A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire(75)

He drew his hand up my side, over my arm, and then moved back down. “And strong.”

The robe slipped more, seeming to follow his hand. I looked to see that the material had parted even more, exposing one breast. Warmth suffused my cheeks when I saw the evidence of my desire in the turgid peak. His hand closed over my breast, drawing a gasp from me as his thumb swirled over the nub. My back arched into the touch, into him.

“So generous,” he rasped, sliding his hand down lower, below my navel and over my bare hip then lower still. His fingers met the wetness gathering there, and then he cupped me. His touch was like a brand as he idly drew one finger over the very center of me in light, playful strokes that caused my entire body to twitch. He continued with those featherlight touches until I thought I would stretch beyond my skin, that I surely would ignite, and then he sank a finger inside me. My head kicked back against his chest as a breathy sound escaped me. “So fucking beautiful,” he gritted out, withdrawing his finger until he was almost free of my body and then inching it back in.

He angled his hand so his thumb danced over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he continued to stroke with that long, talented finger of his, pumping it slowly in and out, taking more and more of my breath with each thrust of his digit. He worked his other arm around me, folding it across my chest. He palmed the too-tight breast as he worked in a second finger, stretching me, feeding the fire even more.

I cried out, pressing against his hand, against him. His breath came in rough bursts as I turned my head to see him watching his hands, watching me lift and grind against it. I slipped into the balmy sensation, falling maddeningly into it. Reality fell away. I hadn’t been the captive. He hadn’t been the captor. We weren’t partners in an agreement, each using the other. It was just us, his skilled fingers and hands, the warmth of his arms, the glorious tightening within me, and when he trembled, cursing as I rode his hand, rode the hard length that pressed against me from behind. It was all those things, and the sudden thrill of power and control.

He started to angle his body so there was space between us, but I’d given in to the fire. I reached back, curled my fingers around his hip, and dug in my nails in a silent demand.

Casteel obeyed.

He submitted with another curse and a brief, hot pass of his lips across the curve of mine as his fingers plunged harder, deeper. I rocked against him, and there was no rhythm as we both moved and strained. The curl low in my stomach spun and spun—

“Poppy, I—” He broke off as I placed my other hand over his, holding him to me as I worked him.

And it happened—the tightening and curling, all of it unraveled, stroking out through every limb. I moaned as release powered through me, as I shuddered around his fingers, and he shuddered against me, still moving those damn digits of his and eliciting every whipping wave of sensation he could until my hands fell away from him, and I went limp. Until his breathing steadied against my cheek. Then, slowly, he eased out of me.

His hand didn’t move far though, instead gliding up and stopping just below my navel. He tugged the halves of my robe closed with his other hand, holding it in place just below my breasts. There was something about the act that seemed…gentle.

Slowly, I became aware of a dampness against my lower back and the upper swells of my behind. I tipped my head back and to the side.

His head rested on the pillow behind mine, his features relaxed in a way that I’d only seen when he slept. Those eyes of his were heavy and hooded as his gaze met mine.

And then the strangest thing occurred. Pink crept into his cheeks as he shifted his hips away from me. “Sorry,” he said thickly, a boyish grin appearing on his lips. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

I looked down. There was a spot along the front of his pants that was a darker black. Damp. My cheeks colored as my gaze flew to his.

“That hasn’t happened since…” The grin turned sheepish, and between that and the faint blush staining his cheeks, it was like seeing someone totally different. “Well, that’s never happened before.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised by the throatiness of my voice.

“Really.” His gaze searched mine. “I didn’t want—I mean, of course, I wanted that. I wanted more. I always want more when it comes to you.” The hue of his eyes brightened once more, and my toes curled. “But I wanted it to be about you.”

Gods, there was also something so tender about the way he said that. “It was about me. You tried to put space between us.” I turned my head away, my gaze falling to his hands. “I’m the one who didn’t allow that.”

