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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Added chapter because I can do whatever I want, whenever I want

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Gwyn couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept without nightmares. Even when she woke with no memory of her dreams, her body was tense—locked up, and coated in sweat. Like it remembered what she could not, branded against her muscles. That morning, Gwyn woke late to warm, dappled sunlight caressing her face. A glance at the wall told her it was closer to noon than breakfast, with dawn long behind them.

Beside her, Azriel was asleep, too. One of his wings was still draped over her, the edge slipping from her face to hover just beneath her chin like a dark, protective blanket. His arm was tight around her waist, holding her close against his bare chest.

When was the last time she’d woken without a racing heart? Without the lingering memory of her sister's death burning behind her eyes? It was so rare that she woke screaming in the middle of the night anymore, but sometimes when her mind forced her to relive Catrin’s death, Gwyn would find a fellow priestess shaking her fearfully.

She’d expected to see that. Not Azriel, with his burning hazel eyes filled not with fear, but with fury. He’d come to avenge her. And she didn’t know why, but Gwyn had needed to see that. Just once, she wanted someone to be angry on her behalf. Wanted someone to feel the same anger she was always swallowing down to make it more palatable.

He would have killed someone. If she’d grabbed him by the face and begged him to, Azriel would have picked that knife back up, dressed himself, and vanished into the night. And Gwyn suspected he’d be cruel about it, too—would bring her heads, would let her watch him work. She wanted that. And she couldn’t admit it to her friends, who had worked so hard to find inner and outer peace.

Gwyn didn’t think she’d ever have it. Not the way Nesta and Emerie had achieved it, anyway. Sighing, she started to untangle herself from Azriel’s grip.

He tightened his hold, the snake. “Where are you going?” he asked in that midnight dark voice of his. Gwyn shivered.

“We have jobs to do—”

“Not today,” he replied, adjusting his hold so she was on her side facing him. “I have something I need to show you.”

“I’ve already seen you naked,” she complained, her heart picking up at the mere suggestion. Azriel rolled his eyes.

“You have not, but this has nothing to do with this bed. Although, if you feel so inclined afterwards, I won’t stop you from climbing back inside and thanking me—” Azriel laughed when Gwyn smacked him lightly in his stomach. She quite liked him when he was smiling, which seemed like something she shouldn’t admit. Azriel was always beautiful, but utterly devastating when he smiled.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He only shook his head, his wing pulling off her the same time he took away his arm. “Go get dressed and we’ll go.”

“No breakfast?”

Azriel leveled a flat stare. “I think you know what I’m going to say, Gwyn.”

“Yeah, yeah, something something you know what you’d like to eat.”

Azriel smiled again, sitting up to watch. “Don’t make me wait.”

It was like he knew nothing about her. Gwyn couldn’t help herself. Azriel was in a hurry? Well, maybe she wanted a bath. And after that, she thought she wanted to comb out every little knot in her hair in front of the mirror before dressing herself in one of the Montessere style dresses—blue, this time, which looked rather pretty against her auburn colored hair. Clasping the bracelet to her wrist and strapping a dagger to her thigh, Gwyn finally made her way back into their common living space.

Azriel was waiting, fingers drumming against the chair he was draped in. She hadn’t been prepared for him, dressed in a dark tunic unbuttoned just beneath his collarbones. Gleaming black boots caught against the sunlight, conforming to his powerful legs.

Suddenly, Gwyn regretted getting out of his bed. A punch of lust robbed her of breath, made worse when Azriel rose to his full height. “I brought this on myself,” he said by way of expressing his annoyance.

“You sure did,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t answer to you.”

“And here I was, thinking we were becoming friends,” he said dryly, gesturing for him to follow her. The siphons on his hands gleamed in the light, a bright cobalt she found strangely hypnotic. His eyes caught on the bracelet, brow furrowing with some unnamed question before he looked back at her face.

