gasped again, a hand flying to his hair. He pinned her hip to the chaise with one hand, eyes still boring into her. His tongue, gentle and firm all at once, slipped between her folds to lap her up. Azriel groaned against her, and the rumble vibrated against her clit.

As though eager for more, he pulled her even closer and dragged his tongue along her opening. Its soft prodding made her moan again.

Yet each taste, each lick, each slow, savoring movement of his tongue only built her up toward what he did next. His free hand drifted up and across her belly to grasp a breast firmly. Her back arched into his touch, begging for more. More. More of his hands on her—more of his mouth worshiping her.

And he did not disappoint. He licked again, the heat of his tongue drawing right across her clit before he shifted from stroking it to sucking it.

Ariadne cried out, unable to contain the burst of pleasure rocketing through her as she climaxed. Her core pulsed, and she ground her hips against his mouth, riding the wave. Still, he held her firm, so when her eyes opened again, she found him watching her writhe beneath his touch.

With a final, leisurely flick of his tongue, Azriel withdrew. “You taste magnificent.”

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