Fleeing Fate Page 7
Of course she knew the penalty for theft of magical items, considered the gravest of crimes, but didn’t care.
“I’d give up my personal freedom for the ability to feel, to experience every emotion, no matter how painful.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you remember what happened earlier?” Jakuta touched the side of her head, as though to remind her of how she’d reacted to the slew of memories. “Even now you’re all over the place emotionally—crying one minute, laughing the next. Suppose that’s what’s waiting for you at the end?”
How she wished she could argue she was fine, but she knew she wasn’t. The tumult in her head was growing, and a specter she’d never considered raised its ugly head, making her shudder with revulsion. She’d considered incarceration for theft, banishment, even death, but hadn’t thought of insanity.
“By the Goddess.” Fear had her grab his forearms, knowing her nails must be biting into his skin, unable to loosen her convulsive grip. “Help me, Jakuta. Please, help me. Maybe the tattoo is the answer. Maybe once I have it, things will settle down.”
But she was no longer sure she believed that, could only hope that if it didn’t help, it would make things so bad she’d be pulled into the darkness instead.
For a moment she thought her terror was echoed in his eyes, but when she looked deeper, she knew she was mistaken. Instead there was a resolute light shining in his gaze.
“Go back and sit down, sweetness. Let me get the ink ready.” He eased her away, and she forced herself to let him go, even though it felt like letting a lifeline slip from her fingers. “Like you said, we’ll try them all. Even if it takes all night.”
Getting her trembling legs to take the two steps back to the chair was like wading through water, and she hardly had the strength necessary to climb back up onto the high seat. Trying to keep her brain from exploding, she watched him, but it added one more layer to her agony. Need rose in her as she remembered the touch of his hands, the sensation of his mouth and tongue between her thighs, his sounds of pleasure as she’d brought him to orgasm.
Finally she rolled onto her side, brought her knees up to her chest, adrift on the barrage of emotions, insensate to everything but the madness inside her head.
Chapter Eight
He tried them all—vamp, were, troll, bogie, pixie ink, plus a host of others—but nothing took. Some were absorbed straight into her skin, disappearing as soon as the needle left her, others were repelled and came away when he wiped her skin after application. The usual equation didn’t help either. There was nothing in the human realm, she told him, that banshees were hurt or deterred by, except perhaps salt enchanted by a knowledgeable witch. That was something unavailable on this side of the Veil, as it was toxic to almost all the western fey and, as a result, had been outlawed.
Gràinne was trying hard to hold it all together, but strain showed clear in the turmoil-shadowed eyes, her paleness and the sheen of perspiration beading her brow. Jakuta felt helpless, more angry than he could ever recall being before, and that was saying something. He wanted to hurl the tattoo machine out the window, call down thunder and lightning to scorch and destroy everything—including him.
There was no need to tell her he was out of options. She seemed to sense his rage-filled despair, and the tears she’d been holding back trickled slowly down her cheeks.
“Sweetness…”
He didn’t know what to say, and Gràinne shook her head too, held out her hand to him.
“Thank you for trying.” Even her voice was growing wispy, as though her spirit was already retreating into the maw of some great, devouring beast. Jakuta growled, tossed the machine onto the table, his fingers trembling with impotence and growing fear. Gràinne let her hand drop, closed her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Jakuta.”
But it was. If he knew more, was more skilled in rune magic…
“Fuck.”
Rising, he kicked the tattoo stand over, overwhelmed by the raging storm growing in his belly. Gràinne flinched, her eyelids fluttering, and the sight steadied him, filled him with the need to help her in some way, no matter how small.
Bending, he gathered her into his arms. With a murmur of assent she snuggled against his chest and his heart almost burst with pain. Striding across to the daybed, he sat down with her on his lap. She was trembling, long shudders racking her body as though she had a fever, but her body was chilled, almost clammy. Pulling her as close as possible, he buried his face in her hair, trying not to weep, howl his anguish.