“And I liked that.” A pause. “A lot. Obviously.”

My lips twitched.

“Who knew you could be so demanding,” he continued, and I rolled my eyes. “I also liked that. Obviously.”

I grinned.

His exhale was soft, tickling the back of my neck. “What you did for me? Offering to feed me? I know that had to be scary.”

It wasn’t. Not really.

“And I just want you to know that I…” He cleared his throat. “There really aren’t words, other than thank you.”

I stared at his fingers and the tendons of his hands, searching for some hint of regret or shame. I was sure the embarrassment would come later when I saw Kieran, but I didn’t regret offering my blood to Casteel. And like before, I didn’t wish that what happened afterward hadn’t. It didn’t feel shameful or wrong. It had felt natural, as if some inherent knowledge said that it was common for that level of intimacy to come from feeding. To give way to more. That if I’d grown up in Atlantia, that if he and I were different people, what we’d shared afterward would be common. Once again, it felt like…like the ground we held had changed and shifted under us.

“You don’t need to thank me.” I closed my eyes. “It was my choice.”





Casteel eased his arm out from under me, and the bed shifted as his weight left it. A languid warmth settled over me as I watched him make his way to where his bag lay at the foot of the bed. He pulled something out and then disappeared into the bathing chamber, closing the door behind him. I heard the faint sounds of fresh water from pitchers being emptied into the basin. Water splashed, and I wondered how he was able to withstand the coldness of it.

I wiggled my toes against the blanket bunched at the foot of the bed, thinking I should rise or at least pull the blanket up, but I was too comfortable to make the effort. My eyes drifted shut, reopening when I heard the door open. Casteel strode out, wearing only those loose cotton pants that hung indecently low on his hips. I shouldn’t look, and I definitely shouldn’t stare, but I soaked in the sight of the lean, coiled muscles of his abdomen and the defined lines of his chest and shoulders. His form was evidence of years spent wielding a sword and using his body as a weapon, but to look like him…

It should be forbidden.

Casteel caught my gaze, and his full lips curved. The dimple in his right cheek appeared.

And then the left one.

“I like that,” Casteel said.

“What?”

“You looking at me.”

I watched him toss the rolled-up pair of breeches into his bag. “I’m not looking at you.”

“My mistake, then,” he murmured, the dimple in his right cheek remained. He straightened, and the muscles along his spine did interesting, fascinating things.

I waited for him to tease me about what we’d done, for him to point out that yet again, and twice in one day, I’d proven myself wrong when it came to him.

The teasing never came.

He disappeared from my line of sight, and I somehow managed to not turn and watch him. A handful of moments passed, and then the bed dipped under his weight once more. Surprise whispered through me. I should’ve known the moment I saw him in those pants that he wasn’t leaving the room, but I guessed I hadn’t expected him to stay. It was so early in the day, barely noon.

Reaching down, Casteel grabbed the blanket and tugged it up over me—over us—and then he snuggled in behind me like he had before.

Silence stretched, filling the room, and then he said, “Can I…can I just hold you?” he asked, and I’d never heard him sound so uncertain. “There are things I should be doing, and I know we’re not in public, and I know that what we shared doesn’t change anything, but…can I…can we just pretend?”

My heart thumped heavily again, and I didn’t know if it was the effect of the feeding or what we’d done afterward. Or if it was the softness of his request, the vulnerability in it, and the feeling that things had shifted even more between us. It could’ve been all of those things that led me to say, “You can.”

Casteel’s exhale was ragged, but he didn’t move. When I looked over my shoulder, his eyes were closed, his lips parted. I wondered if he was all right. “Casteel?”

Thick lashes swept up, revealing extraordinarily bright amber eyes. “I…I didn’t think you’d let me.”

Lying my head back down, I wet my lips. “Should I have not?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Casteel moved then, slipping one arm under me and the other around me. He tugged me close, sealing my back to his chest. “No takebacks now, though.”