Curse Of Blood: Gods & Monsters

Chapter XLI - Heida

For a man that declared himself, by disposition and comportment alone, to be detached and impenetrable, Roth held nothing back as he plundered her mouth. 

It was above five years of suppressed heat and ardor that he unleashed all at once; and she did nothing to stop him. Could not have done so even if she'd have been of a mind to, which she wasn't. Quite the opposite was true.

That he was a cold man was well established by now. Howbeit, in that moment he was like a snow-capped and frozen range, that had lain dormant for millennia, but was now finally erupting with fire. There was so much impossible heat in his kiss, and something of desolation and agony there too. He consumed her with it.

Her eyes had shuttered the second his lips had touched hers, for to gaze into that penetrative glare of his, whilst linked so intimately, was to lose a part of her spirit to him completely, if she hadn't already. It was only his mouth she felt at first, his hands were as yet still flattened against the tree at her back, but even that small contact was too much.

She had barely taken a breath since he'd claimed her mouth. Yet, Frigg knew, she would fain die from this onslaught, for there was not a better, nor a more beautiful death in Midgard than that which dispatched a body by way of such illicit, unadulterated pleasure.

Her sweet amour! Here was her exquisite ruination and she partook of it eagerly; greedily.

He was branding her with an incongruous medley of fire and ice — the burn of flesh against flesh and the cold edge of his canines pressed below her jaw. In some distant, stuporous niche of her mind, wherein she was only vaguely able to conceive thought, she was half fearful and half thrilled by the notion that he seemed somehow torn between biting her — devouring her — and kissing her. Either way, he was lavishing her with every once of the appetite he had withheld heretofore.

He was as of a starved man feasting for the first time...

And then his tongue joined the melee. It was no indolent exploration either, not like Eirik would have done. No, Roth was unrestrained and ravenous, but masterful as he lay siege to her senses.

He delved and drank of her depths, a satisfied rumble surging from deep in his throat as she met him stroke for stroke. It was a mad duel of lips, tongues, unsteady breaths. But she dared touch him no more than she already was.

A half-conscious notion, some small thread of sanity, begged her not to push her hands into his hair as she yearned to do. Perhaps if she could retain control of her hands at least, she could forbear the piquant taste of him and, in due course, summon the strength to push him away. For now, she dug her nails into the oak's hard scales either side of her hips. 

He had pinioned her to the tree with his pelvis, the lower half of his body mimicking the esurient rhythm of his mouth.

That a man could be both tempestuous and capable, wild and assiduous, overwhelming and restorative all at once was ... staggering. Obliterating.

Would that she had not known that this was what true passion was. How was she to revert to how things had been, knowing what she knew now? 

Oh! but knowledge was a dangerous thing; exactly the sort of danger that she could take to her fiery grave, embracing it happily as she drifted on the breeze in a cloud of ash, content in the knowledge that she had savored all the headiness that life could offer.

It was too much. Her fingers came away from the tree as that distant thread of sanity burst aflame and disintegrated with the rest of her thoughts.

When her hands found their way into his silky hair, the earthy, alpine redolence of balsam, juniper, and pine suffused her every breath just as the sounds of their heavy, lustful respiring drowned out every noise of the forest.