Jurdan Oneshots

Kiss me until I am sick of it

This is an alternative (smutty) continuation of the "kiss  me until I am sick of it" part. (I forgot the page number and I'm too lazy to go get my book so yeah).

I was also too tired to proof read this so sorry if there are any mistakes.

"Kiss me again," he says, drunk and foolish. "Kiss me until I am sick of it."

I want to. I really, really want to kiss him. My body aches for him, and it horrifies me thoroughly.

It is stupid. He is stupid. My body is stupid. I am stupid.

But, for once, I allow myself to do something stupid, too tired to really care. Teenagers are supposed to do stupid things, anyway, and no matter how much I try to seem older, wiser, no matter that I am running a kingdom, that is what I am.

"And will you?" I ask, "Be sick of my kisses?"

He opens his mouth to say something, but I suppose that his tongue is unwilling to tell his intended lie. "Most likely not," he settles for, turning his gaze to the ceiling, a little shudder going through him.

Funny how we both hate how much we desire each other.

Maybe because I can't stand the thought of Nicasia almost slipping into his bed, maybe because he was nearly killed, I cross the room, closing the distance between us until I am only inches away from him.

"Let's find out then, shall we?" I half murmur, trying to push away all the reasons as to why we shouldn't find out.

He turns to me again, shock passing through his eyes only to be replaced by a burning desire that I might have mistaken for hate. Cardan reaches out, touching my face as though he's not quite sure if this is real. Leaning in, I wonder how I could allow this to become real. It feels like a betrayal to my sanity.

But when I kiss him again, it feels so right that I instead wonder how I went months without this.

He's just as intoxicating as sweet faerie fruit, each slide of his tongue making me more foolish until I am drunk on his kisses.

He grabs the dark fabric of my jacket, pulling me closer until I lay on top of him. I bite his lip and he makes a sound deep in his throat that causes my hands to move on instinct, finding soft curls and burying my fingers in them.

Eventually, I must pull away to catch my breath. He looks entirely too beautiful and entirely too experienced in love where he lies, looking up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. And I have no idea what I'm doing, and it makes me feel vulnerable and stupid.

But I refuse to let that show, so instead of waiting for him to take the lead, to guide me through this, I plant kisses along his jawline.

I try to imagine what will make him the hungriest for me, what will make him throw his head back in pleasure and beg for me.

I come to the conclusion that I must treat this like a game of sparring, aiming for his most sensitive spots and reading his body language to decide what my next move should be, how he will react.

Strategy, I'm familiar with, and this is not too different.

My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and I practically rip them open. His body feels hard, entirely faerie. It doesn't necessarily fit great with mine, but it still feels right in the most wrong way.

His shirt comes loose, and he tosses it to the floor before pulling my doublet off, his fingers quick and desperate. Cardan stares and stares at me, something dark passing through his eyes. He begins to reach out to touch me, but I lock my gaze to his until he retracts his hands.