The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

I skimmed my hand through the water, smiling as it tickled my palm. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back. Water tugged on the tail of my braid as damp, sweetly scented air…stirred.

Awareness bore down on my shoulders, sending a shiver through me as my hands stilled and my eyes opened. Tiny bumps broke out all over my skin. I inhaled sharply—and the breath snagged as a different scent reached me. One that reminded me of…of pine and decadent spice.

“Poppy.”

My heart stumbled. Everything stopped. That voice. That rich, deep voice that carried a slight musical lilt. His voice. I would recognize it anywhere.

I whipped around, sending the water into a hissing fury. My entire being tensed, and then a shudder rocked its way through me.

I saw him.

In the damp heat of the cavern, I saw his soft, black hair already beginning to curl against the slash of his brows, and the sandy-hued, high cheekbones—ones that appeared sharper than I remembered. But that full mouth… I shuddered again. His mouth was slightly parted as if he’d inhaled and couldn’t take another breath. A shadow of a beard ran along his cheeks and his strong, proud jaw, giving him an unfamiliar, rugged, and wild look.

He stood before me, the water lazily swirling against those fascinating indents on his inner hips. He was as bare skinned as I was, the tightly rolled muscles of his abdomen and the delineated lines of his chest appearing more defined, starker than I remembered.

But it was him.

My first.

My last.

My everything.

“Cas?” His name came from the depths of my very soul, and it stung and burned the entire way past my lips.

His throat worked on a swallow. I’d never seen his eyes so bright. They were like pools of polished gold. “Poppy.”

I didn’t know who moved first. If it was him or me or if we both moved at the same moment, but it was only a heartbeat—less than one—and then his arms were around me. The feel of his hot, wet skin against mine was a shock because I felt him, from the hard flesh of his chest to the coarse hair on his legs. Grasping his cheeks, I marveled at the sensation of the prickly growth against my palms, something I’d never felt on him before.

I felt him.

He held me tightly, leaving no space between us. Leaving no way for me to not feel that he trembled as badly as I shook. His hand slid up the length of my spine, leaving a series of hot, tight shivers in its wake. He sank his hand into my braid.

In the recesses of my mind, I knew this was only a dream, even if nothing about any of this felt like a dull replica concocted from my desperate, lonely mind. Not when the cold, achingly vast holes in my chest filled with the feel of him—all of Casteel.

“Poppy,” he repeated, his breath against my lips. And then his mouth was on mine.

His lips—oh, gods, I drowned at the feel of them. I didn’t think any memory could capture the unyielding hardness or the lush softness. I didn’t think any memory could recreate the way he kissed.

Because Casteel kissed as if he were starving, and I was the only sustenance he’d ever desired. Ever needed. He kissed as if it were the first thing he ever truly wanted and the last thing he needed.

I slid my hands into his damp hair, shaking at the feel of the strands sifting through my fingers. The edge of a sharp fang dragged across my lower lip, heating my blood in the way only he could. I kissed him back, desire sparking and igniting as a pulsing twist of pleasure curled the muscles low in my stomach. The intensity of it caused me to jerk against him—against the hot, hard length of him—and frenzied need exploded.

Casteel groaned as his fingers curled into my hair, and those long, drugging kisses became shorter, rougher. His lips tugged at mine. My teeth clashed with his. These kinds of kisses tore through me, leaving little fires in their wake—flames sure to consume me, even in a dream. And I knew that was all this was. A dream. A reward I didn’t think I deserved but would greedily take, nonetheless. Because I needed him. Needed to feel warm inside again.

And with Casteel, I was always like flesh and fire.

I looped my arm around his broad shoulders as I dragged my hand down his face, his throat, to where I felt his pulse pounding. My hand dropped to his shoulder. “Please. Touch me. Take me.” The words that spilled from my mouth carried no taint of shame. There was no room for that in this fantasy. No awkwardness. No hesitation or second-guessing. Just need. Just us. Only these stolen minutes mattered, even if they weren’t real. “Please, Cas.”