#acomaf

The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.

I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"

Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"

Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.

"I—I didn't—"

He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.

"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.

I stay silent.

Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."

But here we were—doing exactly that.

His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.

"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.

"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."

His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"

His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.

"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.

"You tired now?"

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.

I exhale softly. "No."

Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.

"Good."

And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.

They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.

I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"

"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."

I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"

"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"

I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.

"Let's fix that, yeah?"

His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.

"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.

"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."

His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—

I lose the ability to think.

"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.

Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."

I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."

His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."

"You're insufferable."

Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."

Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."

His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."

A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.

I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."

His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"

My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.

"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."

A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.

His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.

His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.

I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.

Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.

"Please," I whisper, desperate.

Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.

"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.

He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"

I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.

"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His brows arch. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"

I nod, back arching as I ready myself.

His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"

I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.

He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.

A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.

"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."

He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.

I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.

That realization has me spiraling even faster.

"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.

"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.

I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.

Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.

"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."

The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.

But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.

I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.

His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.

"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.

His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.

He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."

His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"

"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.

Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.

I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.

Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"

"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.

His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."

I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.

By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."

I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.

Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"

"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.

But that's exactly what he wants.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.

"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."

A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.

"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."

Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.

"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.

"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"

All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.

The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.

The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.

His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."

I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.

Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."

I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.

"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."

I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.

I fucking love it.

Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."

I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.

He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.

"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."

I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.

"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"

A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.

"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"

"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.

"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.

"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.

He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."

And then he stops moving.

I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"

"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."

"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.

"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."

"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."

He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.

"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.

"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"

He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."

I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.

His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.

"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"

His pace falters, just for a second.

"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."

"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.

He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."

And fuck—I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.

But Azriel—he doesn't stop.

Not even for a second.

"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.

"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"

His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.

I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."

His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.

"I—fuck, I can't—"

Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.

"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."

I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.

"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."

I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.

He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.

"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"

I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.

"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."

I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.

His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.

"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.

I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.

He smirks, so fucking smug.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."

I gripe, clenching around him tightly.

Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.

"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."

I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.

I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.

And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."

Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.

I think—finally. He's done.

But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.

"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.

I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.

I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.

"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.

He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.

"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"

"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.

I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.

"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.

My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"

I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.

Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.

"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."

I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.

"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."

He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.

And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.

"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."

I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.

"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.

"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.

My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.

"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"

I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.

And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"

I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.

He laughs, wicked and cruel.

"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."

I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.

He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.

"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.

"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.

"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.

I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.

He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.

"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.

"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.

"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.

He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.

"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.

I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.

He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.

He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.

He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.

"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.

Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.

"You were counting?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."

I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."

His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.

"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"

His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.

"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."

I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.

"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."

I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.

"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"

If the dying fire in the hearth was any indication of how much time had passed, the Inner Circle spent the entire night drinking. The sun would rise in just a few drowsy hours, dousing Velaris with its buttery light, wrapping the sitting room of the townhouse in ribbons of pale gold. 

Velaris’ hardest working citizens would be awake early enough to see it– the farmers, the bakers, the teachers and the rubbish collectors– while their High Lord and his Lord of Bloodshed would be passed out like a pair of bums on the couch in last night’s clothes until lunchtime. 

The thought made Azriel laugh. 

She sat beside him, leaning against his side as the vibrations of his laugh went straight to her lower belly. She leaned back to look up at him and he met her gaze instantly. The thin strap of her top slipped off her shoulder with the movement, and without removing his eyes from hers, his nimble fingers slid the strap back up her shoulder but made no further move to leave her skin. 

Her skin pebbled in response like she was the static to his looming lightning strike. Every touch between them was like standing on the precipice of a story so damning, so wild, it terrified her to let it exist unbound. All it took was a single push of courage. A single breath of wind toward an already wavering resolve.

But it never came. These boundaries that defined their relationship were elastic. Azriel pushed the line, she shoved it, but it never snapped. It was a delicate little art, but they were so profound at this dance that it was all they knew. As treacherous as their will-they-won’t-they was, they had to have derived some pleasure, even a little bit, to be able to sit there, in a room filled with their closest friends, drunk, flushed, knee to knee, skin to skin, and still call themselves the best of friends. 

A tale as old as time. A game they’ve played for years. A song whose words they could sing in their sleep. It was all of it and none of it. 

