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I make a split-second decision and pull back from his kiss. Harper sighs hungrily, but I can feel him steeling himself to be rejected.
I lift my eyes to his, seeing my own desire reflected back at me. “Lock the door,” I say.
He blinks, disbelieving, so I repeat myself before I can change my mind.
“Harper. Lock the door.”
He does, faster than I would have thought possible, and returns to me. I enfold him in my arms, bringing his mouth to mine again. He moans against my lips, falling into me as if he is drowning and I am the air he needs to survive. He nips at my lower lip, and I open to him, and suddenly I am the one who is drowning.
He wraps a warm, strong arm around my waist and brings our bodies flush against each other, connected from shoulders to hips. I feel his arousal pressing against my thigh and oh skies I want him. I can’t believe how much I want him.
His mouth moves from my lips, to my jaw, to my neck, kissing and sucking and biting, and I cannot breathe. I melt into him, desperate for more of him. I reach for the fastenings on his fatigues, slide my fingers under the fabric to touch his warm skin. Fuck, he’s all muscle.
I need more of him. I ruck his shirt up over his abdomen, relishing the way he responds to my touch with soft moans and sighs. He lifts his arms so that I can pull the shirt over his head and then immediately closes the gap again, his hands slipping under my shirt. My eyes close as his fingers flick across my nipple.
Burning hells, this feels good. I reach down to unbutton his trousers, and he reciprocates, and soon we are bared to each other.
There is a moment of awkwardness, as I become aware of the bruises and scars littering my body. Some of them he gave to me, I recall with a shiver. As if reading my mind, Avitas reaches out with gentle fingers to trace a long, silvery scar along my collarbone. He does not meet my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking. “I’m so—“
I stop him with a finger to his lips. “Neither of us are now who we were then,” I whisper. “You were following orders. I would’ve done the same thing.”
My fingers move from his lips to trace the outline of his mask. He turns his face to kiss my palm and I gasp, surprised by how erotic such a simple gesture feels. He notices my reaction and does it again, then holds onto my hand as his lips move up to my wrist, the inside of my elbow, the tip of my shoulder. He traces the length of the scar with his tongue, then leaves open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat. I am gasping by the time his lips find mine again.
His hands wrap around to lift me off my feet and onto the bed. He settles between my legs, the look of longing in his eyes sending bolts of heat through my belly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, placing a careful kiss between my breasts. “So, so beautiful.” His lips move lower. Lower. Burning hells, yes —
His earlier impatience is gone, replaced by a smoldering, slow heat that takes my breath away. He nips playfully at my hipbone, then smiles up at me. I smile back and flush, suddenly shy at the thought that he can see my whole face— a face I haven’t yet seen myself.
But Avitas doesn’t let me linger with that thought for long. His fingers and tongue dip between my thighs, and I can no longer think of anything except how good it feels to be loved this way. I try to tell him so, but it comes out as a moan, and a sigh, and he smiles against me, humming his approval and oh fuck that feels good, too.
My hands twist into his hair, encouraging him deeper. Fuck, yes, please — I moan and writhe and his free hand comes up to hold me still and skies if that isn’t even better. I have never felt this good in my entire damned life, and I want, I want, I want —
Suddenly his mouth is moving up my body again, his fingers still stroking, still curling and spreading inside me. His tongue moves across my nipple, and I arch against him, my still-healing body relishing the feeling of something other than pain and exhaustion for the first time in months.
I let my hands slide down his body, let one wrap around his cock, and he bucks into me, a groan on his lips.
“Fuck, Hel—“
I stroke up and down, relishing his moans, the way his body responds to my touch. His lips meet mine again, and I taste myself on his tongue as I feel his hand come up to cover mine, to move my hand over him in the way he needs and bleeding hells — the sounds he’s making, the way he’s rutting into my hand, it’s so good, so, so good, fuck —
He shifts over me, lining up to finally, finally push inside me. I cut him off before he can ask, those deep, careful eyes still cautious, still making sure I want what he wants.
“I want you,” I say, “inside me. Right now.”
He does not wait to be asked twice. My back arches as he buries himself to the hilt, an inhuman sound tearing from him. His head falls onto my shoulder, his breathing heavy as he begins to move. Fucking, bleeding, burning hells, yes, yes, yes —
“Helene— ah, yes—so tight, so good—“
I cannot reply, cannot make my voice work to tell him yes, me too, you feel so good, this feels so good, so right — so I rake my nails through his hair, over his shoulders and chest, down his arms, everywhere I can reach, hoping they will speak for me.
He changes his angle, wrapping one of my legs around his waist and hoisting the other over his should and—oh—yes—fuck—
“There, yes, like that, please, I—“
“I’m close, Helene, so close—“
“Me too, me too, fuck— “
He moves a hand between us and flicks over my clit, and I see stars, my eyes closing against the explosion of pleasure coursing through my body. I am distantly aware of Harper’s hoarse cry, his body spasming over mine, his hands gripping my hips so tight as he buries himself inside me.
He collapses over me, weight held on his forearms but I want to feel more of him, and I pull him down into a kiss. Deep, slow. Skies, my whole body is tingling, little shocks of pleasure skating across my skin.
It's when we have both found our breath--when he’s gone to the basin of water and returned--when he’s carefully, so carefully helped me clean up--when he is holding me in his arms, his lips brushing whisper soft against my hair, so painfully gentle—it's then that I finally stop long enough to understand my mistake.
I am not Helene--I am the Blood Shrike.
We should not have done this. And it cannot ever happen again.