“Jakuta…”
“Yes, sweetness?”
“I can’t do this.” Tears choked her voice, tore at his soul. “I have to make it stop.”
What could he say? He was out of ideas. For the last couple of hours he’d been appealing to the Orixás for help, had gotten no response. All he could do was tighten his hold on her, try to give her whatever comfort his physical presence offered.
Gràinne lifted her wan face, reached out a shivering hand to touch his cheek. The smoky rings around her irises had grown until they almost completely covered the green and her lips trembled.
“Kiss me, help me forget.”
“Sweetness…”
She touched a finger to his mouth, cutting him off.
“When you touched me, made me come, the memories, the feelings came stronger. The darkness was there too, calling to me.” She swallowed, took a deep breath. “Take me back there, Jakuta. Let me go into the darkness. Help me end this.”
“No.” He wanted to shout it, but whispered it instead. What she asked was unthinkable, untenable. “I can’t, Gràinne. Don’t ask me to do that.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, but there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish, but it’s the only way. I need to end this, and I want to go with the last thought in my head being of you, the last image on my eyes your beautiful face. I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me, pleasuring me.” She struggled to sit up, forced her trembling legs around until, with his help, she straddled his lap. “Do this for me, knowing it is the greatest gift you have ever given another being—joy, pleasure, peace.”
“Love.” He cupped her cheeks, needing her to realize it was more than she even asked for, more than he ever thought he had to give another. “I give you my love, Gràinne. Take it with you, knowing it is yours, always. Forever.”
A little cry broke from her lips, and he couldn’t tell what it meant, didn’t give her a chance to articulate whatever emotion his declaration elicited from her. He didn’t need to know. Leaning forward, aware of her meeting him halfway, he covered her lips with soft tenderness, giving her his heart gladly, sorrowfully, completely.
Overwhelmed by agony, he didn’t think he’d be able to feel desire, didn’t think his body capable of becoming aroused under these circumstances. But a kind of desperation gripped him, as though wanting an affirmation of life in the midst of destruction, and the gentle kiss they were sharing began to evolve into something far more needy and carnal.
Gràinne moaned and sighed, her mouth opening under his, her tongue sweeping his lips, tempting and teasing him. Unable to resist he drank her in, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, ravishing her, being ravished in return.
And her hands were rushing over his body, leaving trails of fire along his neck and shoulders, chest and belly, until the nerves beneath his skin sang and jumped with yearning.
The need to touch her, feel the satin of her beneath his fingers, his palms, overcame him and he tore the shirt from her, ripping at it with ravenous hands until her torso lay bare to him.
He wanted it to last, to stretch this one last encounter to the limits of its boundaries, give her as much as he could. Without breaking the kiss, he put his hands under her ass and lifted, twisted, bearing her over onto her back. Going up onto his knees between her sprawled legs, he finally pulled away from her lips. Gràinne was staring up at him, eyes focused but heavy-lidded with passion, and his heart leapt.
“Everything.”
It was a vow he knew he would keep, and he set about doing so with ruthless precision.
He kissed her eyes, forehead, cheeks. His hands explored every inch of exposed flesh—the strong, trembling arms, her shoulders, throat—aware of the shivers and goose bumps following his trailing, caressing fingers. Rolling her onto her side, throwing one leg over hers and surrounding her with his arms, he kissed her back. Reaching around, he covered her breasts with his hands, hearing her every gasp and sigh and moan, taking each one into his memory, storing them away. Her nipples were tight peaks and, as he licked a trail from her nape down her spine, he circled them again and again with tender fingertips. Her body tightened and clenched, her hips beginning to move in that timeless rhythm of need against his groin.
By the Orixás, he wanted her, never thought he’d want any woman the way he burned for her. The storm of his desire was building inside, and a part of him wept with the knowledge that he’d never be able to show her the wind and rain, the thunder and lightning he could make just for her. Turning her in his arms, he kissed her again, giving her what he could, feeling her body burning against his chest, her response making his skin jump and spark, his head spin.