With as many drinks as she’d had, definitely three or four ahead of Azriel, she slanted into his warmth like a cat bowing its head into a tender palm. His arm draped against the back of the couch, allowing her body to nestle into his in the most casual, most friendliest, most normal of ways. The back of her hand rested on his thigh as she threw her head back in laughter at something Cassian said. 

If he was any more sober, his senses would have snapped to attention at the contact, but he couldn’t bring himself to be so skittish now. He savored the touch, the weight of her hand against his strong thigh, and had to reach for his glass just to take away the thought of holding her hand there with his own. 

“You’re staring,” She looked up at him to find his gaze already locked on her features, assessing, admiring.

“I am?” His eyes were dark, shimmering with reflection of the licking flames in the hearth. “You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t help myself.”

He couldn’t explain where he found the audacity to be so bold with a woman so beautiful. But her eyelids fluttered as she regarded him through her eyelashes, and her smile was so damning he suddenly couldn’t even remember what he’d said. 

“You’ll give our friends the wrong idea.” 

He lowered his drink to his other thigh, tightening his grip around the thick crystal-cut glass to contain himself, to contain the heat racing up and down his spine like a bucking racehorse. “What’s so wrong about it?” The side of his full lips curved upward into a playful smile but he was sincere. 

Azriel was fanning the flames of a dangerous fire. Again, they were standing at the brink of something so dangerous, so perfect, either of them could simply push a little farther and everything could finally be different. 

But no. They both enjoyed the strain for it was its own type of pleasure. 

She tried to steady herself, but with the heat of the fire, the multiple drinks, Azriel’s body heat, and mostly her own fluster, she was burning up. 

To break the intense stare neither of them could pinpoint how much time they’d spent locked in, he volunteered to refill her drink in the kitchen. As soon as his broad, black-clad frame disappeared behind the threshold of the sitting room, her shoulders drooped and she ran her palms over her face in frustration. 

It was such a tease, this whole situation. Like a cruel little joke, even if they did find some sick indulgence in it. 

When she thought about it– which she tried not to do too often– it was downright treacherous what they were doing to each other. All of this had to mean something, right? Two people don’t just touch each other on purpose, hold each other's heavy gazes in crowded rooms, for no reason, right?

“Where’d your boyfriend go?” Mor demanded, plopping down beside her where Azriel had just sat. The tequila sloshed over the lip of her glass with the heavy landing. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she replied with little conviction. As much as it was the truth, it felt ridiculous to say it. 

“Everyone sees the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. He can hardly breathe right if you aren’t in the room. It’s not a secret, if you both are keeping it one,” she took a sip of her drink, repainting the bright red lipstick mark on the rim that became her signature. Sometimes she envied Mor’s effortless femininity, her languid sensuality, that poised her at the receiving end of many amorous advances and escapades. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t be as casual as Mor was. She needed commitment, stability, and unconditionality from the one person she would give her everything to. 

Which is why, as much as she loved Azriel, he bothered her. It was more than obvious they were more than friends– the way they touched each other, the things they told each other, the time they spent together– there was no logical way to deny it. But they’d never talked about putting a name to whatever this was or committing themselves to each other. She was lucky enough to find herself in that god-awful middle ground, the foggy, gray, no-man’s-land that every non-committal male sought refuge in when things got even mildly serious. She couldn’t understand why it was so hard to move past this purgatory when it was clear enough to her that she wanted no male more deeply, more dangerously, than she wanted Azriel. 

“We haven’t talked about it,” was all she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She loved Azriel, but it would destroy her if all this was to him was a “good time.” There was nothing inherently wrong with one night stands or friends with benefits, but there was when her heart was a part of it too. Suddenly, the thought that his might not be stirred the alcohol in her stomach. 

“But you are having sex?” Mor asked, a little louder than necessary. She was no longer lounging into the couch– she was fully sat up, legs tucked under her body, and spine rod-straight with attention. 

“Mor!”

“Okay, you’re right I didn’t need to ask that. For such a big, beautiful house, the walls are quite thin,” she chuckled to herself. 

“What, do you think he’s using me?” She couldn’t be bothered to feign mortification at the revelation that apparently the entire house could hear the two of them sharing beds. 

Mor’s face softened immediately, sobering slightly at the sight of her friend in visible distress. “Oh, darling. Azriel is a good man–”

“He’s very kind.”

“The kindest,” Mor pursed her lips, pausing for a beat, before setting her glass down on the floor beside the couch. She took both of her friends’ hands in her own, forcing their gazes to align. “But he is a male, at the end of the day. And they often think with their dicks first, brains second.”