“How do those work?” she asked when Azriel gestured for her to follow him out. Azriel flexed his hand, looking at the fingerless gloves holding it in place.

“It keeps my magic from overwhelming it. Contains it, I suppose.”

“How are they made?” she pressed.

Azriel hesitated.

“I’m not sure.”

It was a question for another day. Gesturing for the door as if he were the one holding them up, Gwyn said, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

“Because you know I wouldn’t agree if you told me?” she guessed.

“Exactly.”

Gwyn might have pushed, but curiosity won out in the end. Azriel had some magic talent for avoiding anyone, slipping them through halls she hadn’t known existed. He clearly wanted to avoid Kai, which made two of them—Gwyn wanted to avoid the prince, too, maybe selfishly because her whole job was getting him to drop his guard enough to tell her something she didn’t already know. Something that would impress Rhysand enough that she wouldn’t have to go back to working for Merril.

Gwyn was doing a terrible job of it. She wasn’t a courtier, didn’t know how to bat her eyelashes and smile pretty enough to get whatever she wanted. She wished she’d asked Nesta for help before she left. Nesta would have known his every miserable secret by now and would have been organizing an auction to sell it to the highest bidder.

Gwyn could have used some of that energy. She was getting nowhere with him. She didn’t know anything the High Lord likely couldn’t have already guessed. Azriel was going to put it all together and what would she have?

Your cypher, a voice in her mind whispered. Don’t be so hard on yourself.

“Gwyn,” Azriel murmured, drawing her attention back to him. Sun on his golden brown skin, eyes gleaming gold and green, Gwyn thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Maybe in the entire world. He outstretched a scarred hand, head inclined.

Gwyn took it without a second thought. Azriel wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that like she knew her name. For a moment there was nothing but oppressive, shadowed darkness and the scent of his clean skin, the warmth of his body when he took the opportunity to pull her close.

Was he looking for excuses to touch her, she wondered? And did she care? Gwyn didn’t have time to consider either of those things, because cool, mountain air touched her cheek. She knew this place. She knew it before she ever saw it, recognized the smell, the way the wind brushed against the grass.

“Az—”

“I thought you’d like to see her,” he said, his voice so soft she might have imagined it. The expansive sky stretched in every direction, endless in its reach. Tall grass stretched toward it, always reaching, never touching. Gwyn could see snow-capped mountains in the distance, and knew if she walked the winding, dirt path winding through the hills, she’d find the old temple.

“This place is holy,” she breathed, looking at what had been added. Little markers, denoting every priestess who had lost her life when Hybern came looking for the pieces of the Cauldron. “It’s holy.”

Azriel didn’t say a word, hands clasped in front of his body. She noticed he hadn’t brought a weapon with him—did he agree, then? It felt wrong to step off the path, winding her way through the tall stone markers until she found the name she was looking for.

Catrin Berdara.

Bravery without equal.

Sister. Friend. Acolyte.

Gwyn pressed her palm to the stone, closing her eyes. Pushing those last moments from her mind, Gwyn could see her as she’d been. Full of life, of mischief. Sunbright. Alive.

“I didn’t know where you were,” Gwyn whispered, not daring to open her eyes. She was safe here. Azriel would keep watch, would keep anyone from getting too close.

It was the only thing Gwyn could think to say. “I didn’t know where you were.”

But she knew, now. Gwyn supposed Rhysand must have known what had happened, and Azriel would be privy to that knowledge. Which meant Azriel knew other things, too. Turning from her sister, she found the shadowsinger staring in the distance very pointedly ignoring her.

A surge of affection rose through her, quickly tamped down as she approached him. This wasn’t a favor—she deserved to know. Gwyn caught him bracing himself as she came closer, tucking his wings tight against his body, legs spread ever so slightly like she might attack him.

“That night,” she began, hating that she had to tell him this. Azriel watched, lips pressed tight. Gwyn tried again. “That night Hybern came, they…” Gods, she couldn’t do this.

