Chapter 15: Morning light
The first thing he felt was the heat. A dry, dusty bar of sunlight cut across the bed, painting a stripe of gold over his closed eyelids. He flinched, a reflex born of three centuries of avoidance. He waited for the sizzle of flesh, the acrid smell of his own burning.
It didn’t come.
There was only warmth. A profound, gentle warmth that seeped into his skin, down into muscle and bone. He opened his eyes.
The world was… bright. Not the muted, silvered world of moonlight or the shadow-draped interior of his castle. This was a violent, glorious assault of color. The cream-colored walls of Elara’s bedroom glowed. The dust motes dancing in the sunbeam were tiny, swirling galaxies. The green of her draped houseplant was a shocking, almost offensive emerald. He could
see every vein in its leaves. He could hear, with painful clarity, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the distant rush of a car on wet pavement, the soft, rhythmic sigh of Elara’s breathing beside him.
She was curled facing away, the sheet dipping at the waist. The sunlight gilded the peach-fuzz on her spine, traced the elegant knob of her shoulder. He stared, not with a predator’s assessment, but with a human’s overwhelmed wonder. And beneath the wonder, a sharper, more primal need began to uncoil.
It started as a warmth in his gut, different from the sun’s. It was a liquid, restless heat that migrated south, tightening his flesh, making his new blood pound in places that felt acutely, embarrassingly alive. The scent of her—sleep-warm skin, faint sweat, and the lingering jasmine from her bath—flooded his senses. It wasn’t just a scent to track. It was an inducement. A command.
His cock, trapped against the sheets, thickened to a full, aching hardness without any conscious intent. The sensation was so direct, so urgent, it robbed him of breath. Centuries of cold control had been incinerated. He was just a man, in a sunlit bed, desperate to be inside the woman sleeping beside him.
He shifted closer, the movement hesitant. His new body felt clumsy, a foreign vehicle. He pressed his front against her back, and the contact was electric. Her warmth soaked into him. The curve of her ass nestled against his erection, a perfect, maddening fit. A low groan escaped him, purely involuntary.
Elara stirred, a soft murmur escaping her lips. “Mmm… Lucian?”
“The sun,” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep and want. “It doesn’t burn.”
She turned her head, her emerald eyes blinking open, soft with sleep. She saw his face, saw the awe and the desperate hunger warring in his expression. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. She shifted, pressing back more firmly against him, and his breath hitched.
“Feel,” she breathed, taking his hand and sliding it over her hip, down to the smooth plane of her stomach. Her skin was like heated silk. “This is what morning feels like.”
His fingers splayed across her belly. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. He could feel the flutter of her muscles as she settled against him. The insatiable lust, a tidal wave of pure physical need, obliterated his remaining thoughts. He needed to be closer. He needed to be inside.
He molded himself against her, spooning her tightly. His left arm slid under her neck, his hand coming up to cradle her jaw. His right hand didn’t seek her breast. It went lower, slipping through the damp tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. He found her already wet, hot, and swollen for him.
“You’re soaked,” he growled into her ear, his voice dark with astonishment and desire.
“I dreamed of you,” she gasped, as his middle finger parted her folds, finding the swollen bud of her clit. “Dreamed of this.”
He applied pressure, a firm, circling motion he remembered drove her wild. She arched against him, a sharp cry breaking from her throat. He held her neck firmly, not to harm, but to possess, to anchor her as he played her body. His own hips began a slow, grinding rhythm, his hard length riding the cleft of her ass, smearing her moisture over them both.
“Tell me what you dreamed,” he demanded, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. His finger kept its relentless, circling pace on her clit.
“That you were… human,” she panted, her hand reaching back to grip his thigh. “That you fucked me in the daylight. That I could see every… every expression on your face.”
“You can see,” he said, his voice a rough, erotic promise. He increased the speed of his finger. “But you’ll feel it first. You’re going to come on my hand, Elara. Just from this. Then I’m going to fill that tight little cunt with this hard, human cock.”
The filthy words, delivered in that intimate whisper, shattered her. Her body stiffened, her back bowing against his chest. A ragged, broken scream tore from her as her climax erupted, violent and sudden, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around nothing, drenching his hand.
He didn’t stop. He coaxed her through the shockwaves, his fingers slick and relentless. “That’s one,” he murmured, his own breath coming in short, hot bursts against her neck. “Now for the second.”
He guided his cock to her entrance, the broad head nudging through her sensitive, trembling folds. He pushed in with a slow, inexorable thrust, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. The feeling was astronomical. Her heat, her tight, clenching wetness—it was a completeness that made his vision waver.
“Fuck,” he breathed, stunned. “Oh, god, Elara.”
He began to move, shallow at first, then deeper, setting a rhythm that was both claiming and worshipful. His hand stayed on her clit, his touch now softer, more precise, as he fucked her in steady, deep strokes. The slap of skin, the wet, slick sounds of their joining, filled the sunlit room.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “That’s me. All of me. Human. Mortal. Needing you.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, overwhelmed by the dual sensations, the fullness inside and the relentless friction outside. The coil wound tight again, impossibly fast. “Don’t stop. Lucian, please.”
His own control was fraying. The pleasure was a white-hot brand along his spine, gathering in his balls. He held her neck, his grip firm and exciting, as he drove into her, each thrust hitting a depth that made her see stars. “Come for me again,” he commanded, his voice cracking. “Let me feel you shatter. Now.”
She erupted with a force that shook them both, a silent, breathless convulsion that clenched around his cock like a vise. The intensity of her second climax triggered his own. With a raw, guttural shout that held three centuries of pent-up longing, he plunged deep and froze.
Heat and light and life surged from him, pulse after endless pulse, spilling into her as he shuddered uncontrollably. The world dissolved into sensation—her clenching warmth, the sunlight on his closed eyelids, the frantic, beautiful drum of his own heart.
As the last tremor left him, he collapsed against her, spent, drenched in sweat and sun. He nuzzled into her hair, his lips finding her ear. The words came, unbidden, essential, breathed into her skin like a final, surrendering truth.
“I love you.”