“Azriel is sensible…” she reasoned, not sure where Mor was going with this. 

That was a terrible lie, though. She knew exactly what Mor was insinuating because she thought about it every day too. Every time he left her bed, every time he touched her, every time he said something that just-friends don’t say to each other, she wondered what his intentions were. 

In her reckless need for him, she’d abandoned all expectations, all reservations, and given herself to Azriel wholly. She’d closed her eyes and leaped. When it came to Azriel, there was no thinking, no calculating, and she hadn’t registered how foolish that might be until now. 

—-

Speaking of foolishness. 

That train of thought crashed and burned, a smoking pile of faraway fears, when his hot lips bit at the soft spot behind her ear.

“Azriel,” his name was a breathless sigh on her tongue. 

“Tell me to leave, and I will,” he murmured, his voice a deep husk of what it usually was, the pitch reaching so deep into her that it pulled and twisted her gut into a tangle of nerves, raw and fervent, like matchsticks ready to light from the mere breath of fire alone. 

This was so bad. She should’ve been embarrassed how easy it was to get here. Azriel brought her back a drink but she couldn’t finish it when the conversation with Mor suddenly left her sick to her stomach (but no less sober). She tried to get away– tried to remove herself from his proximity for the night by feigning exhaustion– but of course she couldn’t deny him when he offered to walk her upstairs, a hand on her lower back. Of course she couldn’t deny him when he followed her into the room, sat next to her on the bed, then looked at her with those deep, conversational eyes that said so much more than he ever did, a man of few words that he was. 

“Stay.” she heard herself say before her mind could even understand what her heart had demanded first.

And it was all he needed to hear before pushing his body on hers and slanting his perfect lips over her own. The way they came together, the way their bodies fit, was otherworldly. Each time their bodies meshed it was so good it almost felt instinctual, like they’d done this in a previous lifetime. 

He savored the feeling of their chests pressed against each other and his heart palpitated like uneven footsteps, frantically searching for hers to match. Sobered from the alcohol and now drunk off her taste, there wasn’t one part of him that would not give anything to have her like this forever.

She could have floated between worlds with how weightless she felt as Azriel’s plush lips moved against hers, tasting her and taking his time. It was sweet, and admiring, and a little desperate, the way they exchanged breaths and looked for each other through touch and taste alone. 

Azriel clutched the back of her neck to support her as he slowly pushed her down into the mattress, never once coming up for a breath. She was the air he breathed, the oxygen in his lungs, what else did he need?

He anchored himself above her with a knee between her legs and a strong hand at her hips. One of her hands flew to the nape of his neck and tangled in his mess of curls there while the other hooked onto the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but popping open a few more buttons instead. 

She sighed as he shifted peppering kisses from the corner of her mouth to the soft skin behind her ear again, arching into his body against her better judgment, feeling his strong thigh against her. Like a wave in the ocean curling up towards the moon, she sought to be swept up into his gravity. Governed solely by the intoxicating scent of the crook of his neck, she lifted her hips to feel his strong thigh again, to touch her chest to his. She needed more friction and he groaned with the knowledge of it, shifting one hand under her hips to prop her up against the thigh he moved closer. 

Any inhibitions that reappeared between her sobering up after the conversation with Mor and Azriel kissing her tonight were discarded like dirty laundry somewhere far, far away. 

This is right, she told herself over and over again, the mantra chiming like worship bells in her mind. Nothing wrong could feel this good. 

“I can never get enough of you,” he murmured against her flushed skin, taking in her scent as if he’d run out of breath without it. 

“Are you saying–” she pushed the words out between breaths of hot air, too afraid to waste time talking and miss even a second of this. “– you think of me? Even when we aren’t in the same room?” It was a teasing tone, but she meant every word. She needed to know. 

“All the fucking time. I thought that was obvious.”

It was as if the confession ignited a second fire within him. Azriel carried the kiss from behind her ear, down the side of her neck, to her exposed shoulder and collarbone, daring to bite, as if to test her willingness. 

She sighed as she felt his low groan against her skin, the vibration piercing down to her very bones, searching for his lips until they found each other again. His thumb found the strip of bare skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pants. The feeling of his skin there sent a jolt through her system. Azriel slowly pushed his hand upwards, bunching her shirt between his thumb and forefinger as he went. As his hands slid her shirt up her torso, he kissed the skin as it revealed itself to him, warm and soft like the petals of a summer flower. 

