Page 82 of Storm

I lured him here. Whatever actions he makes will weigh heavily on my soul.

Desperate hands pull me close, startling me. “Mmmm. Wife, you smell good.” His nose nuzzles my hair, probably smelling all the sweat and cum he slathered over me last night.

Ease him into it, Storm, I remind myself, ungracefully spinning in his arms, my size only manageable because I have his solence within me. Last night, Melek insisted I drink directly from a cut on his neck, and who was I, delirious on mate orgasms, to say no? Weak. That was exactly what I’d turned into, helpless to every part of him.

“Morning, husband.” He greets me with a lazy smile, familiar dark grey eyes shining back at me. Normal irises. I don’t know whether to rejoice or cry. My stomach continues fluttering at the possibilities of the next few moments.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, a gruff sleepiness to his voice, making my thighs clench. Fingers lazily caress my cheek. Closing my eyes, I lean into him, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I feel great.” My grin is genuine, despite my concern. “How are you feeling?”

Quizzical eyes meet mine. I never ask him how he is doing. Shit. Stupid move, Storm.

“I’m very well, wife. I think I could go for some breakfast.” I’m about to persuade him to stay in bed when I feel the trajectory of his hand and realise he means that I’m the breakfast. Insatiable motherfucker.

Morning sunlight spills through the window above us, giving him a clear view of the space. However, his eyes are only for me, hand inching around my waist. His opposite hand moves a strand of black hair off my cheek, revealing another consequence of his feral actions.

At the same time, his eyebrows raise to his hairline, he skims the underside of my ass, reminding me of a spanking that I shall never admit I enjoyed so much I squirted all over the sheets. I would’ve been mortified if he hadn’t‌ rolled me over and fucked me sideways in our juices. We were nothing but animals.

It was the best night of my life. A sigh escapes my parted lips, cheeks reddening. Damn. He’s about to explode, and all I can think about is how good he screwed me.

Gripping my chin tight, his nose pushes against mine, searching. I’ve been told there’s still a sliver of blue left. That’ll have to do. He must see it too. Fingers loosen. “Why are your eyes grey, wife?” There’s pained confusion in his voice. “Is this a dream?” I figured there’d be some puzzlement, trying to fit the pieces together of what happened since he went feral, but I didn’t entertain the idea that he might not remember any of it.

My chest tightens. I wrap a leg around him, my hands going to cup his sharp jaw, bringing our bodies impossibly close. “Do you not remember? It’s not a dream. We’re in the Fairy Lands.” The air sucks clean out of the room at those two words.

“Remember what? I’m not in a playful mood, Storm. What happened?” He’s trying so hard to hold it together, pupils blown wide, his grip flexing. Even his smell seems more pronounced to me. I want to douse myself in it, just as we rolled in our sex last night.

“We escaped to the Fairy Lands, and there was a magical accident,” I say, leaving out the cause of said “accident,” because even though he held me captive for twelve years, I hate the thought of him seeing himself as violent towards me. He has never been that. My commander is steadfast and protective. Never has he raised a hand to hurt me unless I wanted him to.

I should want to crush him. To shatter his heart into a million and one pieces. However, as I gaze at the torrential hurt already forming in his eyes, I can’t seem to make it worse. The mate pull. It’s the only explanation. And the feelings that have expanded the ever-growing muscle in my chest.

“When we crossed into the Fairy Lands, there was an unexpected magic that took hold of me. It’s hard to explain...” You being the unexpected magic. His eyes wide and on the verge of beasting out, I do the only thing I know of to calm him. I plaster my lips against his, devouring his mouth. My husband doesn’t fight it. He encourages me, holding the back of my head. Our tongues mingle, neither of us coming up for air until it’s necessary.

Melek’s forehead rests against mine, my breath heavy.

“We are all here, and we are all safe. That’s enough.” My heated whisper glides over his cheek.

“They were my favourite colour. You’re my favourite…” His roughened voice chokes before going back in, trailing his lips along my neck until he spots the reddish-purple bruise. That didn’t last long.

Pausing, he falls back, eyeing my covered body quizzically up and down, finally deciding to pull back the olive sheets. I don’t bother trying to keep any part hidden. That safe, unobstructed time with him yesterday was one of the best times of my life. I let myself feel everything I’d kept locked away from him. It was bliss.

“What the fuck, Storm?”

Argh, shit. No doubt he has spotted the many, many hickeys he put all over my body last night after he gave me his blood, spending copious amounts of time on them because they kept going away, until he found that if he stayed sucking an area of delicate flesh long enough, it would stay bright red, which pleased him immensely. And who am I to get in the way of a hot lord beast and his whims?

I’m just a human.

I’m so screwed. Not in the fun way this time.

“I have to tell you something, and you can’t freak out.” Any more than you already are. Holding my bump, I move to sit. Surely, he remembers some of what happened between us.

His jaw tightens. I try to keep a hand on his chest so he can’t move. “God fucking hell, Storm, your whole body is covered in bruises. And your eyes and hair? What the—Who did this to you?” My hand falls by the waist side as he sits up beside me. He sees every inch of my exposed skin. The fair, milky flesh he marked last night, the lack of pigment in my irises, and the strip of white hair. Yet he has no recollection of it. Bronzed hands reach out to touch them, hovering, never making full contact.

Anger follows. Taking his hand, I place it on one of the worst bruises on my breast. The air around us crackles. “Just so we are clear here, you did that.” I run his hand over the bruises welting my skin. “And that. And that.”

Swiftly pulling back his hand, his sharp temper comes through. “No, I fucking didn’t, Storm. Are you insane? I’d never⁠—”

“What? You’ve never given me a few dozen hickeys before?” His fingers travel through his hair harshly, taking in the room around us. “Need I remind you of the many marks you’ve given my body over the last twelve years?”