Leaving her only long enough to yank off his pants, he knelt between her legs again and reached for her zipper. Gràinne was panting, her eyes riveted on his cock, her hands clenched into the fabric on either side of her thighs.
“Yes.” She lifted her hips, bringing her legs up to help him pull off her pants. “Oh yes.”
But he wasn’t going to take her yet—wasn’t ready to let her go.
After stripping the jeans off, he dropped them on the floor but kept his grip on one of her ankles. When he pressed his lips to the arch of her foot, she gasped. As his tongue explored the delicate bones of her ankle, she shivered. By the time he passed her knee, little cries of pleasure were breaking from her lips with each exhale. He went as far as the crease of her hip, his mouth watering with the desire to taste her again, his head filled with the sweet scent of her need. But instead of dipping into the alluring wetness of her pussy, he forced himself to trail across her trembling stomach and reverse course down the other leg.
Gràinne cupped her breasts, fingers pinching the nipples. Her head was thrown back, neck taut, but he could see the gleam from beneath her lashes, knew she was watching him, and that knowledge fired his arousal even more.
Sweeping one hand up her leg, he brought it to rest on her inner thigh. She opened wider for him, a pleading sound breaking from her lips.
“Just a little,” he murmured, cupping her mound, teasing her and himself. “Just a touch.”
Slowly, with deliberate movements, he let his hand drift lower until his middle finger parted her labia, slipped carefully between. He shuddered to feel the warmth, the wetness, the stiffness of her clitoris as he passed the pad of his finger over it. Gràinne arched, hips lifting off the daybed and, instead of following the motion, he let his finger slip lower, find the entrance of her pussy, circle it tenderly.
His name burst from her lips, filling his ears, tearing at his heart, but he wouldn’t let her rush him.
“Not yet, sweetness.” Reversing the position of his hand, he leaned over her, pressed a kiss to her throat as he carefully slid his finger into her tight heat, being careful not to touch her clitoris. “I can’t let you come yet.”
His words seemed to steady her. She sucked in a deep breath, her body relaxing fractionally, even though her pussy pulsed around his finger, seemed to suck it in deeper. Her eyelids fluttered, lifted, and Jakuta felt himself drowning in her passion-glazed eyes, had to tear his gaze away before he lost all control.
Dipping his head, he found a nipple, sucked it in time to the slow, steady beat of his finger dipping into and retreating from her body. Gràinne moaned softly with each movement, her hips rising and falling gently, keeping time with the primal rhythm he set. Her hands skimmed his body, fingers gripping and sweeping, leaving ribbons of heat in their wake. Bracing above her, he switched to the other breast, loving the way she arched to bring the nipple to his mouth quicker.
The clench of her inner muscles was getting stronger, the waves coming closer together, and he knew time was running out. Reluctantly, he forced himself to withdraw his finger, heard her little mewl of disappointment as he lifted away from her breast to press a quick kiss to her mouth.
“A little more,” he whispered, deliberately raising his hand to his lips, letting her see as he licked her essence from his finger. “A little more, love.”
“Oh Goddess.” It was a breath of sound from trembling, kiss-swollen lips, and her hands fell limply away from his body. “I want you inside me. I don’t know how much more I can take of your teasing.”
He kissed her again, holding himself aloft on straight arms and trembling legs, so their lips were the only point of contact between them. Deep and deeper yet he kissed her, pouring everything he was into it—all his thunder and lightning, fear and anger and love—giving her all he was. And Gràinne reciprocated, giving as much as he gave, and he took all of her into himself, pledging to hold on to her spirit and fire until he was no more.
Lifting his lips from hers, he said, “I want to taste you one more time. Will you let me do that?”
The sound she made was almost a sob, but she cupped his cheeks, lifted her head to press her lips to his once more and whisper against them, “Yes.”