With feverish need, Azriel brought his lips back to hers as his hand slipped completely under her shirt, softly grabbing her, wanting to feel her moan into his mouth as she always did when he touched her there. He held her like no one else could ever manage.

A brush of his thumb sent a jolt of awareness through her, like a splash of ice cold water to the face. 

“Wait,” she breathed out, as if it took every ounce of willpower to stop him. It did. She didn’t want him to stop, but she knew he should. 

Azriel’s hand slid out of her shirt immediately, and he lifted his head just enough to read her eyes. They were darkened with something he couldn’t place, and her eyebrows knitted so low on her forehead, it took everything in him not to reach out and smooth the crease between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I just–” 

“Don’t,” he shook his head, fixing the strap of her right shoulder as he smiled ever so softly. “Don’t apologize.”

“What is this?” She blurted out.

Azriel paused, unable to follow. “What is…this?”

“I mean,” she sighed, frustrated at her sudden inability to source words and form coherent thoughts. She was doing this now, it seemed. “What do you want from this? You and I?”

“I want you.” Azriel replied incredulously, as if it was painfully obvious. He dipped his head to place a kiss on the edge of her lips and his hand slid up the plane of her exposed belly. Methodically, he pressed his thigh between her legs again, as if to remind her. As if she could forget, underneath him like this. 

The sigh that escaped her lips was involuntary, but as quickly as she felt her need overtake, she tamped it back down.

Impatiently, she swatted his hand off and pushed her blouse down. “Azriel, listen to me. I mean, where do you see this going?” After some initial hesitation- “What do you see us becoming?”

Azriel shouldn’t have laughed. He knew that as soon as it escaped his lips and her eyebrows furrowed in response, but it was too late. He didn’t even mean to, his body only reacted to the panic it felt when she asked such a question, and Mother above, was he incredibly dense for that. 

“Get off of me.” She deadpanned, pushing her hand against his chest. 

She’d never felt more vulnerable. Underneath this man she loved like she hadn’t loved anyone else, to have him laugh in her face when she tried to bear her heart to him was like a terrible dream come true. One she’d convinced herself many times impossible of materializing.

“I didn’t mean to laugh–“

“Azriel, get off of me.”

She pushed against his chest again and he sat up immediately. He flexed his hands, suddenly cold from the loss of her skin against his. 

She sat up as well, adjusting her top. “Azriel, I need to know if you’re serious about me. I feel like we always tiptoe around whatever this is between us, but I can’t keep doing it if this isn’t serious to you.” 

She needed to know that he felt the same, or everything had to stop. Even if she could never love another male the same ever again. That’s the price she had to pay, she supposed, for loving so wholly, so stupidly, before she even knew if he was ready to do the same. 

It was everything he’d been waiting to hear. Dreaming of, praying for, almost convincing himself that her loving him was only a fairy tale that existed for his indulgence, and nothing more. But fear was taking over him as well. 

“Of course I enjoy being with you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Azriel ran a hand through his disheveled curls, shaking his head. Say the right thing. Say the right thing. Say what you’ve been waiting to say. But no.  “Where is this coming from?”

“Why can’t you answer my question?”

“Because I don’t understand what’s changed for you, all of a sudden. You know how I feel about you, isn’t that enough?” He didn’t mean it- the question or the accusatory tone it carried. It was a valid question– he was wondering when she’d put an end to this. She needed more than just a physical connection to be truly fulfilled- she needed him to be the emotionally available male she deserved. 

“I–,” she bit her tongue before the word love could follow. “I just need to know if you’re serious about me because Azriel– fuck I just can’t ever seem to stop thinking of you. The thought that I just might be a ‘good time’ and nothing more to you makes me fucking sick, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone else. So I need to be sure… I need to be sure you’re not fucking around with me before I let you have me. All of me.”

Azriel was stunned into silence. Completely mute. Words failed him. Grammar failed him. He could barely get a syllable out and he’d never felt more foolish in his life. The sight of her vulnerability dried his throat and shallowed his breathing. An absolutely terrible time to go completely dumb, he recognized that, but she had this effect on him– made him lose touch with himself, lose his grasp on reality. 

Everything he’d ever dreamed of– really, it was only her he dreamed of– flashed before his eyes like a moving picture. The love of his life, the very same one he’d convinced himself would never love him back just confessed that she did. That she wants for no other male but him. All those years he’d spent dreaming of her, awake or asleep, of sharing a life were not so self-indulgent after all. Even with this revelation that filled him with such a happiness it made him nauseous, he felt it all wrong. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

She was wrong. There was no way someone like her– as intelligent, independent, and kind-hearted as her– could truly desire someone like him. 

