Page 9 of Ashborne Forged

~ GRACE ~

The light continued to dim as the sun slipped behind the mountains under the cover of storm clouds. The wind whipped the leaves, and rain pattered overhead—a sound I adored. Yet, it was only music in the background of my pounding heartbeat.

The little room was dark enough to dilute color into shadow, and blur sight. With eyes open, I could see shapes, dark and light. But in the deluge of sensation, sight seemed unnecessary. All my other senses heightened.

The rush of heavy breath blended with the patter of the rain.

His trembling touches raised goosebumps on my skin, while my palms and fingers blistered with the heat of his skin. All of it buoyed by his kiss—deep, slow, insistent.

I barely felt my own weight on my feet because my body thrilled as it all combined to overwhelm, each sense amplified by the others.

Hands and breath on skin, in my hair. Lips and tongue teasing and drawing me nearer. Sensation heightened, and coming from every direction.

And through it all, his eyes. Black, with pinpoints of light. Watching every shift. Every flutter. Keen. Bright with admiration. At first, cautious and questioning—watching my face when he touched, or stroked, questioning. Then blazing need when I pressed into him, fueled with something I might have called love.

I shivered as his hands raised pebbling on my skin.

The rustle of the breeze and raindrops outside mingled with the hush and rasp of our quickened breaths. All of it, cocooning me in his warm strength, in that dark space, in the sensation of his touch.

Voski loomed over me, a blacker part of the growing dark. He should have been frightening. Yet, he whispered my name and opened his mouth on the sensitive skin under my ear. My head fell back to give him better access, and my eyes fluttered closed again, as he held me to him, bending me backward over his arm.

Outside, the dragons crooned and called. Sometimes close, sometimes far, but always an unseen presence.

My breath quickened to his touch—and to the images that flashed in my head of sliding scales and twined tails, and stretched wings. Koa’s images of Kham, and how he fanned the flames of her need.

And I understood. For the first time, I understood.

Time had disappeared. My cloak was on the floor, as were my jacket and leathers. I stood, barefoot, only the cotton shirt still hanging from my shoulders, but open. And when he bent me back, Voski rasped a groan, pressed the linen aside, and sank, kissing his way down to open his mouth on my nipple, sucking, then flicking with the tip of his tongue, so that my body jolted and I grasped for him.

Memories of that first night when he’d held me, touched me, kissed me, before he ran, braided with images from Koa, and the passionate burn of his touch now.

I should have been embarrassed. Afraid. Unsure.

But Voski moved slowly—so slowly, that each new touch brought relief. Because I ached for it, my body rose to it, before he gave it.

I pushed his shirt and jacket off, sliding my hands all over the mountains of his shoulders, marveling at the bunch and roll when he moved—the effortless strength when he pulled me hard against him. But then our skins met. I quivered. Overwhelmed by the sensation of his belly against mine, his hand on my breast, the sheer heat of him.

It radiated from him as if fire ran under his skin. Like the dragons.

The longer we touched, the more that desperate tugging that had been present in my chest since the night Koa chose me became a cord of unrelenting light. Light that filled the chasm behind my ribs. It glowed in my veins. My heart bathed in it.

With each shift, each new caress, I wanted more.

His kiss drifted then, to tease at my other breast, and I sucked in, burying fingers in his hair, holding him to me as lightning bolts of pleasure crackled from his kiss, through my belly, to meet the ache between my thighs.

I’d never been in a heated embrace. Never understood the consuming nature of a man’s touch, the draw of his strength, why so many nobles risked public standing—even their marriages—for this.

But I did now.

He hadn’t even taken me, and already I yearned for more. I needed more. I needed him.

When he stood straight, I worried he’d leave me. But he only pulled me closer.

His long arm lay along my spine, one hand cradling the base of my head, my neck, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. The other hand drifted down my body, to places I had never bared before the eyes of another. Places only I—and now he—had ever touched.

And instead of fear, or embarrassment, I found myself gasping, swallowing a plea, my hips rocking, pressing into him as he trailed fingers up the inside of my thigh, and then higher.

The ache was powerful, promising as he nudged me to widen my stance. And instead of humiliation or cowering, I eagerly did as he bid, my nails biting into his scalp when he drew fingers against me and the rush of pleasure coursed from my core where he teased, to every inch of my skin.