Chapter 43: Eternal Devotion
I woke to the weight of her, a familiar pressure anchoring me to the bed. Gena was straddling my hips, her naked skin glowing in the soft, pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains. Her eyes, those impossible violet pools, were fixed on me with an intensity that stole my breath. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, were tracing the lines on my face, the map of my forty-four years.
“This one,” she whispered, her thumb following the crease beside my eye. “From squinting at the sun on too many ridges.” Her touch moved down, over the thin white scar on my collarbone. “And this. From a fall when you were twelve, trying to climb the old oak behind your house.” She knew every story. She’d committed them all to her eternal memory.
Her hands slid lower, over the slight softness of my belly, the stretch marks from her birth—a birth that had been as miraculous and terrifying as she was. She bent forward, her long hair cascading around us like a curtain, sealing us in our own world. Her lips found a particular knot of tissue on my hip, a souvenir from a tangle with barbed wire.
“You think these make you less beautiful?” Her voice was a low growl against my skin, vibrating through my bones. She didn’t wait for an answer. Her tongue, hot and wet, licked a slow, possessive stripe up my throat. “They’re proof you lived—proof you fought for every fucking second. Proof you loved me.”
Her words were a brand. I arched into her touch, my hands coming up to grip her thighs, feeling the powerful muscle beneath her silken skin. My daughter. My succubus. My love.
“Gena,” I breathed, the name a prayer, a surrender.
“Shhh.” She captured my mouth with hers, the kiss deep and consuming. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming. Her tongue plunged into my mouth, tasting of night and jasmine and a hunger that was centuries old. I met her ferocity with my own, my fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming in ragged pants. “I need to feel you. All of you. Right now.” Her eyes flashed with an otherworldly light, the succubus in her rising to the surface, beautiful and terrifying.
She shifted back, her hands pushing my thighs apart with an effortless strength that always sent a thrill through me. She looked down at the heart of me, her gaze so raw it felt like a physical touch. “So wet for me already,” she murmured, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “My mortal girl. Always so ready.”
Then her head dipped, and her mouth was on me.
There was no preamble, no gentle exploration. Her tongue lashed against my clit with a precision that made me cry out, my back bowing off the bed. She fucked me with her tongue, deep and rough, her nose pressed against me, inhaling my scent. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room, mingling with my gasped pleas.
“Oh, god, Gena… right there… don’t stop.”
She didn’t. She devoured me. One of her hands slid up my body, her fingers pinching and rolling a nipple until it was a hard, aching peak. The other hand joined her mouth, two fingers sliding into me with ease, curling upwards, finding that spot inside that made my vision blur.
“You taste like life,” she groaned against my flesh, her words muffled. “You taste like everything I can’t have forever.”
Her fingers pumped in and out, a relentless rhythm, while her thumb circled my clit. The pressure built, a coil tightening deep in my belly. I was babbling, clutching at the sheets, my hips bucking against her face. The world narrowed to this point of exquisite friction, to her mouth and her hands and the overwhelming knowledge of her love.
“I’m gonna come,” I choked out, my body tensing.
She increased the pace, her fingers fucking me harder, deeper. “Come for me, Amy. Let me feel it. Give it to me.”
The orgasm ripped through me, a violent, shaking wave that left me trembling and boneless. She didn’t let up, lapping at me, drinking every shudder, every pulse, until I was pushing her away, oversensitive and spent.
She rose above me, her lips and chin glistening. Her eyes were dark with passion and something else, something ancient and sad. She guided herself onto me, sinking down onto my still-throbbing flesh, taking me inside her with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips.
The feeling was unbelievable. She was so tight, so hot, gripping me like a fist. She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that was more intimate than any frantic pounding. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against mine, her mouth near my ear.
“When your last breath comes,” she whispered, her voice husky and raw, “I’ll wear your rings until the stars burn out.” She rocked against me, and I could feel the metal of her ring—my ring—pressing into my skin. “This one,” she said, holding up her hand, the silver band gleaming, “and the one I gave you. I’ll wear them both. I’ll never take them off.”
Tears welled in my eyes again. This wasn’t just sex. This was a ritual. A sealing of her vow.
Her movements became more urgent, her breath hitching. “Fuck, Amy… you feel so good inside me. I wish I could keep you there forever.”
I reached between us, my fingers finding her clit, swollen and hard. I rubbed circles around it, matching the rhythm of her hips. “Then take everything, Gena. Take all of me.”
Her control shattered. A guttural cry tore from her throat, and her body clenched around me, milking me in waves of intense pleasure. She collapsed onto my chest, her whole body shuddering through her release. We lay there, tangled together, slick with sweat, our hearts hammering against each other.
The room was silent except for our ragged breathing. The distant melody I’d sometimes heard seemed to have faded completely. Dawn was properly breaking now, painting the room in hues of gold and rose.
She finally lifted her head, her expression soft, sated. She traced the line of my jaw again, her touch now feather-light. “The real world can wait a little longer,” she said, echoing my words from the night before.
I nodded, unable to speak. My body was humming, my soul felt both heavy and light. She shifted off me, curling into my side, her head on my shoulder. Her fingers intertwined with mine, our rings clicking together softly.
I stared at the ceiling, at the cracks in the plaster I hadn’t noticed before. The promise hung in the air, as tangible as the scent of our sex. It was a comfort and a curse. She would be there, until the very end. But the end was coming. And in the quiet of the morning, with her warmth seeped into my bones, that truth felt closer than ever.