Perhaps it was only a phase. They shared every single thought, and occasionally beds, with each other- she could easily confuse those feelings with something else. It was the only thing that made sense to Azriel, for the man could not fathom someone loving him of their own volition, with their own sound mind. He felt the need to protect her from the evil in the world, and in his mind, that included him. He would not ruin her, would not deprive her of the things he couldn’t give her. The Mother knew there was nothing in this world she wouldn’t have if she asked Azriel for it, but he just couldn’t give her this one thing. 

But even that thought filled him with a newer rage. The thought of another male holding her, touching her, listening to her thoughts and secrets, another man protecting her, providing for her, loving her and waking up everyday with the privilege of getting to share this life with her. It made him want to crush the mountains that surrounded this house with his bare hands until they were nothing but powder on the ground. 

Azriel couldn’t think about that right now, though. She could be much happier without his burdens, and he resolved a long time ago that this was the way he would love her. From afar. Even if it hurt him, that’s what you do for the people you love, he told himself. 

He knew what he had to do. 

So he shook his head, slowly stretching one leg at a time over the edge of her bed until he was standing next to it, leaving her sitting there with her shoulders slouched forward, eyes never leaving his. They pleaded for him to say something she wanted to hear, to confirm that everything they’d been doing these past years meant something. That he hadn’t led her on. It never came. 

“You don’t mean that.” was all he said. It tore him in two to say it, serrated his irregular heart into messy, darkened halves. 

She deserved better than what he had to offer. If it meant that he had to hurt her to protect her, he would do it. Azriel never claimed to be a hero or a villain, something in between better suited him, but he would gladly become the villain in her story to protect her. To make hating him easier. He saw the way she looked at him, noted how she told him things she never told anyone else. The details of her childhood, her day, asking for his opinion on things even though they had different tastes. He saw it now– she really was in love. 

“I don’t know if she’s just being kind,” Azriel shrugged one day a few months ago, lounging in the chair opposite from Rhys’ desk. 

“When a woman like that loves someone, she can’t hide it,” It was all Rhys had to say to confirm what Azriel already knew. Rhys knew as much as any of their friends did how she felt. Azriel did too. But his self-loathing was a cruel thing. 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up straighter. “Of course I do, Az. I wouldn’t make that up.” She reached her arm out, intending to take his hand in her own, but he pulled back and she too yanked her arm back in response, as if burned at the fingertips by his sudden aversion. 

“It’s understandable to want more when we’ve already bared so much ourselves to each other,” He stepped backward. “But I see now that we aren’t on the same page.” 

She saw the lie in his eyes like she could see stars in the sky. A bright, blinking lie. Of course she could, she knew him like she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. She just didn’t understand why he was pushing her away. But more than that, his rejection burned like acid in her gut, eating her from the inside out. The pit in her stomach grew deeper, hotter, as he backed up. 

If she asked for the moon, Azriel wouldn’t think twice to grab it with his bare hands and pull it down to earth. If she asked for the stars he’d spend centuries collecting each of them one by one. But if she asked for him, all of him, his pain, his joy, his trauma, his hopes, he couldn’t promise it to her. He would not allow her to shoulder his burdens, to feel the pain he did. Because she would truly feel all of it. That’s the person she was and he could not let her put herself through that.

There was no easy way to break her heart, but perhaps making her hate him would be one last kindness he could afford her. This disappointment would just be one of many if he allowed her to love him, and she’d be unhappy soon enough. 

“Azriel,” her voice cracked and she bunched up the fabric of the duvet in her fist to ease the burning in her throat. A telltale precursor of a breakdown, he knew. “I don’t understand. You said–”

“We both said a lot of things,” Azriel said simply, unable to meet her eyes. “But at the end of the day, they’re all just words, are they not?”

“Just words?” She furrowed her eyebrows, pushing the tears to her waterline as she did. “I pour my heart out to you every day for years, and they’re just words to you?”

“That’s not what I meant–” Fuck. It was coming out all wrong. Or maybe it was coming out perfectly– the more Azriel could fuck this up, the easier it would be for her to forget him. 

“You are my best friend. But we’ve done things and told each other things best friends don’t. Why are you denying all these years of our relationship, Azriel? What are you running from?” She pleaded. Her voice was raw, throat hoarse. Azriel had kept her closer than the rest but still struggled with shutting her out when she got too close. In hindsight, knowing this about him, she didn’t understand how she could’ve thought this conversation could’ve gone any differently than this. “Just talk to me.”

