Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 62: All of it

Cw: Plot? What plot? Just gratuitous faerie smut 🧚🤍

________________________________

Ella's first thought upon waking up was that she'd forgotten to close the drapes.

Pale, misty light bled through the massive windows in her room, turning everything brilliant white. Outside, it snowed profusely, frosting the windowpanes like powdered sugar.

Her eyes remained only half open, reluctant to fully wake. She waved a hand lazily and the linen drapes on the sides of her four-poster bed closed with a soft swish.

Behind her, Aedion stirred, muttering sleepy nothings into the back of her neck. His arm tightened around her, pulling her further into him.

There were many things to do, she knew. She had letters to answer, reports to assess, and ladies in waiting to meet. She needed to debrief Callan on the events of the ball, most importantly. Hell, she even had some training to do.

Yet, she pushed that aside. She stretched her spine like a lazy, indolent cat, content to bask in the soft warmth of her bed.

Twisting around in Aedion's hold, she peered at him through half-mast lids. She touched her fingertips to the angle of his jaw, his breath warm and steady against her skin. It was a light touch, but he stirred, blinking his eyes open. Starburst gold limned in long, feathery lashes.

He said nothing, he simply pulled her closer, nuzzling his nose into the curve of her cheek. She smiled softly, twining her arms behind his neck.

These were the moments she enjoyed the most. Still half asleep, muddled, loathe to break the spell of their pocket of quiet. Stolen moments before the rush of the day swept them away.

Daylight seeped through the sheer linen drapes of her bed, its brightness diluted, casting them into a hazy glow. A chill permeated the room, the hearth cold from the night before. They didn't bother lighting it, making do with their own heat.

As was often the case with them, they didn't plan for anything in particular. They moved slowly, hands roaming with no clear destination.

There was no rush to their movements, as if they were encased in honey, watching everything through a soft, dreamy film.

Aedion slipped his hands beneath her top, his palms warm, following the curve of her spine. He brushed his lips across her jaw, below her ear, nibbling on the delicate underside of her chin.

Her skin pebbled and she sighed, content. She turned and ran her nose down the planes of his face, her lips tracing the sleep-soft skin. He smelled like expensive soap and spice. Her tongue darted out to taste the curve of his throat, and he groaned, the sound vibrating against her tongue.

Sweet. Delicious. Mine, she thought, softly sinking her teeth into the beating pulse of his throat.

He kissed her then, blindly seeking her mouth. It was slow and luxurious. Tongues tangling lazily, breaths choppy. Liquid heat shot up her spine, spreading low in her belly.

His shirt was the first to go, limbs clumsy as he helped her pull it off. He was all smooth, scorching skin. She lamented the dimness for not being able to see him fully, but she made up for it by kissing the muscled planes of his abdomen, sucking a bruise into the jutting bone of his hips.

His trousers were next, followed by her top and the rest of their undergarments. Bare limbs tangled, skin on heated skin. They writhed together, hips rolling, the friction making her addled with want.

Aedion kissed his way down her body, stopping to lick the bruise he'd left on her shoulder last night, to bite the swells of her breasts until she was aching, yanking on his hair.