Page 119 of Sweetling
Drawn deep, he pressed inexorably on until he was seated fully inside her. Surrounded by his Molly, Allarion dropped his head to claim those plush lips, catching her in soft kisses as he indulged in the bliss of her body. He’d stay like that all day if he could, buried inside his mate, kissing her softly as the sun crossed the sky.
He was the patient one of the two of them, however.
Eventually, her little heel dug into the small of his back. “Sometime today,” she teased at his ear.
“Later, then,” he whispered back, settling himself on his elbows.
Molly laughed, her eyes dancing with mirth and morning sunshine.
Biting her lip, Molly waggled her brows as she clenched her muscles around him. Goddesses, he was no match for her when she did that.
He held out for a while, brave fae warrior as he was, but the little rocks of her hips and rippling grip of her cunt were the victor.
Flexing his backside, Allarion began a gentle rhythm. Every thrust and retreat was a gift, every sound from her throat a boon. He took his precious mate lazily, greedily, for he knew as surely as he did that his heart beat for her that he would never tire of her. She was a hunger that could never be sated, a need that would never dull.
So even though she dug that heel into his back and growled naughty things at him, he took his time. He indulged. Every day, she brought him back to life, and he wanted to savor every moment.
Throughout his transformation, Allarion found himself caught in a bittersweet wish to speak once more to Maxim. He missed his friend, and the grief of his loss would be a burden Allarion carried for all his days—but now, even more than that, he felt himself bonded to his friend in a way he couldn’t be to any other fae alive.
Maxim alone knew what it was to have a human mate. A heart beat.
And to sacrifice that for their child…
Allarion’s respect for his friend only grew. To know now what it was to have anazai,to feel how deeply his love and devotion went for her, he didn’t know if he could allow Molly to do what Aine had done. Even to save their child. Perhaps one day Allarion would know the profound joy of having his own daughter to cherish and protect, and perhaps then his perspective and opinion would change, but now, he didn’t think there was anything in this world he valued more than the life of his Molly.
His precious mate lay reclined on his chest in their bath, and he couldn’t help bending to kiss the crown of her head. Her wet, fragrant hair slid against his lips, a complement to her silky skin under his hands.
Afternoon light limned their arms in a white glow as they sat soaking in the great copper tub. A morning of lovemaking and then baking berry pies had left them sorely needing to cleanse, and there were few things he enjoyed more than bathing with his Molly.
Sitting with her between his legs, given the trust and privilege of washing her hair and back and limbs, it all filled him with an indelible sense of peace. The warm steam that floated around them, the feel of her supple limbs under his hands, the soft, pliant way she let him care for her soaked his soul in the kind of happiness that some could only dream of.
Washed and scrubbed, they lay together as their fingers and toes wrinkled, enjoying the last of the water’s warmth. Outside, a clear but cold day shone through the windows, but inside, their haze of fragranced water and heady steam felt a world away.
He watched on as Molly gently traced a finger up the inside of his arm, following a thick vein to his wrist.
“Does it feel much different?” she mused quietly.
“Yes and no.” He held his hand open as her smaller one explored the dips between his fingers. “So much changes and yet some things remain the same.”
She hummed in consideration. “Just no growing taller. I like you this height.”
Allarion chuckled, drawing his legs up to cuddle her closer. Yes, he thought he was the perfect height, too; perfect for tucking her under his chin when they lay together and for her to bury her face in his chest when they stood.
“I never thought…” He turned their hands together, marveling at the crystal droplets that caught along their skin and reflected pinpoints of afternoon sunlight. “I don’t think the fae always had black blood.”
“No?” She tilted her head back to peer at him. “You don’t think it’s a side effect of having a human for a wife?”
“Oh, it very much is,” he said, kissing her temple. “Maxim too had lost the black in his blood after marrying Aine. I didn’t know how, he wouldn’t say. But…I don’t think you and she transformed us—I think you’ve restored us.”
“Wouldn’t you remember having red blood and a heartbeat?”
Allarion thought so, but then again, his life had already been so very long. If he’d been this way as a child, he’d no memories of it. His mother and other fae older than her, though scarce, didn’t speak of a time when the fae lived with heartbeats. There were a few mentions he could recall in ancient stories and texts, of fae feeling their hearts soar or pound, but he’d always thought it metaphorical, creative license.
“I don’t. I’m not sure anyone alive remembers such a thing. But our hearts and stomachs must be more than just vestigial remnants. I think, as our bond to the faelands and its magic strengthened, we forgot how to live without magic.”
Molly’s brows and lips puckered with thought. “You think the blackness in your blood is magic?”
“Yes.”