Those four words were a last ditch effort, a final rap of her knuckles against his tightly shut doors, to be let in. They could just talk about this. 

He couldn’t bring himself to say what he wanted to say, even if she asked for it. So he resorted to hurt once again. 

“I care about you very much, but … we are not on the same fucking page.”

Azriel watched her face crumple and she turned her head away, unable to keep the single tear at her waterline from trickling over. Angrily, she wiped it away. 

“You’re an asshole for lying to yourself. To me.” The words were gritty and edged with grief. No one’s dead, but something that was once very much alive here is gone. 

So maybe he did love her. But his decision, the resolve in his eyes, to live and make peace with the cowardice that told him to walk away from something so beautiful, she realized, he did not love her enough. 

The conclusion hit her as if she’d flown straight into the side of Ramiel, ramming into the rock and tumbling down the face of the mountain uselessly until she was a pile of heartbreak at the bottom. 

“I just need some time.”

“Get out.”

Azriel was silent, but made no move to leave. Suddenly he was rethinking everything, wondering if he made a grave mistake. In an instant, she was changed. The light in her eyes was gone, the glow in her skin had dulled, and she looked so very tired. When her gaze held his, there was no warmth, no recognition, no love. He felt like a stranger under her watch, and he suddenly had the feeling that he was intruding. 

Azriel told himself that he was doing it out of love. That these are things you do, sacrifices you make, when you love as hard as he loved her. 

“Get out!”

Azriel stayed for a few more seconds, as if he wanted to memorize her as much as he could. The sight of her hair slightly disheveled, looking absolutely flushed from his doing, with eyes and skin so unbelievably soft only inches away from his reach, would haunt him asleep or awake, dead or alive. 

Then he was gone, closing her door softly behind him. The click of the latch solidified the finality of his actions. His regret would live within him– a living, breathing, hideous thing– forever. 

If he couldn't have her, he could never love anyone else again.

She wanted nothing else in this world more than she wanted him to stay, to say he had made a stupid mistake and meant none of what he said, to get under her blankets, and hold her until the sun stopped rising, the moon stopped setting, and the rest of the world fell away. 

If she couldn't have Azriel, she could never love anyone else again.

——- 

Breakfast was quiet. Everyone was hungover and exhausted. Rhys sat at his chair, quietly making conversation with Feyre who kept going for another cup of coffee. Cassian slumped over his plate of eggs, but still made the most conversation. Whether anyone was actually listening was another story. Mor pretended to nod but she couldn’t care less. 

Elain sat beside Feyre quietly, breaking apart a piece of toast. She spent the night in her room reading so she was far from hungover, but she refused to make eye contact with anyone at the table. It was strange, considering how much progress she was making with everyone, but bad dreams happened and the Mother knew she was probably having her fair share of them recently.

Amren was the only one sitting rod-straight, a book in her hands, sipping her special little drink from her cup. Rhys was more than kind to let her drink it at breakfast when there were more than one queasy stomachs at the table. Not that she needed his permission anyway. 

The only person missing was Azriel. She felt his absence heavy in her chest. Not just from the table, but from her life, now, it seemed. She didn’t even realize Feyre was calling her name until the fourth time she said it.

“Hmm?” She forced herself back into the present, eyes darting to Feyre’s.

“Are you okay?” Feyre asked, holding her gaze.

Azriel’s husky voice asking the same question filled her head without warning, invading her memories and her reality once again. 

She was not fine. She felt the ghost of his touch and breath, his familiar warmth, wash over her body. The way he looked at her as if she was the first time he saw anything in color.  

She remembered his rejection, too.

Feyre called her name again and she snapped to attention, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

“Some night you must have had,” Feyre chuckled.

“I told you Winter Court wine will fuck you up. You don’t know it’s working until it’s too late,” Rhys laughed, pouring her a glass of water and handing it to her from across the table. “Drink up everyone, we’re due at the Day Court by sundown.”

“Kallias has a very acquired taste, I’ll give him that,” she sighed, gratefully accepting the cold glass and downing half of it in a second. 

“They need to stay warm up there somehow,” Cassian chimed in, ever the selective academic he was. 

As the water cooled her nerves slightly, Azriel appeared in the doorway to the dining room and she was damned to hell all over again.

