JК
A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 60 из 293I slid my arms around the smooth strength of his back, over the leather of hisarmor. His hands slid around my waist, but he was still shaking his head.
“No, you are not the princess.”
“I am, but I am more, that is true.” My voice had taken on that echoing softness that I’d heard before, like listening to someone else’s voice in your own ears.
“What are you?” he whispered.
“Drink of the chalice, Mistral.” The flower-scented wind wrapped around us like invisible arms, binding us until our bodies were pressed as close together as we could manage with clothes on. He held me, but he was afraid, and fear is not a good aphrodisiac for most people. The queen has never understood that.
His face bent toward me, but his body was tense, and he tried not to bend closer. The wind pushed at him, forced his head downward. I understood in that moment that he was once the master of the winds, bringer of storms. Once he had controlled it all as a man controls a horse, but now Mistral was the horse, who was being ridden, and he didn’t like it.
Mistral fought against the push of the sweet wind. He fought to move his body away from mine, but the wind was like chains, and the best he could do with all that strength was keep his mouth just above mine. Keep himself just out of reach.
“Why do you fight when this is what you want?” the voice said, using my lips.
“You cannot be the chalice. You cannot be the Goddess, she cast us out long ago.”
“If I am not real, then you cannot kiss me.”
“You cannot be real.”
“You were always my doubting Thomas, Mistral. Kiss me, kiss me, and discover the truth. Whether your doubts are real, or whether I am real.” The wind pressed so tightly that it was hard to breathe. “Kiss me!” The voice came from my mouth, and echoed through the wind, and the drowning scent of blossoms.
His mouth touched mine, and the moment it did, he stopped fighting. He gave himself to the kiss with his lips, his mouth, his arms, his body. The wind was only wind again, but Mistral did not notice. He picked me up in his strong arms, his hands pressing me against his body. One hand gripped my ass, an almost crushing grip that brought a small sound from my mouth. That sound seemed to urge him on. The kiss had been thorough before, but it had had a certain gentleness to it; now he kissed me as if he would climb into my body through the opening of my lips. He kissed and ate with teeth at my mouth, biting and holding my lower lip until I cried out for him.
The smell of flowers was gone, and the wind smelled like ozone. Every hair on my body raised in goose bumps.
“No, you are not the princess.”
“I am, but I am more, that is true.” My voice had taken on that echoing softness that I’d heard before, like listening to someone else’s voice in your own ears.
“What are you?” he whispered.
“Drink of the chalice, Mistral.” The flower-scented wind wrapped around us like invisible arms, binding us until our bodies were pressed as close together as we could manage with clothes on. He held me, but he was afraid, and fear is not a good aphrodisiac for most people. The queen has never understood that.
His face bent toward me, but his body was tense, and he tried not to bend closer. The wind pushed at him, forced his head downward. I understood in that moment that he was once the master of the winds, bringer of storms. Once he had controlled it all as a man controls a horse, but now Mistral was the horse, who was being ridden, and he didn’t like it.
Mistral fought against the push of the sweet wind. He fought to move his body away from mine, but the wind was like chains, and the best he could do with all that strength was keep his mouth just above mine. Keep himself just out of reach.
“Why do you fight when this is what you want?” the voice said, using my lips.
“You cannot be the chalice. You cannot be the Goddess, she cast us out long ago.”
“If I am not real, then you cannot kiss me.”
“You cannot be real.”
“You were always my doubting Thomas, Mistral. Kiss me, kiss me, and discover the truth. Whether your doubts are real, or whether I am real.” The wind pressed so tightly that it was hard to breathe. “Kiss me!” The voice came from my mouth, and echoed through the wind, and the drowning scent of blossoms.
His mouth touched mine, and the moment it did, he stopped fighting. He gave himself to the kiss with his lips, his mouth, his arms, his body. The wind was only wind again, but Mistral did not notice. He picked me up in his strong arms, his hands pressing me against his body. One hand gripped my ass, an almost crushing grip that brought a small sound from my mouth. That sound seemed to urge him on. The kiss had been thorough before, but it had had a certain gentleness to it; now he kissed me as if he would climb into my body through the opening of my lips. He kissed and ate with teeth at my mouth, biting and holding my lower lip until I cried out for him.
The smell of flowers was gone, and the wind smelled like ozone. Every hair on my body raised in goose bumps.