“You don’t–”

“There were children,” she said, her voice pitching into a whisper as she said it. “I…” Rubbing her eyes, Gwyn didn’t dare look at him. She couldn’t take his pity. “I bought them time. Did they—are they…?”

Fingers slid beneath her chin, forcing her to look up. “Do you want me to take you there?”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head out of his grasp. “I just want to know it wasn’t for nothing.”

He considered this, silent as he absorbed her words. “What you did was brave, Gwyn, and I don’t think it was for nothing. Even if they didn’t survive, you tried—”

“No.”

Azriel blinked. “No?”

“That’s not good enough,” she said, shoving at his chest. Azriel didn’t budge, nor did he react, causing her to shove again. “It’s not enough to try. It had to be for something or what was the point? Why let us suffer like we did? Why abandon us?”

“Gwyn—”

“We worshiped Her!” Gwyn shrieked, some emotional dam breaking in her chest. “Dedicated our entire lives to her! And she turned her back on me!”

Gwyn shoved again, hard enough that Azriel stumbled backward. Gwyn couldn’t stop herself, balling her hand into a fist. Azriel caught it this time, eyes flashing a warning even though his mouth remained silent.

“She left me,” Gwyn said when Azriel blocked another hit. And then another. And she knew he was letting her hit him in the first place, getting just close enough that her ringing blows slammed against his palm rather than his chest. That he was going to silently take whatever she threw at him without complaint. “I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone, Gwyn,” Azriel murmured and when she reared back to hit him in his perfect, beautiful face, he grabbed her around the middle and kicked off the ground. Dark wings blotted out the sun while strong arms anchored her against him. “You were never alone.”

“You came too late.”

Azriel sucked in a breath, skin ashen beneath the weight of what she knew was an unfair accusation. What did he owe her, truly? And yet, how could he say she wasn’t alone? Gwyn was alone. She’d been abandoned by more than just her sister, but by the very Goddess she’d once sworn her life to.

“I am alone.”

“Tell that to Nesta, then,” Azriel said in a cold, unforgiving tone. “Tell Emerie.”

Their eyes met and Azriel added. “Say it to me, Gwyn.”

Gods, she wanted to. Gwyn wanted him to hurt as badly as she did. She wanted to cut him into ribbons, to make him low and for what? So he could walk around as miserable and lost and broken as she was?

They were so far off the ground Gwyn could only see green and blue, broken only occasionally by those same mountains. The mountains that would take her home back to the temple, and her work, and a life where she could pretend none of this bothered her. It was tempting to demand he take her back.

“Don’t shut me out,” Azriel murmured, forcing her attention back to him. “Whatever you’re thinking, I can handle it.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, about to demand he put her back on the ground. Telling him so much was a mistake. Gwyn doubted Azriel cared.

His grip on her body tightened. “My mother was a servant in my father’s household.”

Gwyn went so still. The only sound between them was the whistling wind and their frantic, furious heartbeats. A knot in Azriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, forcing himself to continue.

“I was an embarrassment to him. He wanted no one to know his shame…and so he and his wife put me in a dungeon for eleven years.” “Eleven…Azriel…”

He took a breath, adjusting his hold so she could look at one of his hands. “There were no windows. No lights. No flying, either, even though instinct demands it of us. I could leave for an hour a day to stand in the sunlight and eat, but never more than that. And when my brothers grew tired of their usual taunting, they found more…creative…ways to make sport of me.”

Gwyn took his hand in her own, rubbing her fingers over the white scars etched against beautiful golden brown skin.

“I used to wonder why I’d been abandoned, too. What I’d done to deserve it.”

Her eyes found us, filled with such familiar pain and loathing that her anger was siphoned out of her body.

“I still do,” he finally said as Gwyn put her chin on his shoulder.

“That’s not exactly the motivational speech I was imagining,” she said with a huff of laughter. Azriel brushed a piece of hair from her face.

“You meet people who remind you you’re not alone. You find new family,” he said, his lips brushing her forehead. “You keep going because the alternative is they win.”

