Page 89 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“No, I don’t have any wine in here. I could go find some if you want me to?”

“No, no, that’s alright.”

“I do have a bottle of spirits. I don’t know how much more you should drink, though, if you don’t want to feel like hell tomorrow.”

“I’ve never tried. Does it taste like wine?”

Rainier snorted. “It tastes like fire. It’s not like wine—you don’t drink it slowly. Quick, small sips.”

“It burns?” It seemed fitting.

“Mhm, a little.” He went over to a pile of his belongings in the corner of the tent and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid.

“Is that what Dewalt poured on my arm the other night? That certainly burned.” I cringed, remembering how badly it hurt.

“Oh, I hope not. That bottle was a clear liquor, not my favorite. This is the good stuff.” His expression grew serious before he turned to me. “My rifting won’t fail you again.” I cocked my head, not sure what he was getting at.

“With the tírrúil. I forgot you’re not exactly helpless.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “I thought I was about to see you torn to shreds so I couldn’t form the rift. You saw I was struggling; that’s why you ran, right?”

“I didn’t want you thinking it was your fault. If I was going to die in front of you, I wanted you to blame my actions, not yours.” I laughed a bit, but his expression was somber.

“I’d have blamed myself either way. But you didn’t die. You took down a tírrúil three times your size, ran off and healed my soldiers, all before healing yourself. You’re a warrior, and somehow, I forgot. I won’t forget again.” He exhaled quickly and shook his head. I didn’t exactly feel like a warrior, but it didn’t seem like a point to argue. He squinted down at the bottle in his hands, turning it around before opening it and tilting his head back, taking a quick sip before turning it upright. Giving a little exhale, he wiped his mouth off with the back of his free hand. “Yep, still burns. Would you like to try?”

What the hell, why not?

“Maybe just a little.” He gave me his crooked smile, but his eyes were dangerous as he crossed the distance between us. I made to take the bottle from him, but he put a hand on my shoulder.

“Tilt your head back.” I did as I was told as Rainier walked around the chair behind me. My breathing stopped when his warm hand went to my throat, tilting my head back farther. The gentle but firm touch made heat flare through me before the alcohol even touched my lips, curling tightly low in my stomach. His gaze met mine before I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, wondering if I’d imagined the lust and fire in his eyes. The alcohol hit the back of my throat, a small amount, and I swallowed. He was right. It did taste like fire.

I exhaled quickly as the position of his hand on my neck changed, and then he was bent over me, his mouth on mine, the heat of what we’d drank burning my lips and my throat. The taste of that fire propelled me, and I pushed up out of the chair, turning my body as I did to keep his lips on mine. He threw the chair between us out of the way and closed the distance, pulling my body against his. His desperation to get to me, the aggression of his movement, the ease in which he tossed the chair—all of it caused heat to pool between my legs. I stood on tiptoe to kiss him as I started fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. I wasn’t thinking, wasn’t analyzing. I was doing what he’d said, doing what felt right. His hands were on either side of my neck and in my hair as he kissed me, my braid unraveling with each movement. His tongue twined with mine, and I let out a small groan. The buttons were taking too long. I needed to feel him, to taste him.

A sound remarkably close to a growl came out of my mouth as I gave up and pulled his shirt out from his pants, trying to yank it up his body. I would rip it if I had to. I felt him laugh on my lips before he pulled away, finishing the buttons and removing it. He didn’t have a chance to set the shirt down before I was on him again, and I vaguely heard it fall to the ground. I stood on my tiptoes, kissing across the swells of his chest as I pushed him back toward the pallet. My hands slid over his warm skin, and I couldn’t help but marvel at his body. He was gorgeous, built like a dream. He smelled good, and I realized he had to have his own soap, likely washing up like the girls and I did every night. I found myself wanting to know all of those little routines—what kind of soap he used, which shoe he put on first, how often he shaved. I’d lived for so long without him that now I’d gotten a taste? I wanted more than scraps.

I wanted everything.

“Em, slow down.” Rainier put his hands on my shoulders as the backs of his legs hit the pallet behind him.

“No.” Despite my words and pushing him back, forcing him to sit, I paused, looking down at him, his head level with my chest. “Unless you want me to stop?”

“If you keep kissing me like this, I don’t know if I can control myself.” His lips were parted, and I realized he was panting a bit, his chest swelling as he breathed. I reached out and heard his heart pounding. Did I want him to control himself? I didn’t know if I wanted him to hold back. I decided I didn’t care. I wanted to take, and I’d do what felt good.

“Good thing I’m in control, then.”

I leaned down and kissed him, both of my hands on either side of his face. He met my movements, his tongue brushing against mine in languid strokes, kissing me thoroughly, stoking the flame of my desire. When he raised his hands to my waist, I pushed him backward and slowly eased to my knees between his legs. He watched me, eyes full of lust and surprise. Perhaps I was being reckless. It didn’t matter what was guiding me, just that there was a fire building inside of me I wanted to ignite. I leaned forward, kissing down his stomach, finding the wound from our duel and licking it, pressing a kiss to it afterward on my slow descent downward.

“Come here.” He grasped my hand and pulled. I resisted, wanting to take my time, pressing soft kisses up his stomach and chest, climbing atop him as I did it. When I moved, he put his hands on my ass, his fingertips digging into me. I kissed up his neck and leaned down to press my lips to his mouth, grinding my hips into him. He groaned as I felt him twitch underneath me. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” His voice was thick as he pulled me by the hips up the length of him, rubbing against me so I’d feel just how hard I’d made him. I kissed him and rolled my body again, teasing. His hands stayed on me, pulling me over him again and again, and I wished we had on decidedly less clothing. I was panting as my mouth pushed against his, wanting to consume him, taste his fire. My fire. My flame, my heart.

“I do feel,” I stopped and smiled down at him, feeling the mischievous grin spread on my face. “But now I want to taste.” He exhaled a sharp breath as I pulled away from him, kissing down his body with a confidence I didn’t know I was capable of.

“No, Em. Not until I make you come on my tongue.” His words were filthy, and they sent a shock down my body, pulsing low between my legs. He grabbed me under my arms, trying to flip me, but I stopped him.

“Let me. Please. I want to choose this. I need to make this choice.” I couldn’t explain it, but I needed to touch him first, explore his body without my own being a part of it. I needed to show him how much I wanted to choose him, and I needed to show myself I was capable of being the person who made decisions for my own body. That I was an active participant in this decision, not forced, not someone swept up in the pleasure, caught in a moment. That it was me who wanted it, who wanted him, and I was taking what I wanted no matter the risk.

“Are you sure?” His hands bracketed my face, looking up at me intently, understanding of my request even if he didn’t know the details.

“Yes, I’m sure. I want this. Can I have it?”

---