Page 33 of Accidentally Ever After
“I want you inside me,” I said against his mouth, beyond any pretense of patience. “Please.”
His eyes, glowing with both desire and star essence, held mine. “Are you certain? The sensation will be… significant.”
“I’m certain,” I assured him. “I want to feel everything. With you.”
Something softened in his expression despite the heat in his gaze. “As do I.”
He reached for a small vial nestled among the cushions—more evidence of his advance planning—and coated his fingers with an oil that seemed to shimmer with the same light as our painted skin.
“Festival oil,” he explained as he positioned himself between my legs. “Enhanced with star essence.”
The first touch of his slick finger against me sent a shock of pleasure through my entire body, far more intense than our usual encounters. I arched off the cushions, a sound escaping me that I barely recognized as my own.
“Too much?” he asked again, pausing.
“No,” I gasped, “just… unexpected. Don’t stop.”
He continued his careful preparation, each movement of his fingers inside me sending waves of pleasure that seemed to illuminate my painted skin from within. By the time he hadthree fingers moving easily, I was incoherent with need, my body covered in a sheen of sweat that made the patterns shimmer and shift.
“Now,” I begged, beyond pride or patience. “I need you now.”
He removed his fingers, using the remaining oil to slick himself. Even this brief self-touch drew a groan from him, his wings trembling with barely contained desire.
When he finally pressed into me, the sensation was indescribable—pleasure so acute it crossed into a new category of experience. Each inch of his progress lit up my nervous system like a pinball machine, the painted patterns on both our bodies glowing so brightly they cast shadows on the surrounding foliage.
“Blake,” he breathed once he was fully seated within me, his voice strained with the effort of remaining still. “You feel… transcendent.”
Words failed me entirely. I could only pull him down for a desperate kiss, trying to convey through touch what language couldn’t express.
He began to move, each thrust creating cascades of light where our bodies joined. His wings extended fully above us, the painted patterns there pulsing in time with his movements. I reached up to touch them, needing the connection.
The moment my fingers contacted his wings, something extraordinary happened. The light from my painted patterns seemed to flow up my arm and into his wing, while the light from his wing flowed back into me. A circuit completed, energy cycling between us in visible currents.
Caelen gasped, his rhythm faltering. “The convergence,” he said, wonder in his voice. “It’s happening.”
Before I could ask what he meant, the sensation intensified. It was as if the boundaries between our bodies began to blur, pleasure no longer confined to where we physically touched butflowing between us like electricity through a circuit. I could feel what he felt—the exquisite tightness of my body around him, the sensitivity of his wings under my touch—while he presumably experienced my sensations as well.
“I can feel you,” I gasped, overwhelmed by the dual perspectives. “Inside and… being inside.”
“Yes,” he confirmed, his movements growing more urgent as the shared pleasure built between us. “This is the true gift of the festival—complete union, beyond physical.”
The dual sensation was overwhelming—experiencing both penetrating and being penetrated simultaneously, feeling my pleasure and his as one shared experience. The paint glowed so brightly now it was almost blinding, our joined bodies the center of a miniature sun.
As our movements grew more desperate, the shared pleasure building toward an inevitable peak, I became aware of something else—an emotional current flowing alongside the physical one. I could feel Caelen’s affection for me, his joy in our connection, his growing… love.
The realization hit me with the force of revelation. He loved me. Not just desired me, not just appreciated me—loved me, with a depth and purity that took my breath away.
And I, I realized with equal shock, loved him too.
“Caelen,” I gasped, needing to say it, to make it real beyond the festival magic. “I love you.”
His eyes, now glowing with starlight and emotion, locked with mine. “And I love you, Blake Morgan. With all that I am.”
The declaration pushed us both over the edge. Our shared climax was cosmic in its intensity—pleasure amplified by our connection, reverberating between us like echoes in a canyon. The light from our painted bodies flared to an impossible brightness, momentarily obliterating all else from perception.
In that moment of transcendent pleasure, I understood why they called it the Festival of Lights. We had become light itself, energy without boundary, connected not just to each other but to something larger—the stars above, the realm around us, the ancient magic that underpinned it all.
When awareness gradually returned, we were still joined, our painted bodies now glowing with a softer, steadier light. Caelen’s wings had curled forward, enfolding us both in their protective embrace. His forehead rested against mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us.
