But no less intense, I thought, arching up as a warm mouth captured a nipple.
Even without his extra abilities, Pritkin knew just how to touch me. He always had, as if it was instinctive. He did everything I liked, kissing down my stomach and then stroking my sides as he pleasured me, while his mouth was the perfect combination of forceful and gentle. Every stroke, every pull, every movement felt like it echoed throughout my entire body. It left me weak to the bones, and set flames of desire licking along my spine, pooling deep inside, causing me to writhe and gasp and then groan in pleasure.
Almost too much of it.
Too much sensation, with every move, every sigh, every shudder magnified by his abilities. Time seemed to slow with no help from me, with a dragging, languid feeling in the air as if every moment was reluctant to leave. It allowed me to experience everything in exquisite detail, from the warm smoothness of his tongue to the roughness of his calluses, from the slightly wet hair leaking melted snow in little drips onto my stomach, to the scratch of his beard.
Too much beauty, with the silver drenched room bisected by golden lamplight. It gilded the man above me: the curve of his brow, the lids of his half-closed eyes, and the thick, gold-tipped lashes. It highlighted the hypnotic movement of well-toned muscles under flawless skin, darker gold at his neck and hands, but fading to pure cream on the parts of his body that clothes usually covered. And the utter concentration on his face, as if this was the most important thing in the world.
Too much emotion, because he’d been right. I wanted to drag him closer; I wanted to push him away. I wanted him by my side; I wanted him far from danger. I wanted—things that didn’t matter because this wasn’t up to me. I couldn’t control Pritkin anymore than I could the swirl of events around us. All I could do was hold on, and hope we were both standing at the end.
And, suddenly, it was too much everything and I cried out, my hands searching for purchase on the headboard that I didn’t find, because I couldn’t concentrate enough.
I felt like a ship on a storm-tossed sea, with the waves of sensation that should have been ripples more like a tsunami. One that had me shuddering towards release from this, just this. And when Pritkin finally entered me, the sensation was so intense that I cried out, and couldn’t have said if it was from pleasure or pain.
He was murmuring things I couldn’t understand as he moved inside me, but I didn’t need to. His actions spoke volumes, all on their own, whole libraries of thought and emotion. And so did mine, my arms finally finding purchase around his neck, my legs wrapping around him, my body moving in a rhythm as
old as time as we approached climax together.
It didn’t take long. In moments, it felt like the motes of firelight in the air had soaked into my skin like sunlight, heating up my core like a sauna, pushing aside all doubt, all worry, all pain. Until there was only this, only joy, only fire running through my veins, causing me to buck and gasp and cry out—
As my whole body blossomed with heat and light and love.
There were so many obstacles to us being together: politics, the war, our own insecurities, that it seemed like an insurmountable mountain sometimes. One that I’d sometimes wondered if I’d helped to put in place myself, because then I didn’t have to risk loving anybody this much. But that ship had sailed, so I supposed we were going to have to figure something out.
And we will, I thought, holding him as he collapsed against me afterward, still shuddering through his own release.
Somehow, we’d find a way.
~~~
My eyes came open what felt like hours later, to see Pritkin’s leg draped over mine and the blankets pulled up to his nose. The room was quiet and dark, with the snow falling gently outside. It veiled most of the illumination from the windows, leaving only faint lamplight to haze the scene.
I’d been so sleepy earlier, after the release of all that long-held tension, that I’d gone out like a light while he was still cleaning us up. But I was wide awake now and staring into the darkness, I had no idea why. But my heart was racing a little too fast, and that was never a good thing.
I sat up on one elbow and looked around.
Nothing moved except for the wick in the lamp, dancing along with the little flame there. It made shadows flicker on the walls, almost as if the chest of drawers, the old-fashioned washstand, and the bedposts with their embroidered hangings were moving. But they weren’t. And there was no sound, except for the faint creak of the bedsprings and Pritkin’s heavy breathing.
After a moment, I got up to go to the bathroom, realized that I was chilly, and put on one of the terrycloth robes from behind the door. It was a little big, but that was a good thing right now. And it was a lot nicer quality than the towels in Pritkin’s rooms.
I guessed dignitaries were supposed to be wusses.
Something was chiming faintly in the living room, when I turned my head just right, so I went to investigate. It turned out to be the mirror over the fireplace, which had what looked like thirty little pulsing lights on it. For a moment, I just blinked at it, thinking that it was some weird sort of musical instrument, if a psychedelic one. Then I looked closer—
And saw a teeny, tiny outraged Jonas, talking and talking, in every one.
Or maybe yelling and yelling. Yeah, it kind of looked like he was yelling. And I finally realized what I was looking at: the magical equivalent of an answering machine, where I guess Jonas had been calling us—a lot.
I carefully didn’t touch any of the lights, and started back to bed, only to almost run into a ghost.
It took me a second to realize it was one I knew.
“Billy!” I clutched the top of the robe. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“I scared the crap out of you?” He knocked his hat back. “What the hell was that today?”
“What?”