Chapter 18

Eighteen

"Fuck, Marion," Lorik hissed, biting the fleshy side of his palm, which squeezed against his mouth. "What else do you need fixed in this place?"

I would've smiled, maybe even laughed at the slight pleading torment in his voice, but my mouth was stuffed, so full that I could only take in a few inches of his cock.

At first, I'd be hesitant. Shy, even. It had been a long time since I'd pleasured a male like this, and my first lover had once told me I wasn't even that good at it. That had stung, my self-esteem taking a hit, but Lorik's reaction just about erased years of shame from that one mean, flippant comment.

Or maybe it's just the partner I'm with,I couldn't help but think. Lorik's own obvious pleasure spurred my own. I wanted to make him feel better than he ever had before. I wanted to make him crazy, I wanted to make him moan and thrash and curse at gods he wasn't sure existed for me.

He'd already made me come. Now it was his turn, and I wanted him to crave this.

I hummed as I slid my lips down his cock, hollowing my cheeks when I reached my limit.

"Gods," he groaned. "Marion, I'm going to come soon. I—"

I released his cock with a wet pop and took his length in my hand. Hot and hard, I pumped him, slow and teasing. Silver pre-come was dripping from his tip at a nearly steady rate, the taste of him lingering on my tongue—earthy and musky and delicious.

"Come for me," I murmured, feeling a distracting throb between my thighs though I ignored it. This was about Lorik. He'd been so generous, and I wanted to return the favor. I'd teased him long enough, however. "I want you to come for me."

His answering groan sounded pained. His hips began to rock against my grip, steady but greedy. I stroked his length, his slippery pre-come and my saliva making my hand glide.

And when I put my lips over the head of his swollen cock, I sucked hard before tracing the seam with my tongue.

His hips punched forward, a hard jerk that I thought took both of us by surprise, but I only tightened my grip on him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he panted, breath huffing out of him. I could see the gleam of his perspiration through his tunic and felt my hands hit the laces of his untied pants every time I ran them down his cock. There was something so very naughty about this. Him fully clothed, on the verge of coming down my throat. And me on my knees before him, not a stitch of clothing on me.

We hadn't even made it to the bed. He had his perfect ass wedged against the table, and my knees were pressed to the hard stone floor.

"Marion."

My name was my only warning falling from his lips, and I sucked harder. His hips jerked, a single harsh breath exhaling from his throat, and then he was unleashing his come onto my waiting tongue. The thick ropes of it were hot. Endless. I swallowed him down as best as I could, though some escaped from my lips, dribbling down to my chin.

All the while, Lorik's burning gaze was piercing into me. He liked to watch this. I met his eyes as my throat worked, and he whispered something in a language I didn't recognize, though the roots of which sounded Allavari.

When he gave a final jerk against me and I released him, wiping at my face with the dress he'd nearly torn off me, I leaned back on my heels.

For a long while, it was quiet. The crackling in the hearth was the only sound, besides my own heartbeat in my ears.

"You're perfect," he whispered.

"Did you like it?" I couldn't help but ask, suddenly shy, kneeling in front of him, despite what I'd just spent the better of the last twenty minutes doing. My jaw ached from his size, but I needed to hear his praise like I needed air. "If it was bad, you can tell me. I—"

"If it was bad?" Lorik rasped, disbelief in his tone. He straightened, though he didn't bother to tuck himself into his pants before he crouched in front of me. When he kissed me, I gasped. I tried to turn my head away, but he growled, "It turns me on to taste myself on your tongue. You think I'd not like that?"

"Oh," I breathed.

"Why in all the Four Quadrants would you believe it was bad?"

"Because…because my first lover told me I was bad at it," I admitted, half wishing I'd not said anything at all.

Lorik's gaze narrowed. "Yeah, well, fuck him. His loss. You're mine now."

My cheeks heated when Lorik threaded his hand behind the nape of my neck, holding me in place when he kissed me again. My heart thudded.

