Dragging his thumb up the side of his face, he scoops up the taste of me and slides it into my mouth.
“Here,” His lips are close enough to kiss mine. “This is what you’re supposed to feel.”
The salty taste on his finger spreads in my mouth. In the past, I would have been repulsed by tasting my own arousal, but all I can think is that this is the taste of what we just did. The taste of myself. Of him. Of us.
I suck on his thumb, curling my tongue around it, explicitly showing exactly which one of his body parts I’d rather have in my mouth.
“Do you regret this, little ember?”
“I’m sure I will one day,” I say in one breath.
It’s true, I’m not dumb enough to believe this will solve anything, but I also know there is no going back from it. We will keep destroying each other, so we might as well enjoy it.
“But it’s not like that has ever stopped me before.”
My voice is wrecked. My body even more so. But my legs are already parting again.
He grabs me by my ass, still sore from how tight my muscles around the handle had been. As he lifts me, my legs wrap around his waist so naturally, you’d think we’ve done it thousands of times. He walks in silence, with me still shaking in his arms, as he carries me out of the kitchen.
When he reaches the bedroom, he kicks the door open without stopping and lays me on the bed. My back hits the sheets, and he follows, the weight of him crushing the breath out of me.
For the first time, I realize I’m the only one naked. His clothes are still on. All of them. The button-down is wrinkled, the belt fastened, and the trousers so tight over his cock, I’m noteven sure how the zipper is not snapping. I can feel it pressing against the soaked skin of my inner thigh as he settles between my legs, and the desire to have him inside me grows by the second.
I move my hand, trailing over his chest, down to the waistband of his pants. I tug at his belt, trying to release him, but he catches my wrists mid-motion and pins them above my head with one hand.
That might have worked on someone else, but not on me.
I shift my hips and use his own momentum against him. A twist, a push of my thighs, and he lands flat on his back with a grunt, my legs straddling his waist before he can blink.
His eyes flare wide, but his hands stay where I pin them down—gripping the sheets.
I lean down, brushing my lips along the edge of his jaw and kissing it.
“Oh, no, no, Professor,” I whisper against his throat. “My pussy might be yours—but every inch of your body belongs to me. Now be a good boy and take it off. All of it.”
What I love the most is how fast he complies with my request. Just like I allowed him to play with me in the kitchen, now it’s my time to enjoy his body. He lifts onto his elbows, never breaking eye contact.
His fingers work the shirt buttons first, undoing each, letting the material fall to the side. My eyes are met by the hard muscle underneath, skin radiating warmth, and a sprawling masterpiece of dark ink smeared across his chest.
I never took Azrael for a tattoo type of person.
“I did not expect this,” I say, letting my fingers trace every design.
“What?”
“The tattoos. Took you for a clean freak type of guy.”
“Not quite. And my tattoos are stories meant to be remembered.”
In the middle of his chest are two snakes: one engraved black as the night, the other white as a bone. Coiled mirroring each other across his chest, devouring each other’s tails, locked in a perpetual loop.
I pause at the center, right where the two are crossing each other. “They’re not eating themselves,” I say, more to the air than to him. “They’re eating each other.”
I look straight at him, daring him to avoid the conversation. “What’s this story?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“One can’t exist without the other,” he says finally. “They destroy each other to survive.”