Everyone greeted him and even though he replied to them all, his eyes only sat on hers. The only open spot at the table was the one directly across from her and he sat, rigid and unflinching, unable to meet her gaze anymore from such a close proximity.

“Good morning,” his voice was low and aimed only at her. If she had any more energy, she would’ve laughed that that’s the first thing he chose to say after their conversation last night. She broke apart her toast with no acknowledgement of his attempt to break their stalemate.  

“What the fuck is that?” Cassian’s loud voice broke her from her trance.

Rhys winced, holding his head. “Not so loud, we talked about this.” 

“Az, you cheeky bastard, what did you crazy kids get up to last night?” Cassian’s eyes darted between her and Azriel, pointing out the dark mark on his neck.

“What are you on about?”  

Azriel started, as if remembering it was there all of a sudden, pulling his shirt collar tighter around his neck and clearing his throat.

Rhys whistled upon realization and Feyre and Mor’s eyes darted to hers in silent awe. 

She squinted at the mark, assessing. Did she do that? It was a dark, angry little spot that sat at the base of his neck, fresh enough that it was obvious it was made only a few hours ago. 

With frigid realization, she knew she hadn’t done that. He’d kissed her neck last night, but she hadn’t kissed his. 

She slowly looked up at Azriel for the first time that morning. His eyes were downcast as he poured his cup of tea. If she blinked, she would’ve missed his fleeting glance in Elain’s direction. But she didn’t miss it, and she quickly looked to Elain, who was red as a beet and hiding behind a curtain of her unbound, chestnut hair. 

Cassian didn’t miss a beat either– he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing. “No way,” he whispered.

“What?” Feyre demanded.

Her eyes focused on the mark on his neck again. Maybe she did do it. She had a lot to drink. But no. They never left marks where others could see them. The angry little thing on his skin was amateur at best. 

Small giggles sprouted from different ends of the table, but it was all a blur to her. 

“No fucking way.” Cassian repeated himself, louder. 

“Spit it out.” Amren demanded, but Amren’s eyes were on her, clocking the silent horror that molded her features rather than the surprise or amusement that defined everyone else’s 

“Nothing. Mind your own business,” Azriel’s voice was thick and stern and nowhere as warm as it was last night.

“You and Elain??” Cassian cried in disbelief. 

Forks clattered clumsily on their plates. The laughter stopped like someone sucked the air clean out of the room. No one moved, but she couldn’t even breathe. Elain? 

Feyre snapped her head toward her sister, eyes wide. “What?”

“What?” Rhys echoed through bitten teeth, clenching his jaw, his gaze burning holes in the side of Azriel’s face who suddenly did not have the balls to return the look. 

Elain shrugged sheepishly in her seat, gripping her teacup hard enough that her knuckles turned white. “When you feel that attraction, you can’t deny it. You understand that.” She watched as Elain finally lifted her head, staring doe-eyed at Azriel. A small smile graced her lips, shy and soft. 

“Attraction?” She whispered in disbelief. 

“Oh my god.” Cassian breathed.

“Cassian, shut the fuck up.” Azriel snarled. 

She felt her heart stutter before it burst, like a glass vessel under pressure. Delicate, fragile, irreparable. Nothing could calm the wave of nausea that rose and fell in her stomach- if she was going to throw up, it would be straight bile and vodka, and it would be all over this breakfast table. 

Breathe. She pleaded with herself to get a grip but she just couldn’t do it. Azriel sat in front of her, shoulders wound up tight, this time staring directly at her. His eyes were pleading as he tried to lock their gazes but she wouldn’t meet his. 

Him and Elain was a mistake, one he made when he wasn’t thinking clearly at all, and one he regretted as he started and ended the night in her bed. But most of all, one he never meant for her to know of. He wanted to make their break as clean as possible, but this was more than he bargained for. This was just plain cruel. 

He spoke her name once, desperately, but she barely registered it. The room fell away for both of them. He just wanted to get through to her, and she just needed to get out of there. 

The flashbacks from all of their days and night that gave her butterflies at one point suddenly turned into moths– unwelcome, fluttering pests that tainted her memories of the years they spent so close, years building something so entirely untrue that it hurt her heart to reminisce for too long. 

For him to open up to her and get her to open up to him, to then push her away, throw away everything she thought they had, to finally fuck another female right after, she decided she probably never knew him. Disgust flooded her and she felt like she needed to shower his touch from last night off of her instantly. She’d never felt so used in her life. 

