Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Kalos’s head falls back, his hips lifting in response to my actions.
I forget about what happens to us in the future, or anything else. I’m in this moment, with his heated cock filling my mouth, wet drool slicking down my chin as I work him. I toy with his balls as I do, my other hand cupping him at his base. His movements become frenzied, his need growing, and the taste of him increases. He’s on the edge, and I want to make this so good for him. I want him to lose control and forget about everything.
I bob my head, taking him so deep that he hits the back of my throat and triggers my gag reflex. I cough and pull back, but as I do, I realize he’s coming. His release floods my mouth and spills down my face, and I work him with my hands as he spurts his release. It gets everywhere—all down the front of my dress and all over my hands—but I don’t care. The dazed look in his green eyes when he finally catches his breath is everything.
When the last shudder has been wrung from him, I wet a towel and clean myself up and bathe him. I ball up the wet rag and hold it, considering. “I’m not sure where I should hide this evidence so that Omos can’t find it.”
“I’ll bury it later,” Kalos tells me, and tugs me back into bed alongside him. “Come here.”
“I’m not sure burying it is necessary,” I say with a laugh. “I was thinking more along the lines of laundry.”
“That can wait, too.” He grins and gives me a kiss. And then another. And another. “Thank you.”
I wrinkle my nose and rub my hand down the front of his chest. “Maybe don’t thank a girl for a blow job? Not after you’ve been going down on me for a week now?”
“Is that why you did it? Because you felt it was your turn?”
I shake my head. “I did it because I wanted to. Not because I needed to even the score.” I tap a finger on his nose. “And in any case, that one would be a freebie.”
“A freebie implies there would be more-bee later.” He sinks between my thighs. “And speaking of later…time to claim those five kisses.”
“I thought we’d already…” Then I snap my mouth shut, because what am I saying? Am I really going to talk him out of going down on me?
No. No, I am not.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
I’m finishing a detailed drawing of a mugwort plant when a splash of crimson drips onto the page.
I stare down at it, not comprehending, and I feel something slick on my upper lip. I touch my face. My hand comes away red as more blood continues to gush from my nose. I gasp and push the book away, jumping to my feet.
“What’s wrong?” Omos asks.
“I’m bleeding,” I tell him.
“Oh, no, you’re not bleeding,” he says, and hands me a towel. “I think you’re dying.”
I put the towel to my face and race out the door of the monastery. I need Kalos. He’ll know how to fix this. But when I go outside, it’s storming and no one is outside. “Kalos?”
“He left,” Omos says from behind me.
But that doesn’t make sense. He can’t go anywhere without me. We’re supposed to be together.
Omos gives me a pitying look and holds out another towel. I’m about to tell him that I don’t need a second one when my nose bleeds harder, and it’s like a faucet has been turned on. I hold the second towel to my nose and it’s still not enough. The world around me grows faint, and I realize that I’m going to die like this, bleeding out and left behind…
How could Kalos leave me? When I need him so much? The betrayal of it makes me sob, the taste of blood in my mouth. He—
“Elsie.” A hand shakes me awake.
I jerk upright, the sob caught in my throat. He’s leaving me. He’s going to abandon me—
“You’re dreaming,” Kalos says in a soft voice, his arms going around me. “Look around you. See where you are.”
Gulping for air, I stare up at the dark ceiling. My hands flutter to my nose, expecting to feel blood, but there’s nothing there. It’s dry.
“Magra’s blessings,” a voice exclaims, and a candle flicks to life. Omos approaches, his eyes wide in the darkness. He rushes over, his sleep-robes rumpled and his short white hair sticking up from the side of his head. “I heard screaming. Is everything all right?”
“Nightmare,” Kalos says. “I’ve got it.”
I keep touching my nose, my thoughts a jumbled mess. The blood, the blood, I’m dying—
“Where are you, Elsie?” Kalos asks, tone gentle. “Tell me where you are.”
“Monastery,” I manage, trying to fight between what my brain is telling me and the reality in front of my eyes. “Blood—”