Page 78 of Touch

Love only manages to view hints. One, she’s too small in stature compared to Andrew. Two, the blanket does not allow for more. However, flashes of skin suggest he’s bigger than she had anticipated.

Grabbing his cock, Andrew’s hisses through his incisors. Watching Love fuck herself, he matches the motions, his arm cranking.

Like this, their gazes cling.

He tugs on his cock to the cadence of her fingers, which pump in and out of her pussy. The mortal’s eyelids weigh down, lowering to half-mast. His torso hitches, the muscles heavinglike a landmass that Love wants to live on forever. It creates an effervescence in her mouth, which builds with each quaking noise he emits.

Sensory perception amplifies along with her cries. The tastes of fear, sadness, and elation. The scents of lust and longing. Love parts her legs wider, her soaked fingers gliding between her walls.

Colors flash, spinning faster and faster. Blue sky. Purple wounds. Silver flurries. The black of her wings and his coat. All the while, her digits move as erratically as his hips.

His fist is her fist. Her fingers are his fingers.

Love emulates the pace of his wrist, and they scale that pinnacle together. Andrew growls and seizes his cock. At the same time, Love goes still, her digits lodging deeply.

At the epicenter, they find a way to collide. Staring hard, Love’s moan shatters into a prolonged cry. Staring back, Andrew’s features clenching, a groan of release ripping from his lungs. They come in unison, watching one another through the shocks that wrack their joints.

Thick fluid seeps into the blanket, his cock releasing onto the material, which rubs against her clit. Love trembles, relishing the sensation. Then Andrew crashes against the wall while Love slouches into him, the blanket enabling parts of her body to rest against his frame. Other areas, however, simply drift through one another like water.

They gasp for breath, their gazes never wavering, triumph and bereavement flooding the cottage. So close yet so far. But at least Love feels him in this privileged way. And from his vehement expression, this mortal shares that sentiment.

Their pants turn into quiet chuckles. Andrew watches her through mesmerized pupils, his thumb slipping through her ear as he endeavors to brush its edge.

“So,” he draws out, then tips his chin toward the discarded bouquet. “Were those for me?”

Love nods. “For you.”

That’s all she manages to get out, annoyed by her coyness and the tremor of uncertainty in her voice, particularly after what just happened. Whereas Andrew torments Love with his silence for all of three seconds before whispering, “I love it.”

Delight floods her chest. She ducks her head, a smile tilting the corner of her mouth. “I favor your bouquet as well. And I thank you for it.”

An insatiable noise tears from his lips. “How can a goddess manage to sound sweet and so fucking sexy at the same time?”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “I am not sweet.”

“I don’t know about that. The way your pink little cunt quivered against my tongue felt pretty sweet.”

“That compliment, I shall accept,” she flirts with dignity. “Seeing as it refers to taste and not demeanor.”

“Agreed. Though, if we need extra confirmation, I’ll willingly sink to my knees again for you.” He rubs his nose against hers. “Making you come on a frequent basis is my life ambition.”

“Even if our skin will never touch?”

She hadn’t meant to ruin this moment, nor for the ache in her voice to ring through. Yet Andrew uses the blanket to frame her cheeks. “Even then,” he avows. “I feel you in every drop of blood, every damn breath, and every inch beneath my skin. Whenever you speak, smile, or look at me. You could stand on the opposite side of the world, and I would feel it all. And even if I didn’t, I would take whatever contact I could get from you.”

If he keeps professing such things, Love shall burst at the seams. She nestles her face into his blanket-covered fingers. “Sentimental human.”

“Bewitched human,” he corrects. “To the point where I’d even beg for your weapon to penetrate me.”

“Hmm. In which case, we could experiment. For instance, the iron fletchings of my arrows are actually quite soft.”

Andrew groans. “As much as I’d love to flatten, bend, and spread you across every surface in this cottage, then find every way to fuck you with a surplus of objects, we’ll run out of options too fast. And I have every intention of drawing this out for all its worth.” Amused by Love’s disappointed scowl, he suggests, “I have another plan until then. It involves coming up for air.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“Works in slow-burn fiction. Besides, it involves competition.”

As if he’s dangling a morsel in front of her, Love perks up. “Very well. So how do we keep this romantic interlude going?”

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