“Fuck.” Cassian muttered. Nesta and Feyre would not take their eyes off Elain, and Rhys’ eyes bore holes in the side of Azriel’s head. Cassian was the only one who looked at her. He watched her face fall, her mind turn, as the events unfolded. The regret that gripped his heart was crushing. He reached out a hand to her knee in a show of support but she flinched involuntarily at the contact and he quickly retracted his hand to a fist against his chest.

It was embarrassing. Mor was right, everyone knew how Azriel and her had felt about each other, otherwise this wouldn’t be so tense. And as much as she knew it wasn't pity that her friends felt for her, it was something pretty damn close because how could they not feel bad for her in such a fucked up situation? That sickened her more. 

“Excuse me,” she muttered, standing up from the table and leaving the room as quickly as she could. The eyes of everyone at the table followed her out and she felt the familiar yanking in her throat before the tears pushed against her waterline. Last night already left her feeling so raw. To know Azriel had kissed her like a male deprived then gone off and fucked another woman– not just any woman, but Elain– made it hard to breathe. 

The loud screech of a skidding chair came from the dining room and heavy footsteps caught up with her in the hallway. In a moment of desperation, Azriel grabbed her arm to stop her but she whirled around, yanking her arm out of the hands that had sent her to heaven and then straight to hell all in one night. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she churned the words out through gritted teeth. 

“I can explain,” Azriel replied lamely, immediately feeling as dense and useless as he sounded. 

“I don’t care, Azriel. You’re a grown man, you’re free to kiss and fuck as many women in the same night as you want,” She didn’t mean it though, not after she laid her heart bare to him just a few hours ago. 

“It didn’t mean anything, I– I don’t know why–” 

“You don’t know why you went and fucked another woman after I told you you are all I can think of last night?” 

“That’s not- I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t mean to fuck her?” She laughed, but there was no humor or joy to be found in her eyes.  “Did you not mean to fuck me the countless times you did, then? Did you not mean to get so close to me, allow you to see me at my worst and my best? Did you not mean to just tell me those things you haven't even told Rhys and Cas? It was all a happy accident?”

“That’s not-”

“No! It’s not, you’re right, you did just say last night, more or less, all of those years we spent together, it was all just a good time to you. Right? Well, I guess you got everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She couldn’t be further from the truth. This was so much worse than what Azriel bargained for when he’d decided her hatred was easier to swallow than her disappointment. But now, regarding her sleepless face, beautiful as ever of course because it was her, he faced both her hatred and her disappointment. And now he’d hurt her in a way he never ever meant to. 

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say. 

“Not just any woman, Azriel. Elain.” She cried incredulously. She didn’t even realize the tears were coming until her voice gave out on the sister’s name. “Three sisters for three brothers, right? You never did let that go.”

“It would’ve been easier if you told me you didn’t love me and left it at that.”

“It’s not my responsibility to make this easy for you when it hasn’t been easy for me all this time. I’ve loved you for so long and I continued to even when I wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Because that’s what you do for the people you love, you’re there for them and you continue to love them especially when it isn’t easy.”

“I never meant to hurt you, I just thought I… I wanted to believe I-” he carded his hands through his thick black hair in frustration, searching her eyes for anything other than hurt and anger, but that’s all he could find. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“You were being a coward. You are a coward.” She spat. “You may not have meant to, but you used me, and you of all people know how I feel about that.”

He nodded. He’d turned himself into an amalgamation of everything that had ever hurt her before, landing his blow square into her chest when she’d come so far.

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me.”

“That was never for you to decide, Azriel. These years should have been proof to you that I’d loved you exactly as you were, and it’s not your job to protect me from whatever it is you think I need protection from. I can handle it. I can handle you.”

“You can. I know you can. I’ve fucked up, truly and honestly, I don’t know how to make it up to you. Please tell me how I can make it up to you.” 

He made a step toward her out of instinct when the tears rolled down her cheeks but she stepped back as if he’d shoved a torch in her face.

“Just leave me be. You said it yourself, we aren’t on the same page. We never were, it seems.”

He took her name gently, pleadingly. She dared to look up at him once more, but he still couldn’t meet her gaze head on. It was no use talking to him when he couldn’t even look at her.

With the new wave of tears she felt coming on, she turned in her heels and took the stairs two at a time to her room before he could see anything more.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. It’s what she’s known all along. It’s exactly as she’d told herself all these years. It was never going to be you. 

That did not make it any easier though. If anything, it was a worse pain to be proven right. 

Anyway, there was no time to self-pity.