Page 116 of Florescentia

“About me?” A smirk spreading across his face, he leaned close, his eyes alight as he spoke to me. “I could give you quite a few lessons.”

He spun me around, pushing my chest against the window. His hands gripped my shoulders, his head lowered beside my ear.

With my palms pressed against the glass, my breath fogged the pane in front of my face, making his reflection go in and out of view.

“I could be so good for you, Lucia. Think on it,” he whispered, his hands smoothing down my arms. His touch was firm, pressing against my body where he could. He took a troubled breath, a hesitant one, before I felt him press against me. “I want you to experience every wonder beyond your world, and then make new ones just for us.”

“Us?” I swallowed thickly.

His hands went to my waist, then his lips to my neck.

“You and I are connected in ways you haven’t even begun to understand,” he said, balling his hands in my gown. I could feel the air on my legs as he lifted it. Slowly, fistful by fistful, he grasped at the gown, my body. His hands squeezed my hips, my thighs.

I gasped, the fog of the window smearing as I steadied myself.

“You said . . . you went to my world to die.” I stumbled on my words.

“I did,” he breathed.

“Were you lying to me?”

“Never.” His grip tightened. He left kisses along my shoulder, biting the fabric of the neckline before letting it slip off.

“Then why are we here? Why was my world not enough?”

“Because you make me want to live millions and millions of lives all over again, to make every single experience new.” It was like the words were falling from his mouth as easy as a stream of water. “Be mine, and I will show you what has been, what will be, and what never had the chance to exist in the first place.”

His hands finally gathered enough fabric, the warmth flustering my skin. Instinctually I leaned back, and he pressed his body harder into me. We fit so well, like a pearl in an oyster. I supposed his body, this skin of his, had been formed precisely for me. The poison fruit to open my heart, or my legs, I wasn’t positive on which.

“We could be anywhere, from any time,” he said, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin.

The scene just past the window changed.

Suddenly it was a pristine lawn and tall hedges. Fountains made of marble and by the most detailed of craftsmen.

The palace now changed too. It shifted to soft blues and gem tones. My dress was tighter, the stays across my chest encrusted with sapphires. The fabric turned a deep zaffer color.

My neck became heavy, and small pearls dropped over my chest in so many valuable strings that a small town could have been fed for a lifetime from their sale.

“Feel me, Lucia.” He squeezed his body to mine, his hand pressing flat on my abdomen. “I know you can. My words, my heart.”

“You do not have a heart,” I said, my voice strained.

“Believe me,” he begged, then moved the train of my dress to the side. His hand pressed against the back of my leg, then up. “I would hope I can show you with more than words.”

Something warm tucked itself between my legs. I nearly let my knees buckle. He was distracting me.

“We would be so perfect together,” he whispered, his cock pushing between my legs.

“Altair . . .” I breathed. I shook my head.

He pushed me against the glass, pulling my hips back.

My hands steadied against the fogging window.

His hands smoothed up my hips, collecting the dress skirts as he exposed me further. He traced over the vitiligo on my hips, then the patches on my inner thigh.

“I can’t . . .” I said, softly at first. “I can’t!” I shouted, pushing from the window and facing him.