Page 60 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
I wait. My heart is a bird, poised to fly. When long seconds pass and Weston still doesn’t move, I tilt my face up. My heartbeat catches fire. “Ruin me,” I beg. “Save me.”
His hesitation comes apart. He steps in, takes my face in his hands, and crushes his mouth to mine.
My eyes close. My entire body exhales, my soul softening at the sheer rightness of this. Weston’s tongue probes at the seam of my lips, and I open to him like a flower. Nectar-sweet relief cascades through me.
I twine my arms around his neck. Goddess, we were always meant to do this, to be this to one another. We’ve been heading toward this moment since the day we first locked eyes in my library. Which means maybe, just maybe, Fortuna Marked us to bring us together, not drive us apart.
Maybe we were always meant to save one another.
Weston’s hands dive into my hair, kneading my scalp, making the ends of my tresses tickle the small of my back. I pull him closer. His kiss is effervescent, like a mouthful of sparkling wine, sweetened with honey.
It’s our magic, maybe, equalizing. Or maybe it’s just him, this person who’s saved me a thousand times over. He tastes like ambrosia. Like hope and divinity.
Then he’s gathering me into his embrace and lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the bed, where he lays me out like he promised. His weight settles atop me, more binding than an oath. Because I feel it, already. The crackling hum as our opposing forces meet.
The kiss turns fierce, Weston’s tongue exploring my mouth with mounting urgency. He pants hungry sounds against my lips as his hands trail fire down my sides. I scrabble at him, trying to get closer, and his fingers settle at my hips, digging in almost desperately.
When he tugs at my underwear, I lift my hips, pulling one leg through, then the other. He tosses the scrap of silk away. His lips trail down the side of my throat, his breathing ragged against my racing pulse. He unfastens my bra and throws that, too.
My whole body comes alive, lighting up like a firework. “Lick my Mark.”
He obeys, leaving behind a tremor that’s both hot and cold, an impossible sensation only he can elicit. I arch, needing to be against him, to be part of him. I need more. I need everything.
He pulls back just enough to gaze down into my face. “I want to be inside you when it happens,” he rasps. “I want every part of you to be mine when I take your luck.”
“Yes,” I whimper. The buzz of our pressed-together bodies builds, cresting into an ache in my teeth. One that’s only overshadowed by the ache between my legs. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Do you need more time? More?—”
“No. I want younow.”
Weston groans, a sound of surrender and need, and his mouth fuses with mine again. The passing seconds melt to a sticky swirl. There’s the brush of his calluses, the wet heat of his mouth, the solid weight of him between my thighs. And, deep within, the frantic vibration of my luck finding its opposite—its equal—and yielding to it.
He shifts his weight, notching his hips against mine, all barriers between us gone. As if to be sure, he reaches down and brushes a touch along my core.
An exquisite shiver rockets through me. We both break the kiss to look. His fingers come away slick and shining.
The buzz inside me pitches higher.
“Hurry,” I whisper, so overburdened with feeling I can barely hear myself think, much less speak.
He releases a shuddery breath and looks at me, his expression stark and vulnerable in the firelight. I drop a quick glance to his Mark. It’s still there, but it won’t be for much longer. The internal hum crescendos to a whine, and when I raise my eyes again, I know I’ve looked at his triquetra for the last time.
“Now,” I say.
“We’ll go slow next time.”
“Next time,” I agree. And I want to die of joy, knowing there will be a next time.
He reaches down to set himself against my entrance. He takes my face in his hands. Then he’s pushing, stretching, filling me. Saving me. Freeing me. I cry out at the sensation, my fingernails biting into his shoulders. Those whiskey eyes hold me in place, and a bolt of tenderness spears me, so pure it nearly tears a hole in my chest.
A hoarse sound wrenches from his throat. He chases it up with a curse. “Incredible. You feel incredible.”
I tilt my hips until I have all of him. “Youdo. Feel... Oh... My goddess.”
He eases back, then in again, driving a ripple of bliss through me. My lashes flutter, but I force my eyes to stay open, because I want to witness this. All of it. Every last drop.
Another muffled groan rolls out of him. “Is this okay?”