“I do hate to lose,” she said with half a laugh, half a choked sob.

“I know you do,” Azriel replied. “And it was enough, Gwyn. The act itself was enough and I don’t give a fuck if you disagree with me. I’ve been on more battlefields than I can count and have watched soldiers turn on their best friends. I’ve watched fathers abandon sons if it meant saving themselves. And you—”

“Don’t,” she pleaded.

He ignored her. “You had no obligation to save anyone but yourself. You had no weapon, nothing that would have helped you. They could have killed you—”

“Azriel—”

“And you stayed.” Eyes blazing, Azriel’s voice forced her eyes to his face. She couldn’t look away. “You stayed.”

Gwyn couldn’t hide her tears. Azriel didn’t look away, nor did pity ever grace his expression. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’d put you on the front lines,” he replied, which she supposed was the highest compliment someone like Azriel could offer her. “You survived.”

Wiping her eyes on her shoulder, Gwyn whispered in response, “We survived.”

Azriel nodded. “Yes. We survived.”

AZRIEL:

“When I said advanced training, this wasn’t what I had in mind,” Azriel complained. Gwyn stared up at him with those bright, defiant eyes and fuck him for agreeing to any of this in the first place. He was so deeply in over his head he couldn’t have denied her if she’d asked him to stab himself in the stomach.

That was becoming a problem.

“I didn’t realize there was so much flirting before dancing.”

“This isn’t—” Azriel might kill her, too. “This is hardly flirting,” he grumbled, gritting his teeth as he took one hand in his own.

“No? I just assumed you must be, because we’ve been standing here for five minutes, Azriel.”

“Because every time I try to start, you open your mouth with some snappy comment.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t bow–”

“Bowing is part of it—

“Well I hate the bowing—”

“You know what, Gwyn. Ask Kai to teach you, then,” he replied, throwing his hands up in the air. “Maybe you’ll find the bowing and courtly manners more agreeable coming from someone else.”

Once again, Azriel couldn’t help but think that Vanserra would not be torturing him the way Gwyn was. Of course, there would be no cock stroking with Vanserra, either—but likely just as much sniping. Azriel had agreed to teach her to dance since Gwyn had some grand plan to seduce Kai out of his secrets.

And Azriel, though he kept swearing to himself that he didn’t care, found himself dying a little of jealousy. Squaring her shoulders, Gwyn said, “Okay. Bow. I promise not to laugh.”

He almost hoped she did. Azriel had a persistent fantasy where he threw her over his shoulder, locked her in his bedroom, and gave that bratty mouth of hers something to do. One last time, he thought, taking a step away from her to sink into a deep bow. They’d cleared out all the furniture, creating a wide enough space to move around while Azriel taught her the basic steps of a dance.

He was hardly an expert—and he loathed dancing. It made him uncomfortable and beyond that, Rhys had once explained that dancing was a prelude to fucking.

But Azriel considered his tongue a prelude to fucking, and a far more convincing and affective one given how many dances his brother had done where females merely left him standing, looking like an idiot. Azriel had never once put his tongue on a female only for her to leave him high and dry.

Gwyn wanted to dance, though. And this was likely a prelude to her calling him illiterate.

Again.

Gwyn curtseyed, eyes mocking him even when he took her hand and pulled her appropriately close. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” she admitted with a little laugh, right before she stumbled over her feet.

“Graceless,” he said, watching that smile slip right off her face. Swallowing, Azriel wondered how he’d never noticed just how beautiful she was. Maybe it was because Gwyn so rarely smiled at him, but at that moment, he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as she was.

He wanted her to smile at him again.

Azriel didn’t know if he’d ever wanted something like that.

“Sorry we can’t all be as wonderful as you.”

“Apology accepted,” he replied smoothly, moving her in a wide arc around the room. Gwyn spluttered and Azriel grinned without thinking about it. Things were just so easy around her. “Eyes on me, not your feet.”