I'm going to fall in love with him,I thought. And for once, the thought didn't bring a stab of fear and trepidation with it.

"And for the record," he murmured against my lips, "I don't remember the last time I came that fucking hard."

"Oh," I whispered, infinitely pleased. "Yeah?"

"Yes," he hissed. "You want to come again?"

"No," I said, biting back my smile in fear it might split open my face.

"You sure?" he purred, pressing teasing kisses to my lips.

I laughed. "Yes."

I pushed at his shoulder, but his hands started to wander.

"All right, let's go bathe, then," he said, helping me up into a standing position. My bones protested, my knees reddened from the hard floor, and Lorik brushed his fingers over them. "I'll get the water hot for you."

"Thank you."

A few moments later, we were situated in the small bathing tub, steam curling around us thanks to Lorik's magic. It was laughable, our position, but somehow we'd made it work. Lorik was behind me, his knees drawn up on both sides of me, and I was tucked into his lap. His hands were caressing my body with a soft kind of reverence, and it was lulling me into a trancelike state.

"You're not using magic on me, are you?" I asked sleepily.

"No," he whispered. "Just admiring you."

I grinned lazily, my eyes half-lidded. When had I ever felt this happy, this content with someone? Well, maybe with Aysia, but obviously in a much different way. But with Lorik…I felt comfortable and comforted. I felt loved, even though even thinking that word made me a little bashful.

"Thank you for fixing the trellis," I said in the quiet. The washroom was dark. We hadn't bothered to light the candles, but that was all right. Through the small window, there was just enough light from sunset to illuminate the room, casting it in varying shades of lilac and orange. "I can't tell you how long it's been in disrepair."

"I wanted to," he replied, taking the cloth from the edge of the tub, dipping it below the surface. "I want to take care of you, Marion. I want to help you however I can."

"Sometimes I think you're too good to be true," I confessed.

Lorik didn't reply, at least not immediately. He only lathered up the cloth and ran it over the exposed parts of my body before he explored underneath the water.

"I fear one day you'll think quite differently about me."

"Why?" I asked. "Planning to steal all my potions like the last one did?"

He exhaled a sharp breath, but I couldn't tell if it was in amusement or not.

"Where I grew up," he murmured quietly after a brief silence lapsed, "is much different from Rolara. And my father was a very strict male. He had a strong sense of morality, of good and bad. For someone like him, there was no in-between. He couldn't see the differing shades of both, the spectrum of it, even how it can change from one moment to the next. Once you wronged him, you wronged him forever. And he never forgot it, even for his children."

I listened with almost bated breath, fearing that if I made a single move he would get skittish and stop speaking.

"I don't want to be like that," he admitted. "That severe. There is no room for mistakes with someone like that. And all people make mistakes. Even if they think they're right, someone else will think they're wrong."

The back of my neck prickled with something I heard in his voice. Almost like…an apology.

"I imagine that must've been difficult growing up," I said quietly, wishing I could see his face, but he kept me tucked into his front and we both stared at the wall as our words drifted around us. Maybe it was better like this.

"There was very little time to grow up" was what he replied.

"You said you knew you had a purpose. You always knew what you would become," I commented.

"Yes, because of my family's legacy. My father was what I am now. My duty was once his. As was my grandmother's, my grandfather's, and even before them. The line stretches back far. One of us had to take on the duty of it."

"One of us?" I asked quietly.

"My sister. Or my brother at one time," he said. "But it was not what my sister wanted, or even what she was suited for. And my brother…he died long ago."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't realize you had lost a sibling as well."

"My father takes on most of the grief these days. He died on a hunt with my father, tracking down a rogue Shade in the north. My brother and I were both trained for the hunts. I just think my father expected it would be Denon to take his position, not me."

I filed away his brother's name in my mind. Denon.

"You want to know the worst part?" he murmured into my ear. "I think my father wishes it was me, not Denon, who had died that day."

