Chapter 4: A taste of him
The warmth of the bonfire flickered in Nyrielle's eyes as she looked up at the man whose presence had anchored her ever since she'd noticed him watching her dance.
"Are you married?" she asked, voice low but steady — a question asked not of custom, but of permission. Her heart thudded once, hard.
Kael Drenmor's mouth tilted into a crooked, amused smile. "Not yet," he said, voice a deep rumble that curled beneath her skin like heat. His tone was teasing, but there was a quiet, honest weight to his answer — as if he, too, had long been waiting for something unnamed.
Nyrielle wet her lips. "Then… will you have me?" Her breath caught, but she held his gaze. "Tonight. No promises. No strings. Just… this."
For a moment, he said nothing.
The festival sounds blurred around them — laughter, fiddles, the distant crack of firecrackers. Somewhere, a woman shrieked with delight, and a man called for spiced cider. Life carried on. But for them, time slowed.
Kael stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. "You don't seem like someone who makes reckless choices."
She tilted her chin up, defiant despite the tremor in her fingers. "Maybe I don't want to be who I've always been."
His gaze darkened, not with lust alone but something older — something deeper. He reached up and brushed a single strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."
She kissed him.
It was not timid. Not cautious. She surged upward and pressed her lips to his, heart thundering as though her soul had been waiting for this exact alignment — of night, and man, and need. He tasted of dusk and wine and wildness. Her hands clutched the fabric at his chest as he stilled — not from uncertainty, but from restraint.
Then his hand slid around the small of her back, and he deepened the kiss.
There was hunger in it, yes — but it was threaded with reverence. Like he had found something rare and didn't want to break it.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Kael stared at her, pupils blown wide. His voice dropped into a growl. "Are you absolutely sure? Because I'm one breath away from taking you against the nearest wall."
She swallowed, her voice a whisper of wind and will. "I've never been more sure of anything."
He didn't ask again.
He took her hand — large, warm fingers curling around hers — and led her away from the fire, through winding lantern-lit alleys. She didn't ask where. She didn't care. She trusted the certainty in his touch, the quiet way he moved as though even the stones knew his path.
Eventually, they slipped into a tucked-away building — a small cottage nestled behind ivy-wrapped stalls. The door closed behind them with a soft click.
Moonlight filtered through gauzy curtains. A fire crackled low in the hearth. It smelled of pine and old wood, and the space hummed with something untamed.
Kael turned to her.
They stared at each other, two shadows made whole by moonlight.
"You're trembling," he murmured.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered. "I've never felt more certain."
Kael stepped forward, his hand lifting to sweep her hair over her shoulder. The pads of his fingers brushed her bare collarbone, reverent and slow, as though he were memorizing the shape of her.
His voice dropped lower, the sound like nightfall sliding over mountaintops."I won't rush you. You'll guide every breath. Every kiss."
He stepped forward, and this time, he closed the space between them. His mouth on hers was both question and claim. His hands moved slowly — reverently — to her waist, then up her sides, tracing the silhouette of her corseted form.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he murmured, lips brushing her throat.
"I won't," she whispered.
He untied the ribbons at her back with excruciating patience. Every movement was slow, not because he lacked urgency — but because he wanted to savor. To explore the offering she was giving with more than hands.
Her gown slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. The cool air kissed her skin, but the heat in Kael's eyes made her feel as though she were cloaked in fire.
"You're…" He swallowed. "You're breathtaking."
She moved toward him, fingers shaking slightly as she undid the laces of his shirt. His skin was warm beneath her hands, muscles tense as though holding something primal at bay.
When he was bare before her, she paused, drinking in the sight. He was all lean strength and quiet dominance, but there was vulnerability in the way he let her look.
She reached out, placing her hand flat over his heart.
It was racing.
Their mouths met again — hungrier now, with the tension of two storms colliding. His hands mapped her body like a prayer, fingertips tracing the arch of her spine, the dip of her waist, the soft curve of her hip.
When he lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively. He carried her to the bed — a low frame draped in furs — and laid her down as though she were something wild and sacred.
The first touch between her legs was maddeningly soft — a whisper of fingers, a breath of anticipation. She gasped, hips rising to meet him, and Kael's mouth found the place where her shoulder met her neck.
"Let me worship you," he said against her skin.
And he did.
His fingers were skillful, coaxing waves of pleasure with every stroke. His mouth followed — kissing, tasting, claiming each inch of her as if memorizing her by heart. She writhed beneath him, the sounds escaping her lips low and breathless, each one drawn out of her like music pulled from strings.
When he finally slid into her, it was with a groan that echoed of restraint and reverence. He filled her slowly, giving her time to open for him, to adjust, to feel every inch. She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as their bodies began to move in rhythm.
It was not frantic. It was inevitable — a sacred joining of longing and flesh, of hearts both starved and full.
His pace built gradually, each thrust deeper, each motion speaking a language older than words. She held on to him like he was her lifeline, her storm, her sanctuary. He kissed her between each roll of his hips — her mouth, her breast, her collarbone — tasting the bloom of her pleasure.
The climax, when it came, was less an explosion and more a surrender — like falling backward into stars. Her body trembled around him, drawing him deeper, and he followed soon after with a deep growl against her throat, collapsing into her arms like a man unmade.
They stayed like that, tangled, hearts pounding in the hush of the moonlit room.
Neither spoke.