Heart bursting with it all, he trailed his lips from hers, down her neck, across her breasts, lingering over her pounding heart. Her fingers tangled in his locks, burrowing to his scalp as he went lower, circled her bellybutton with his tongue. A shuddering inhalation made her belly rise, trembling beneath his lips and he kissed the soft curve, following it from hipbone to hipbone.
Lifting his head, he caught her gaze, held it as he dipped to sweep his tongue between her lips, barely grazing her clitoris as he went. Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, but he ignored the sting, intent on taking her right to the edge of orgasm without allowing her to go over.
Gripping her thighs, he pressed them apart until she lay completely open before him, her flushed dampness entirely exposed. With just the tip of his tongue he sought and found each hidden, intimate place, teased over them. Nowhere was sacred, not the tiny pucker of her ass, the smooth flesh below her pussy, the tender folds. He wanted to know it all, wouldn’t be satisfied until he was assured he had titillated every inch.
Gràinne writhed and gasped his name, her fingers convulsively tugging at his hair, her body straining, jerking back and forth. The storm within him had risen to desperate proportions too, the lightning flashing and streaming through his veins.
It was time.
Heart breaking, body strained and taut with arousal, he kissed his way back up her body, lingering, committing each curve and swell to memory, pulling the sea-washed scent of her deep into his lungs. She had gone still, as though knowing what he was doing, what was about to happen, but her breath shuddered and rasped, her hands trembled.
When they were face-to-face he found her eyes open, trained on his, her lips quivering, tears trailing down her temples to dampen her hair. Her legs came around his waist and she released her grip on his head so as to twine her arms around his neck. The tip of his cock found her heat with flawless, heartbreaking precision.
There was no need for words, for anything but the connection crackling and streaming between them. In another world, in another life, this would be the perfect moment of anticipation. In this one, perfection was only a wrenching reminder of the darkness ahead.
Jakuta found himself hesitating, wanting to retreat, but in his heart he knew there was no going back. Gràinne touched her lips to his, then leaned back. Her tears had ceased, her eyes were clear, sad, filled with love.
“I’m not afraid anymore.” Her arms tightened around him. “I can’t believe what we’ve f
ound will die. If the Goddess wills it, we will meet again.”
He clenched his teeth, holding back the moisture stinging the backs of his eyes. “By the Orixás, I will never forget you, Gràinne Bairdie.” Pushing forward, he entered her, groaned as the slick heat of her gave way, welcomed his cock, surrounded it in a satin-clad fist. Pausing to catch his breath, he looked deep into her intoxicating eyes, let himself be pulled into both her body and gaze. “I’ll always love you, sweetness.”
Her legs, arms, pussy all tightened around him, and a hint of a smile ghosted over her lips. “I’ll see you on the other side, Jakuta Dagbo.”
Pulling back was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. A part of him wanted to move, to plunge into her, while another wanted just to stay still, remain joined with her like this forever. Withdrawing until just the head of his cock remained inside, he bent to capture her lips. When he thrust into her sweet softness, she cried out into his mouth and he swallowed the sound, adding it to the storm of emotion gathering momentum in his belly.
Keeping the pace steady, deep and strong, he made love to her, kissing her, his tongue thrusting in time with his cock. Her body rocked and twisted with his, growing more frantic, just as the sounds she breathed and sobbed into his mouth grew more desperate. The storm swept him, the lightning flashing, joining with the clench and pulse of her body to set him afire within.
Intention.
He paused mid-thrust, his head coming up, clouded with the pleasure, not sure he’d actually heard the whisper, or if it was his imagination.
Intention—and elemental fire.
“Praise be to the Orixás.”
Gràinne didn’t seem to hear him, to realize anything had changed. Her nails dug into his ass, her body rocked with desperate desire beneath him. Her pussy tightened, rippled around his cock, and he knew she was on the verge of orgasm.
Filled with hope, with power, he pressed down, holding her trapped beneath his hips. Grabbing her cheeks, he called her name, waited until her eyes fluttered open. He didn’t think, just said the words as the Orixás gave them to him.