Page 57 of Love and Death
Silver silk spills over her form, barely covering what I would taste of her skin as it moves like liquid in the light. She opens her mouth to speak, and I lean in to hush her with a kiss.
“Let me worship you as only I can, just once.”
I drop to my knees before her, as a god desperate in his devotion. Slowly, I part the long silks of her skirt, baring skin I would destroy my reputation for, as I drag my fingers down her inner thighs.
Hazel squirms beneath my touch, her breath catching in her throat as I meet the silver—blue of her eyes.
“Eros,” she whispers, her voice breathless.
I smile softly at her as I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, tracing upwards slowly with the tip of my nose and tongue.
Her body arches as heat builds within her.
“Eros,” she says again, this time a plea.
“Let me show you,” I say in a low purr, reaching under and around her hips as I move her legs up over my shoulders. “Let me taste of you, and you will know that I am yours to command.”
I pull her further down my throne and graze her lightly with my tongue. Her fingers find my hair, twisting in it as she searches for her own hold, pulling tight enough to cause pain.
I smile, my own reverent hunger for her now ravenous, as I drag her to me, burying my mouth where I have so long wished to.
And gods, it is sweeter than I could imagine. She cries out, spurring me on to deepen my worship of her until …
“Eros. Eros, please!”
I pull us, staggering, from the painting, a surge of fear rising within me as I turn to Hazel, my eyes searching her face.
“Are you alright?” I ask, an unexpected tremble in my voice. “Did I let it go too far?”
“I-I should not see more. It is too intimate.”
I smile carefully, not wanting to frighten her.
“I do not mind.”
“No, please. I-I do not wish to know any more of what I have not myself done.”
I mull this over in my mind, my desire for her almost unbearable just imagining it. I know the full danger of what I am about to suggest. Knowing that I will not stop myself if she agrees, but still, I continue, “We could turn it from dream to memory, if you wish.”
I feel her own desire rise, and my throat grows dry with my thirst to quench myself with it. For a brief moment, I feel her actually consider it. She wants to know. Wants to experience that bond, but something still resists within her.
“I cannot.”
She will not, I want to correct.
At least, not like this.
Not with me.
“Very well, shall we?” I ask, offering her my handagain as I gesture further down the hall. Accepting my hand, I lead her out onto the balcony and over to the balustrade.
We stand in silence for a long moment, watching the colors splash across the sky in ever-changing brushstrokes.
“Thank you for showing me your paintings,” Hazel says, looking up at me, her sincerity swelling my heart. “I do not want you to think me angry. I understand the intimacy behind such things. I suppose each painting here is a small piece of your heart and soul, just as it would be in waking life. Probably more so.”
“If only they could be in waking as they are here, I would let them take all of my soul … as long as the subject is you.”
She gives me a sweet smile, but I can feel the sorrow of her heart in it. She wishes she could say the same to me, but she cannot.
