All the Queen's Angels

Ch. 36: Carved Into My Skin 🥀🥀

Song: i am not who i was by Chance Peña
...

Burying my hands in his hair, I pull Ambrose into my embrace, forgetting to breathe as the kiss deepens. The ring dances from his mouth to mine, its cold fire searing our lips as they clash. Only brief gasps and heated pants prevent me from suffocating, starving for air as much as he hungers for my touch.

He presses our bodies closer, gripping me tighter until our clothes chafe from the friction. When I moan into his mouth he falters in surprise, accidentally biting down on my tongue and drawing blood. He begins to pull away and I almost bite him in retaliation, but pause when he presses his thumb down on my tongue, gently forcing my jaw open. Then he grabs my neck and kisses me deeply, stealing back the ring to spit it across the room. It falls in the corner with a faint clink.

"It was getting in the way," Ambrose pants, leaning in to continue what we started.

"So is the darkness," I respond as I press a hand to his mouth, still lightheaded. "Relight the candles. I want to see all of you, Ambrose." After several reluctant heartbeats, his arms release me and he disappears into the shadows that have gathered in the tent. Flickering firelight emerges behind me, growing brighter as he makes his way around the room.

Ambrose stops in front of me and raises his burning gaze to meet mine. He stands like holy sculpture, a work of art befitting only the most sacred and ancient cathedrals. Though his wings were shorn and he bears the immeasurable weight of his pain on his shoulders, he carries himself like a warrior. A lonely god. An Angel.

"You are as beautiful as the day I met you," I breathe.

"I am not the same person as I was then," Ambrose replies darkly, clenching his jaw. My heart wilts. Thought I cannot imagine the torture he faced at the hands of the Forsythian court, the pain that haunts his features is clear.

"Nonetheless—," I begin.

"Nonetheless," Ambrose continues. "My heart, aching and broken as it may be, is wholly yours. My body, though burned and scarred, is yours. I am yours."

I step forward and hold his calloused hands.

"These are mine?".

Ambrose nods, and I kiss his knuckles one by one.

"And these arms, they're mine too?".

"Yours."

I trace the seams of his uniform and begin undoing the buttons, slowly stripping him of his armor. As his shirts fall, I fail to suppress a gasp. Bandages adorn his neck to the base of his spine like a second skin.

Tenderly, I place my hand to his chest. Beneath my touch, Ambrose's heartbeat quickens its steady pace. His lashes are lowered against his slightly flushed, freckled cheeks, and I want to kiss his eyelids so that the furrow in his brow might finally disappear. He sighs sharply against my lips as I trace his own with my fingertips.

"This too?".

"All yours."

I clasp my lips to his, tracing his jawline with my thumb as he buries his hand in the nape of my neck and pulls me against him, his other hand splayed against the small of my back.

Our kiss earlier burned hot like lightning, an electrifying whirlwind of desire. This kiss burns differently, slow and sweet like molasses. His hands press me closer as his fingers memorize the curve of my spine, and he kisses and kisses and kisses me until I'm sure he has made a mold of my lips on his.

I kiss him back until my lips are sore and tingling on the verge of numbness, and he tastes sweet like honey and woodsmoke and longing. His touch is tender and scornful of the infuriating inches remaining between us. I fear I might burn up like a star in his palms.

We stumble backwards until I'm pressed against a wooden post and my lashes brush against his cheeks as he kisses me so deeply that I forget how to breathe, that I even need to breathe, taking his time as we memorize each others heartbeats. Goosebumps flurry across my skin as Ambrose slides down the strap of my dress and exposes my skin to the frigid air of the tent.

He presses a kiss to my bare shoulder and begins leaving a slow trail of kisses across my collarbone and up my neck. When his lips part and his teeth meet my skin, I shudder against him and press my hips to his, sending a wave of pleasure down my spine.

Exhaling sharply against my neck, Ambrose pauses as the sensation immerses him too. Then, with one hand on my neck, he uses his other to hold my hip steady as he grinds against me. He continues sucking the hollow spot beneath my jaw as I move against him again. And again. And each time we move, he moans softly against my skin until the friction and pleasure blur together. But it's not enough.

Ambrose hooks his hands beneath my thighs and hoists me into his arms so that my legs are wrapped around his waist. When he leans into me, I can't stop the groan that escapes my lips at the new intensity of friction between us.

"I want you," I exhale, leaning back against the post.

"Tell me," Ambrose pants, our breaths fogging the air. "Tell me where he touched you."

Still reeling from the pleasure, I raise my head and press my face against his neck.

"I am yours. Just touch me like I am yours."

...
A/N: don't ask where Ambrose learned how to do all that. he's a fallen angel. he's gonna fuck. i don't make the rules (yes i do).