When light bends: Echoes Of you

Chapter 9

The scent of night-blooming jasmine and clean earth filled my lungs before I even opened my eyes. And the warmth. A solid, living heat against my back, an arm draped possessively over my waist. My dreaming self sighed, sinking into the mattress, into him, before my conscious mind could even form the question. Elias.

I was in the garden. The one from my sketch.

Violet twilight blanketed everything, the air soft and still. The stone wall was there, the vines I’d drawn now heavy with dark, velvety flowers that released their perfume with every breath I took. My silk slip was gone, replaced by a diaphanous gown that felt like mist against my skin.

“You’re awake.”

His voice was a quiet rumble against my ear, his chest a firm wall at my back. His hand on my stomach splayed wide, his thumb making idle, hypnotic circles just below my navel. The touch was so casual, so familiar, it stole my breath.

“Is this real?” I whispered, my voice hushed by the dream’s sacred silence.

His lips brushed the curve of my shoulder, a kiss so soft it was almost a thought. ”It’s real enough.”

He shifted, turning me onto my back to face him. The violet light carved the planes of his face into something both beautiful and severe. His eyes, that stormy gray, held no mystery now—only a deep, simmering intensity focused entirely on me. He traced the line of my jaw with a single fingertip, the calloused pad of his skin sending a shiver through my entire body.

“I drew you,” I said, the confession tumbling out.

A slow, knowing smile touched his mouth. “I felt it. Every line. It was an invitation I couldn’t ignore.”

He leaned down, and my eyes fluttered shut an instant before his mouth met mine.

It wasn’t like the kisses before. This wasn’t a claiming or a hello. This was a beginning.

His lips were impossibly soft, moving over mine with a languid, exploring pressure. There was no hurry. He tasted of night air and something uniquely male, a dark spice that was fast becoming the only thing I craved. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him with a soft sigh, a silent plea for more.

The kiss deepened, a slow, sensual dance that had liquid heat pooling low in my belly. His hand slid from my jaw into my hair, cradling my head, holding me exactly where he wanted me. The other hand found my hip, his grip firm, anchoring me to the moment, to the devastating slide of his tongue against mine. A low sound of pleasure vibrated in his chest, and I echoed it, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He broke the kiss, both of us breathing heavily. His forehead rested against mine. “Walk with me,” he murmured, his voice thick with a desire he was visibly restraining.

He stood, a fluid, powerful movement, and offered me his hand. I took it, his fingers lacing through mine, that same electric connection jolting up my arm. He led me along a cobbled path that wound through the twilight garden. Our shoulders brushed, the contact sending sparks across my sensitized skin. He would stop intermittently, turning to me as if he’d forgotten something vital.

Once, beneath an archway heavy with wisteria, he pressed me gently against the cool stone pillar. His body didn’t quite touch mine, but the heat from him was a brand. He simply looked at me, his gaze raking over my face, down my throat, to where the thin gown clung to my breasts. His attention was a physical caress, and my n*****s tightened into hard, aching points under the sheer fabric. He saw it—a dark, satisfied gleam flickering in his eyes. He leaned in, his mouth hovering a breath from mine. ”You are so beautifully responsive,” he breathed against my lips before capturing them in another deep, swirling kiss that left me weak-kneed and grasping his shoulders for support.

We walked further, the tension coiling tighter with every step. The next time he stopped, we were beside a still, dark pool that reflected the violet sky. He turned me to face him, his hands settling on my hips. His thumbs stroked the delicate crests of my hip bones through the mist-like gown.

“I dreamt of you,” I confessed, my voice barely audible. “Before I ever drew you.”

“I know.” His voice was a low thrum. “I was there. I am always there when you call.”

His head dipped, and his mouth found the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. His kiss there was not soft. It was hungry, open-mouthed, his tongue tasting my skin, his teeth grazing with just enough pressure to make me gasp and arch into him. His hands slid down, over the curve of my backside, pulling my hips firmly against his. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed into my lower stomach, a blatant, thrilling promise. A shuddering moan escaped me, and I melted against him, my hands fisting in his shirt.

“Elias…”

The sound of his name on my lips seemed to shatter his control.

In one swift motion, he swept me into his arms and carried me to a bed of soft, fragrant moss beneath the ancient oak. He laid me down with a reverence that made my heart ache, following me down, his body covering mine, his weight a delicious pressure. The world narrowed to the space where we touched.

His mouth crashed down on mine, and the slow burn erupted into a wildfire. This kiss was all consuming hunger, a desperate tasting and claiming. His hands were everywhere, skimming my sides, cupping my breasts through the gown, his thumbs circling my n*****s until I was writhing beneath him, little whimpers falling from my lips. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, and hooked a finger in the neckline of the gown. With a soft tear, the flimsy fabric gave way, baring me to the violet light and his hot, dark gaze.

”Perfect,” he growled, the word full of raw worship.

His mouth descended to my breast, and all thought fled. The heat, the wetness, the exquisite suction—it was a direct, white-hot line to the throbbing ache between my legs. I cried out, my back bowing off the mossy bed, my fingers tunneling into his hair to hold him to me. He lavished one breast, then the other, with his lips and tongue and the gentle graze of his teeth, until I was twisting mindlessly, a litany of ”please, please, please” falling from my lips.

His hand slid down my trembling stomach, his fingers slipping through the slick folds he found there. I gasped, my hips lifting off the ground, seeking his touch. He made a guttural sound of approval against my wet skin.

“So ready for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So wet.”

One long, thick finger pressed inside me, and my inner muscles clenched around him instantly, the stretch a perfect, blissful ache. He began to move his hand, a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thumb finding my c**t and circling it with a pressure that made me see stars. A second finger joined the first, filling me completely, stretching me for what was to come. The dual sensations were overwhelming, a coiling tension ready to snap.

He raised his head, his eyes locking with mine. They were pure storm, full of a possessive fury that should have terrified me but only made the heat in my core burn hotter.

“Look at me, Zoe,” he commanded, his voice a rough caress. “I want to see you fly apart for me.”

His pace quickened, his fingers plunging deeper, his thumb working my c**t in tight, relentless circles. The coil inside me wound impossibly tight, a sparkling pressure building at the base of my spine. I was panting, my head thrashing side to side, completely at the mercy of his expert touch.

“Elias… I can’t… I’m going to…”

”Come for me,” he whispered, and his voice was the final thread to snap.