Page 70 of Summer of Sacrifice

His voice was husky as he said, “I’d do anything for that smile.”

He closed the space between them again with a kiss so passionate that it rivalled the brilliance of a star shooting across the night sky. The dam between them broke, and Cal’s hands found her waist, pulling her close. Breathing ragged, her head swimming, Seleste climbed onto his lap, settling right where his want for her met hers for him.

Her dress, pulled tight against her thighs, was so thin that she could feel every bit of him, a sensation she assumed was echoed for him, by the way his grip on her hips tightened. Sliding one hand down to cup her backside, his other went out behind him to steady them as her knees dug into the blanketed grass.

Cal pulled away, breathless. “Can I take off your dress?” The heady rasp in his voice made her toes curl. Not trusting her own voice, she only smiled and nodded.

With careful tenderness, as if he was afraid he’d break her, break their moment, Cal moved that hand from her backside, up her arm. She shivered beneath his touch, and he looked into her eyes. His fingers slid beneath the strap of her sleeveless dress, pulling it down her shoulder. He paused to kiss along her collarbone, and she tipped her head back, looking up at the moon.

So slowly that Seleste thought she would scream, he moved his lips lower, until he was at the curve of her breasts. Tugging at the straps of her gown again, the bodice slipped free, bunching at her waist. Cal sat back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took her in beneath the moonlight. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Before she could respond, Cal shifted, laying her down on the blanket. With one more look in her eyes, she watched his patience falter. He wanted her, but he was a gentleman. It wasn’t a time for words, nor for waiting. Silently, Seleste kept eye contact with him as she unbuttoned his pants, and then shimmied out of her dress.

Cal’s eyes fluttered shut for just a moment as he held himself over her, naked below him. The hunger in his eyes turned feral, just before he kissed her again, his hands exploring every inch of her until her back arched, a moan escaping when he found the slickness between her thighs.

“Seleste?” he breathed hard against her neck, his hips grinding into hers, a question deep within that one uttered name.

“Please,” she whispered in his ear.

It was all he needed. Cal slipped into her, the pleasure already so intense that Seleste gasped, eternally grateful they were alone in the wilderness. His lips moved all along her mouth, her neck, her breasts, as he plunged in and out of her. Seleste’s hands came up to his back, pulling him closer, their chests flush. Her nails scraped his shoulders, his breath hot against her ear.

“Gods,” he groaned as she watched their rhythm. The contrast of their skin a beautiful thing as they moved together beneath the moon.

Seleste writhed beneath him, constricting around him, moaning as she found her pleasure. Immediately, Cal found his as well, exploding within her in tandem.

Slick with sweat, they lay tangled in each other's arms, half on the grass and half on the crumpled blanket, surrounded by tall sunflowers and myriad stars. Seleste looked up at the moon, but Cal’s eyes hardly strayed from her.

They lay that way until the sky turned from black to grey to pink at the edges, talking, nibbling, drinking, making love.

“I have to go,” she whispered to Cal when the sun was almost awake.

“Please,” he murmured sleepily, reaching up to hold her chin gently in his fingers, “never go.”

She kissed his wine-stained lips, his perfect chest, and rose to don her dress.

Chapter

Fourteen

AGATHA

Raw. Every portion of Agatha felt foreign. Ragged and far too brittle.

She sat on the floor of the moon room within their manor, a glass atrium fitted with lounge chairs to bask beneath the glittering sky. Looking up at the moon, she let it all wash over her. Vaguely, she wondered if the orb bathing her in its glow was her moon. It wasn’t the Strawberry Moon, that was for certain, nor was it Reaping, Honey, or Yule. Perhaps The Void had another phase of the same Madam Moon.

Agatha was squinting up at it, thankful for its minute distraction when Grimm materialised beside her in a heap on the floor.

“Hello, reaper,” she said quietly, unsure of how lucid he was.

“Hello, little witch.” Righting himself to sit, he tipped his head back, letting it rest against the glass wall. She watched his exposed throat bob as he spoke. “I awoke to a missing wife and a torrent of emotions.” Grimm let his head roll against the wall, his gaze sliding over to her. His lips quirked in a mournful, fatigued smile.

“You’re going mad, you know.” She’d meant the words to have more empathy, but her tone was inadvertently flat, deadpan. She was so tired and unbalanced.

It didn’t matter how she’d said it anyway, he felt her concern within.

“Yes,” he said simply, his lips pulled tight over his teeth before he laughed humourlessly. “I need to get to the Meadow. I need the rest of my power back.”

“Once we get some sleep, we will go. Nyxia is gathering the others?—”

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