A Wolf of Ice and Iron [OLD]

Chapter 29

Morel

It's a mess of sensations as Winter's lips brush mine. His small, supple, bow-shaped mouth is gentle and sweet but it is also fiery, fast, and intense. He's missed this sensation as much as I have, and he's desperate for it to return. So long we've been deprived, so long without it, I'm already flying at the feeling.

He tugs on my lip with his teeth and I gasp at the unexpected sensation, and in a second he's in my mouth, tongue and teeth, slick and warm and slippery. I meet him with my own just like we used to, and every crack and crevice of his mouth is like I remember. His cracked back tooth, his smaller mouth, feminine and warm, his thin lips that swell so quickly when I bite, his crooked bottom tooth.

His hands touch my face, my neck, my arms, my chest, my waist, my legs. As if he's processing and putting it all to memory, like we used to. Feeling for what's changed, what's filled out and become stronger, what's become bigger, what's become smaller, what's changed. Everything. His roving hands want to know it all, and I'm quick to give him complete unhinged access.

A second later he's underneath me, and I can't remember when I moved him there, only that he's there and I did it, and his hands cup my face as I kiss him desperately. His tongue is warm against mine and slippery, without friction, just as it should be. His lips are warm and taste how I remember. Sweet but tangy and full of a sort of innocent love as he kisses me back, something I thought I'd never have again.

I break away from his mouth forcefully, tearing off his scarf in my impatience, kissing along his jaw, to his ears, where I nip and tug on them like I know he used to like. And he rewards me with a harsh growl.

His voice is so private that it sends a thrill down my spine. He's gentle but at the same time he's desperate and growling in my ear as I kiss my down his neck. Already becoming unraveled as he tilts his head as I move, able to predict exactly where I want him to go.

I search for those spots that made him weak before. That made him whine and whimper and say things I never thought possible. Those places, those little spots that were sweet and tender, those places I left marks and claimed him as mine and nobody else's.

Winter inhales sharply as my lips brush across his pulse point. It's a dangerous place to have a sweet spot, a dangerous place for my mouth to be. I can feel and hear and taste his blood rushing beneath me, and I have to find a new place to kiss before I hurt him.

Winter grabs my hair, and I inhale sharply at the movement. His voice is shaky but somehow strong. "Morel. You can feed."

I lick my lips at the words. Dangerous. I don't want to hurt him. He's all the sun and the moon and the stars, and without any of those, with any of those hurt, with any of those wounded, the earth will not be the same.

Winter runs his fingers through my hair, delicate and caring and sweet and familiar. "Morel. Bite me."

I stop at his words, a thrill rushing through me, hot and electric in its force. It is a fire that burns in my belly and stutters to life and roars through every nerve. Winter gives a wolf-like whimper and runs his hands through my hair again, tugging on it, just enough to hurt. The intoxicating touch is just enough drive me on, and my fangs slide out before I can even stop it or think about what I'm doing.

I bite into his neck, and he cries out, only fuelling my desire for more, more, more. His blood is so unbearably sweet and tasty and rich, I drink it down with relish. I haven't fed on blood for years and years, and this is the best way to ever drink it again. Out of this faerie I love, out of this faerie that offers himself willingly.

The sensation of blood in my body after so long of not drinking is a rush of sunlight and moonlight. It's hot and slick and fluid, and it runs over my tongue and down my throat as I drink, and the fact that it's his is enough to make me shudder and feel intensely hot at the source of every hair on my body.