“If I don’t look at my feet, I’ll trip.”

“Where is your confidence?”

Gwyn sighed heavily, flexing her fingers around his own. “How often are you dancing?”

Rarely, though Azriel didn’t bother to admit it. “Enough.”

“I’ll just pretend Kai is you, and my irritation will see me through.”

Azriel pulled her closer. “And when you’ve thoroughly lied to yourself and try to kiss him, what then?”

“In your dreams, shadowsinger.”

She was right about that.

“What do you know about my dreams?”

Gwyn smiled again, unaware of the way the sight made his blood thrum in his veins. “I know they’re all about me.”

“Yeah? Tell me more, then.”

A flush crawled up her neck and suddenly Azriel appreciated what Rhys meant when he said dancing was a prelude for things far more interesting. He could scent Gwyn’s desire just as surely as she could likely smell his. Good. No pretending, then. They were beyond that—ever since he’d taken her to see her sister the day before, the air between them was lighter. Azriel had never told anyone but Cassian and Rhys about his family. He didn’t even know what had made him want to tell her. It went beyond comfort. Azriel had merely wanted her to see him the way he was certain he now saw her.

“I think you know.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, drawing her closer still, until they were moving in a tight circle, chest pressed to chest. He was going to hoist her in the air and do every filthy thing currently racing through his mind. “I do know. Tell me what I dream about.”

“I…”

“You have no idea what dreams I have about you,” he insisted, daring her to call his bluff. “No clue what I could do to you.”

Looking up through dark lashes, Azriel could have wept knowing what was about to happen. “You’re all talk, shadowsinger.”

Quicker than she could track, Azriel had her pushed against the nearby wall just beside his bedroom door. He was going to get to do what he’d hoped—throw her over his shoulder, take her to bed, pull up that dress, and taste her like he wanted.

“Is that a dare?” he whispered, running his nose just behind her ear. “I can smell what you want.”

“You don’t know anything,” she replied, hand slamming against his chest. She could have shoved—Azriel would have backed off if she had. Instead, Gwyn fisted her fingers in the lapel of his tunic. “You don’t have the first clue what I want.”

This was insanity and he knew it. Brushing his mouth over her own, Azriel said, “Why don’t you tell me what you want, then.”

“I want you to stop talking,” Gwyn said.

Done. Azriel pressed his mouth against her own, too hungry to be nice. Gwyn’s grip tightened against his tunic, pulling him closer to meet him with that same, desperate fervor. Fuck fuck fuck— “You’re sweet,” Azriel gasped, giving in to his every filthy thought. Gwyn squealed when he lifted her off the ground, tossing her over his shoulder.

He ought to have known better. Should have known Gwyn was never going to play damsel in distress, was never going to let him drag her around like a doll. Azriel groaned, knees buckling when her fingers slid over his wings.

He just barely managed to get her flat on his back before his legs gave out. “Cruel female,” he whispered, desperate for her to do it again.

“You should know better,” Gwyn replied in a breathy voice that was absolutely going to be the death of him. Somehow—and Azriel couldn’t explain how—he could feel those words in the base of his cock.

“You’re right,” he agreed, draping his wings around them both as an invitation and to blot out the world around them. Gwyn, who’d been just a shade too taut for his liking, immediately relaxed. It was just them in here. And in this little bubble, safe from the rest of the world, Azriel could kiss her the way he wanted to.

The way he’d been dreaming about. He hadn’t questioned what kind of experience she had, but Azriel guessed it was very little, given how clumsy and unpracticed she was. Gwyn was competitive, and he was patient. It took her no time to figure it out and when she did, Azriel was tempted to roll on his back and let her have at him.

Gwyn seemed perfectly content where she was, fingers in his hair while Azriel tried to figure out how exactly to touch her. That was made nearly impossible when he slid his tongue into her mouth, meeting her own with an explosion of pleasure that threatened to undo him. His whole body jerked, grinding against her lithe, soft form beneath him.

