Page 219 of Vasmora

Sweat beaded across his skin, his muscles burning and flexing around her, as he drove into her in an unbroken tempo. He licked her skin, savoring that salty flavor on his tongue. The moons could’ve fallen from the sky, the ground caving into oblivion, but Zevander kept on, desperate for the one time in his life he might know pleasure without pain.

Hellsteeth, he craved that blade like a dying sip of oxygen, but he forced a loose grip.

He shook around Maevyth with the violence of a tempest, the rising tide of pleasure holding him at the brink.

Her tight body squeezed him with every thrust, drawing centuries of pent-up tension to the tip of his cock.

Tighter.

Tighter.

He curled his fingers, surprised to find them digging into flesh. When had he grabbed her neck?

She clawed at his arm, her body jostling against him. His pace turned frantic. Merciless.

So fucking close.

Any moment, that voice would tear through his mind and destroy everything.

Harder. Faster.

A strangled sound of pleasure tore from Maevyth’s throat, and something snapped inside of him like a vicious gale biting through the mainsheet. A blinding jolt of ecstasy rippled up the back of his neck and knocked him off balance, his body shaking in chaos as a broken sound he’d never heard ripped from his chest.

Pure. Raw. Euphoric.

His vision blurred, eyes whiting out. He let it possess him in waves, shuddering around her, his seed filling her in hot jets that trickled down his thighs. Another swell throbbed through his veins, and he let out a grunt, collapsing forward, catching himself as he held her pinned against the railing.

Fates in chains, he nearly blacked out.

Resting his forehead against her damp skin, he groaned as another surge of release spilled into her, his thighs burning, muscles twitching. A long, ragged moan rumbled out of him, his muscles sagging. Finally spent, he focused on their synchronized breaths, the rise and fall of her chest matching his own.

“Zevander,” she spoke softly. “The blade.”

Disgust rolled through him, imagining the bloody mess in his palm. He couldn’t bring himself to look.

“You never cut yourself.”

Frowning, he lifted his head and pulled out of her, staring down at the bloodless steel captured in his palm. Not so much as a nick across his skin.

How?

He recalled the craving. The urge to feel his skin split open, and yet, he hadn’t.

Relief poured through him, and he dared a small smile as he pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades. He spun her around in his arms, wrapping her tightly against him as he seized her mouth.

“I love you,” she said against his lips.

“And I love you.” Gripping the back of her skull, he held their foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingling. “You were born for me, A’miszhla. Carved by the gods themselves.” He lifted her up into his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, as she wrapped her legs around him, arms around his neck. The way her wet flesh slid across his stomach had him pressing her closer, letting the delicious mixture of their release mark his skin.

“Do you think the moons enjoyed the view?” She smiled and kissed him again.

“I know I certainly did.”

“How often do they merge this way?”

He buried his face in her neck as he carried her back toward the door. “They cross paths a couple of times a year, I suppose, but we only get to witness a perfect alignment with Vespera like this once every two thousand years.” Inhaling that delicious concoction of sweat and arousal that clung to her skin, he reached out, ran his hand along the surface of the door for its handle and opened it. “There’s a story that they were lovers, cursed to remain apart, meeting only once every couple millennia.”

“I would savor every moment.”