Page 133 of Veinblood
“Better?” His voice is rough.
“Much.”
His mouth finds mine again, harder this time, and our tongues meet as his hands cup my breasts. Shadows curl around my thighs, cool touches that make me arch against him. When his hands slide to my waist and he lifts me, I wrap my legs around him, and he carries me across to the bedroom.
The mattress gives beneath us as he lays me down, his weight settling over me. Shadows dance across my skin while his mouth traces a path down my throat, across my collarbone, lower. He kisses a circle around my breast, and then takes a nipple between his lips. My back arches, fingers threading through his hair.
“Sacha!”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
His remaining clothes disappear, shadows helping to strip them away. When he finally comes back to lie between my thighs, I can feel how ready he is, how much he wants this. His fingers stroke between my legs, finding me wet and eager.
“So responsive.” He slides one finger inside me, then another. “Still wet after what I did to you on the dance floor?”
“Especiallybecause of that.” The words come out breathless as he works his fingers deeper, finding spots that make me gasp. “Don’t make me wait.” I hook one leg around his hips and try to pull him into me.
He laughs quietly, drags his fingers free and pushes into me slowly. We both groan. He stills for a moment, letting me adjust, then begins to move. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through me, while shadows caress every sensitive spot they can reach.
“Mine,” he whispers against my ear, his pace quickening. “You're mine, Ellie.”
“Yes." My nails dig into his shoulders. “Yours.”
The pleasure builds until I'm trembling beneath him, so close to the edge I can barely think. When his thumb finds my clit, circling with just the right pressure, I shatter around him with a cry that echoes off the walls.
He follows moments later, my name on his lips as he buries himself deep and finds his own release.
When we finally still, breathless and sated, I curl against his sidewith my head on his chest. His fingers stroke through my hair while shadows drift lazily around us, reluctant to withdraw completely.
“You know,” I murmur sleepily against his skin, “on Earth, people usually ask before they decide to get married.”
“Ask what?”
“If the other person wants to marry them. There's a whole proposal thing. Usually involves a ring.”
His chest shakes with quiet laughter. “I gave you a crown.”
“A crown is better than a ring, I suppose.” I turn my head to kiss his shoulder. “More dramatic.”
“Everything about you deserves to be dramatic.” His hand stills in my hair for a moment, and something strokes over the ring finger of my left hand. “Though if you want a ring as well …”
Coolness wraps around my finger.
“There.” His voice is rich with satisfaction. “Now you have both.”
I lift my hand to examine his work, turning it in the moonlight. The delicate band is set with tiny shadowstones that pulse like captured stars. The dark gems absorb the moonlight, creating depths of blue and violet that shift and change as I move my fingers.
It fits perfectly, warm against my skin despite being crafted from shadow. “It's beautiful.”
“It's yours. Like everything else I am.”
“Everything?” I tease. “That's a dangerous statement to make.”
“And yet I feel no fear from saying so.”
I trace lazy patterns on his chest with my fingertips, admiringthe way moonlight plays across the ring. Quiet falls between us, comfortable and warm, and eventually exhaustion wins, and I drift toward sleep still curled against him, his shadows wrapped around us both like a blanket.