Gwyn’s legs parted and it was all over. Azriel was coming undone, could barely think. If he didn’t put his mouth on all of her, he was pretty sure he might go mad. Instinct was riding him harder than it ever had, demanded he touch, he smell, he taste. There was nothing rational left about him.

Just the animal.

Dragging his mouth from hers, a rumble of approval slipping from behind his teeth when he saw those swollen, kiss stained lips, Azriel nipped his way down her throat.

“Az,” Gwyn breathed. He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips. Did she want him to stop? Azriel looked up, face positioned just between her heaving breasts. “What are we doing?”

He didn’t know what to say to that. Blinking like an idiot, he looked back down her body.

She leaned up on her elbows, hair spilling around her perfect, flushed face. Maybe he should kiss her again, he thought. Just for good measure, just until she was as mindless as he felt.

“We’re…” Fuck, he didn’t know. He’d nearly said it was casual and the moment he’d tried, something reverberated angrily in his stomach. Azriel merely shook his head. “We’ll figure it out.”

Later, he prayed, because he couldn’t compete with his cock.

Gwyn reclined her head back, hair a molten halo of fire against the pillow. “Remember our agreement.”

No sex. How could he forget? It was all he wanted—but not if he had to beg her for it. Not if she wasn’t coming to him because she wanted it more than she didn’t. This was enough, he decided. It was better than enough, because snarky, competitive Gwyn still had her legs parted. She was going to let him touch her.

And maybe, someday, she’d let him touch her in other ways. Whatever was currently driving him had convinced him that if he did a good job, she’d want more.

Azriel was only good at two things, which were fighting and fucking in that order. Nothing else had ever mattered to him and certainly didn’t know given the two things Gwyn consistently wanted from him involved one of those two things. Well. One of those two things.

But hopefully two. Azriel certainly wanted both when he settled himself between her thighs and pushed her dress up over her hips. Azriel groaned at the sight of her, eyes rolling back into his skull. Nothing had ever been half as pretty as Gwyn, naked and gleaming wet with arousal.

He was losing his mind. He could hear her over him, whispering his name with unmistakable fear. There was simply no way to explain what was happening or the effect she was having on him. The only way was to show her.

Azriel took a long, languid lick up the center of her body. Gwyn gasped loudly, body bowing off the bed.

Azriel’s eyes flicked to her own. “Did you like that?” he asked, impressed he’d managed to get any words out at all.

“Do it again,” she whispered.

Thank the bloody Cauldron.

Azriel did as he was told, delighted when she kept her eyes locked with his. He thought he could come like this, tongue teasing her clit while he watched those teal eyes become darker and darker. He wanted to watch her come again, this time on his tongue. Azriel wanted to taste it, wanted her to know without a doubt that this was all his doing.

In theory, that was a good plan.

In practice, Azriel was far too undone to be clean around it. Gripping her thighs, Azriel draped them over his shoulder to hold her closer, until her arched back had her lower body held entirely in his hands. She fit perfectly and the gods damn him, but he wanted to know how else they’d fit.

What was worse was the taste of her. She was going to haunt him long after they parted ways, the taste of her so absurdly sweet he couldn’t drag his mouth off of her.

Gwyn writhed, her fingers raking through his hair to push him closer. Azriel took advantage of her desperation, fingers teasing her slick skin until she started panting his name again. Did she understand what she wanted? Or was it merely instinct that made her beg.

He’d be replaying that the next time she scowled at him in training. Tongue working her clit with mindless animal desperation, Azriel pushed one of his fingers into her body. She was so tight, and so wet it utterly destroyed him. Azriel could feel her clamped around his cock.

Gwyn came, the sound breathless and soft—not overly loud, not the fake cries of pleasure that set his teeth on edge. This was for her, a result of her own arousal coming to its natural conclusion against his hand and mouth. Azriel could taste it, swallowing each new wave greedily as he pumped that finger in and out of her.