"Don't say that," I whispered, not caring that Lorik held me in place for a reason. I struggled to turn in his arms, not caring that there was very little room and that my back ached as I twisted to meet his eyes. "Lorik, don't say that."

"If you ever met my father, you might think differently," he pointed out.

His eyes were glowing vibrantly. I could never understand why they did that, if Lorik was simply strumming with magic, if it had to me with me—he'd told me how easily he felt his magic with me—or the cottage—he'd also said that he could feel the magic in the earth of my land.

"I think he hates how good I am at it," Lorik continued, that gaze burning into mine, and I witnessed a side of him I'd never experienced before. His anger. His vulnerability. His hurt. "But I also think he hates himself for it."

"What?"

"I told you…he is only guided by what is right and what is wrong. The code he lives by, the code he's sworn his entire life to. His morals tell him that he cannot wish death on his other son. What kind of father would he be, then? And he struggles."

"And…and your sister?"

"Thela," he whispered. There was sadness in his tone. "We all would do anything for Thela. She is the good in us all. The best of us all."

There was something I was missing. I could hear it. His tone almost sounded like he was grieving for her.

"Is she…she's not dead, is she?"

Lorik's eyes met mine. Back and forth they flit between them. His brow was furrowed. The sudden change of him was jarring. Even his features seemed sharper, reminding me of that mirage I'd seen when we'd first made love. Gone was the relaxed man who stroked my body gently or whose smile came easy. This was Lorik too. The side he hid. Because he didn't want me to see?

But didn't he understand? I wanted to know all of him. I wanted to know every little thing about him, about his upbringing, about his family, about everything that made him smile or what made him angry.

"No," he whispered. "She's not dead."

I pressed my hand to his chest and was surprised when I felt his heart pumping hard beneath it.

"Lorik?" I asked quietly. "What is it? You can tell me—you know that, don't you?"

His eyes closed, and the blue glow from his eyes faded, sinking us further into darkness. I hadn't realized that the sunset's light had gradually begun to fade. Now the washroom was entirely too dark without his eyes.

"She's sick," he murmured.

I straightened. "Sick? With what?"

"An ancient thing," he said, his eyes opening once more. "And no one can help her. Unless…"

"Unless what?" I asked. "Maybe I can help her. Maybe I can—"

He sucked in a sharp breath, his wrist jerking between us. Frowning, my brow furrowed, I watched his gaze go to his inner wrist.

Knowing what it was, I pressed my lips together, already feeling a restlessness take hold.

Whatever it was that Lorik saw, his jaw tightened and he looked at me.

"Maybe I can help her," I said again, feeling desperation claw in my throat. "If I can see her, maybe—"

"I have to go, Marion," Lorik replied.

"What?"

"This summons…it's urgent," he confessed softly. "I have to go."

"Now?"

His lips pressed into a hard line, and despite the heat in the bathing tub, I suddenly felt cold. He inclined his head sharply.

"Oh," I whispered. Then I realized I was sitting on him and scrambled to get off. "Of course. I understand."

"I'm sorry," he said. And to his credit, it sounded like it. His jaw was tight, his teeth gritted as he stood from the tub, water sluicing off him.

"Will—will you be back?" I asked.

He must've heard the vulnerability in my tone because he said harshly, earnestly, "Of course, Marion. Of course I'll be back. I just need… I don't know how long I'll be gone. But I will be back."

In my mind, I thought, And how much longer will we be able to keep each other when he is always pulled somewhere else?

Lorik leaned down to press a hard kiss to my lips.

"Wait for me?" he asked against my lips. "Then we can continue this conversation, I promise."

How long?I wondered.

"All right," I whispered, looking up at him when he pulled away. "Be careful."

"I always am, little witch."

Then he was gone. I heard him dress, I heard the front door to my cottage close. And I was alone again, sitting in the tub that was still hot with his magic.

I was alone again…only this time it felt so much worse.