Chapter Twenty-Three

Qadaire

“I want to know every inch of you. I want to learn every freckle, every crease, every strand of hair. What make you smile, laugh, moan my name. I’ll memorize these symbols and what they mean to you.” Qadaire kissed the tattoos on her knuckles, her hand, her wrist. “I will study until I am fluent in your body language. I want to be the only scholar to study at the temple of Cassandra.”

“Temple?”

“I will worship you for eternity.”

He grasped her waist and shoulders then gently guided her to lie back as he lowered himself above her. His top hands played with her pert nipples, pulling and pinching and rolling, exploring, as he watched what made her hips seek him the most. His bottom hands parted her legs and smoothed the gossamer skin on the inside of her thighs. Her honey and bergamot scent was strong this close, and he dragged in a breath to fill his lungs with her sweetness. Without thinking, he lowered his head and burrowed himself in her damp folds, warbling as he nuzzled his nose deep enough to split them open.

“Qadaire,” she hissed, her hands flying over his on her hips.

“Let me worship you, Cassandra. Let me take my time. Please.” As he spoke, the crow in him continued to warble from his chest, his mating instincts unperturbed by words.

He slipped free of her grip and held her legs apart, giving him an uncensored view of her pink hole, searching for him. He slid a finger through her slickness, mesmerized by the way it clung to his skin even when he pulled away. He brought his finger to his mouth and sucked it off. He groaned low and his bump pulsed, ready to excrete, while his balls filled with seed. His body was begging to drain inside of her. His cock strained against his trousers almost painfully.

He strummed her swollen bud, experimenting to find the chord that struck the best. When she was singing along to his warbles with her own melody, he slid his tongue through her folds, straight into the source of her sweet juices.

“Oh my fuck.” Cassandra’s hands fisted in his head feathers, their roots pinching on his scalp. “More.”

He stayed vigilant on her needy bud, suctioning it while he slid two fingers inside of her, relearning her body as she moved against him. He could hear her heart beating erratically, like a small creature of prey cornered by a predator.

His cock wept in his trousers. He hungrily lapped at the fluid she rubbed against his face, and with every sweet whimper he coaxed from her, his body’s patience grew thinner.

“Qadaire, oh fuck, I’m going to—I’m gonna come.”

“Yes. Let go. Give it to me, please, Cassandra.” His voice was hoarse, but he immediately placed his mouth back on her pulsing bud, using his fingers inside her the way he already knew she liked.

When her orgasm spasmed through her, her body going rigid under his tongue, he couldn’t hold it any longer. He groaned into her cunt, forcing his fingers to continue through the blinding pleasure as he came in his pants.

“Get up here, Q. Please.”

He rose and tugged at his trousers, not pausing when her gaze lingered on the large wet spots there.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a smirk. “I’ve learned my appetite for you is insatiable.”

“You’ve learned?”

He tossed the pants on the floor and pulled her into a seated position over his lap, her thighs wrapped around his waist. Her arms naturally slipped her over his shoulders.

“Yes. I got a tad messy every time I had you wrapped around my fingers. And when you were away.” He smiled coyly. “It’s your sweet, sweet cunt. It drives me mad.”

Her cheeks turned an appealing shade of red that made him purr.

“Is that what you were talking about? Courting me?”

“Mmm. That and more.” It would’ve been his turn to blush, if he’d had warm blood in his body. “I’ve only had crows for counsel for many of your lifetimes.”

The feeling of her warm skin against his vent made it swell. He couldn’t focus on her returned expression. The friction was too much. He nuzzled deep in her neck and grinded against her. With a shallow thrust, he drove his cock through her slick seam.

“What’s this?”

He knew what she referred to. He leaned back so she could see, his breath momentarily stuck under miles of pressure as he awaited her judgment. He carefully studied her response to the round, puckered skin above his cock, wet and glistening.

“Another burden from the curse. It’s a—”

“A cloaca.” Her hand hovered in front of it, but she didn’t look anything other than curious.

“Yes, but not entirely. It does excrete lubricant for the mating process.”

“May I?”

“Yes, dewdrop.”

Her deft fingers explored the textures of his bump. Her touch splayed him open like a cadaver on the coroner’s table, but he found no judgment in her explorations, nor her expression. When she removed her hand, strings of clear, viscous fluid tied them together.

She shifted on his lap and he loosened the grip of his bottom hands on her thighs to allow her to reach down, positioning his cock between them.

She slid one hand up and down his shaft while the other palmed his leaking bump. She switched hands every few strokes, saturating his cock with his own lubricant.

“Cassandra,” he warned. Too much, it was too much. He squeezed his eyes shut. Soon, he would come again, coating the space between them. His bottom hands turned into fists, his top two frozen on the skin below her breast.

“How many times have you touched yourself to the thought of me?”

He scoffed. “It’s impossible to say.”

“How long did you pause between them, on average?”

“Sometimes days, sometimes minutes—oooh, dewdrop.”

“Mmm.” She kissed his eyelids until he opened them, meeting his hungry gaze with hers. “That’s nothing. I plan to be here all day. Maybe longer, if you’ll have me.”

She took that moment to roll her hips, coating his sack with her dew. The base of his spine tingled, tempting him to surrender to the bliss. He put his upper hands on the bed behind him and leaned into them heavily. His throbbing cock urged him to thrust into her hands. She circled him loosely, letting him fuck into those perfect, silken hands, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Does it feel the way you imagined?”

His jaw clenched. All he could grind out was a lackluster, “Better.”

She leaned above him and claimed his mouth with hers, delving her tongue inside. She licked the top of his mouth and pulled away, and he chased the kiss like a ravenous hatchling.

“What is it you’re always telling me?” She nipped his earlobe, then whispered, “Let go, Qadaire. There is nothing else that matters right now but this. My hands on your cock. Your body against mine. Let go.”

She started to move, rolling her entire body to an invisible beat. She pumped up and down with a sensual flow, switching her hands as they became coated with lubricant. Her hips ground over the base of his shaft, smearing her slickness all the way down to his sack.

“But I still owe you for winning.” He straightened, pulling her closer, their bodies slipping against each other in his juices. His lower hands traveled up her spine to the base of her neck, his upper right hand buried in her raven hair. “You found the potion.”

“Yes, you owe me.” Her grip tightened. “You owe me this. Stop denying yourself. You deserve this. You’re worthy. You’re enough. Now let it go and coat us both with your come, Qadaire.”

If he were capable of tears, perhaps they would have stung his eyes at her words. As it was, a different kind of dam broke.