Another day and he’d keep her going. Would bring her to the edge again and gain, drawing her out until she had nothing left to give.

For now, Azriel pulled away to kiss her, curious to see if she’d like the taste of herself on his lips. Gwyn grabbed at his neck, legs wrapped around his waist until he could feel the heat of her through the fabric of his pants.

Maybe he would beg. Make a fool out of himself while she told him now.

Why did he like the image of that?

Stroking her cheek, Azriel couldn’t think of anything to say. He needed to go to the bathroom and do something about his raging, aching cock before he did something stupid. He pushed himself off her, battling his instinct to stay.

Gwyn reached for his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he gritted out.

“Stay,” she said in that husky voice. A thrill of excitement skated down his spine when she sat up, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric of her skirt.

“I—”

“I want—” she began, swallowing hard. “I need to touch you.”

A loud roaring filled his ears. “You don’t have to ask,” he rasped. “Touch me.”

Please, he didn’t dare add.

It was a dream, watching Gwyn rise from the bed and come stand between his legs. Better, when she reached for the buttons of his trousers.

And best when those soft, callused fingers pulled out his cock, squeezing around him tightly. Azriel threw back his head, trying so hard to breathe through his nose. He was going to come far too quickly, was—

Something soft and wet licked the underside of his cock. Azriel jumped, nearly kicking Gwyn in his attempt to get away from her. “You—” he was panting, wild and hanging by the thinnest thread.

“Me,” she agreed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Did you like that?”

“I—” Fuck, he couldn’t get the words out. “You don’t—”

“I know I don’t have to,” she replied in that bratty tone of hers. “I want to. Sit back down, Az.”

Azriel sat immediately.

“Behave yourself,” she warned him, sinking back to her knees. Gwyn was eye level with his cock, assessing it like it was one of her books. Did she like it? Azriel wanted to ask, but she licked him again. Azriel shuddered, cock twitching in her hand. Precome glistened, rolling down his shaft only for Gwyn to lick that up, too.

Azriel was going to die.

As if she read his mind, Gwyn parted her lips and took him into her mouth inch by slow, tortuous inch. She made it nearly halfway before soft gagging erupted, causing Azriel to say, “That’s enough.”

He didn’t want that. Still, he could see that competitive edge in her eye, promising she was going to do better next time. What did Azriel care, truly, so long as she kept sucking him? It was the kissing all over again—it took her a moment to adjust, widening her jaw to accommodate the sheer size of him. Her teeth grazed his sensitive skin and Azriel had to force himself to stay still and not buck into her mouth.

What he really wanted was to slide his fingers into her hair, hold her still, and fuck that pretty mouth of hers. Azriel groaned, allowing himself to put his hands in her hair, though he was careful not to push her any further.

“Gwyn, I—” he was so close he could barely speak, his words a rasping plea. She merely worked him harder, saliva pooling against his too-tight sac.

Azriel came with a grunt, flooding her mouth as his orgasm overwhelmed him. He couldn’t think, too busy watching her swallow all of it before she released him, a look of triumph on her beautiful face.

“Come here,” he pleaded, pulling her up into his lap. “Come here.”

Azriel kissed her, surprised to find he wasn’t spent like he usually was. The urge to keep going flared through him hotly until he tamped it down. Gwyn settled against him, the pair falling back into bed in a messy tangle of limbs.

“Stay here, tonight,” he whispered into her hair. That was selfish, too—he wanted to eat her for breakfast.

“What about my dance lessons?” she asked.

Azriel only smiled, nodding toward the door. “Alright then. But if you step on my feet—”

“You’ll do what?” she challenged.

She found out mere seconds later, trying to clamber out of bed only to find herself flat on her back again, his thigh wedged between her thighs.

“Find out, Gwyn.”

And Gwyn laughed in response.

#gwynriel #i showed some snippets of this chapter to my gwynriel advisory board #and their response made me want to upload it #i assume no one is upset

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