SUMMARY: The morning after.
️ NSFW This chapter is mostly Gwynriel fluffy smut with a little side dish of Azzie angst. Enjoy!
Mind-Blowing.
Absolutely fucking mind-blowing. He still struggled to catch his breath. Sweat cooled on their overheated skin, plastering her ginger strands of hair to his bare chest. Gwyn's head laid heavy against him, her delicately arched ear pressed to the thundering beat of his heart. Her soft, rapid pants warmed over his ribs like a summer breeze.
She'd fallen fast asleep after their second round and he'd been too comfortable to move her. Azriel's rough fingertips roved in lazy lines down the smooth, graceful arc of her spine from neck to rear, then up again. His eyes drifted shut as he tried imprinting her body, this moment, into his memory.
The sex was nothing short of wondrous. A stunning revelation leaving him stripped bare. Utterly destroyed. By her fearless beauty, her bravery. And Az was so proud of Gwyn for cutting another ribbon. She'd faced yet another challenge boldly with grace. And yet again, he'd been born witness to something important. Every kiss upon her lips, the touch of her skin against his, felt like a benediction. The moment they became one felt like a dream realized. So damn good. Too damn good to be true.
"Can we do it... again?"
A glimmer of curiosity shone in those sea-blue eyes at her ask. The desire to explore. To discover new means to deliver pleasure. For him. For herself. His eyes fixed on his Valkyrie as she brushed her fingertips over his swirled ink with a fond touch, straddling him.
"Show me what to do, Shadowsinger."
So Azriel did.
Lifting her hips, he guided her up and down his rigid shaft, gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust hard.
"Like this, Gwyn," Az said, peering up at her glazed eyes and parted lips. Another firm drag on his cock had him biting back a throaty groan. "Then you can roll your hips. Circle them. Touch yourself while you do so. Use your hands on my chest for leverage. And use those fucking beautiful thighs and ass," he'd said, clutching her backside. He gave one firm cheek a little love tap for good measure. Gods, she was right. He really was obsessed with her impeccable ass.
After experimenting with different movements, Gwyn found her rhythm. All sounds made by her kept his rapt attention. Azriel absorbed each expression, learning from them. Every catch in her breath when he hit the perfect spot deep inside her. Each time her head kicked back and her eyes fluttered shut. The slight protrusions of her brows and crinkling of her nose when something wasn't quite right. Each moment she figured out what felt good was a feast for the fucking eyes.
Silken sheets nearly sent Gwyn over when she leaned back, adjusting her position. She cackled and snorted as her hands slipped. Azriel bolted upright and caught her before she took a header off the bed, chuckling deeply against her chest, hugging her close.
"You didn't see that," she muttered, shaking with a quiet laugh, rubbing her cheek against the top of his head.
Arms still locked around her, he kissed the center of her throat. His tongue flicked over where his lips last touched. "Oh, I most certainly did, Valkyrie."
"The sheets were at fault. They're far too slippery."
He snorted in amusement. "Are you blaming my sheets for your sweaty palms?"
"Excuse me, I do not have—" He pulled her mouth down to his and kissed her into silence.
Sex had never been like this before. Throughout his five hundred years of living, he had experienced nothing close to this. Never so lighthearted. Carefree and happy. For fuck's sake, they were having fun. Nearly the entire time, Azriel grinned like a damn fool.
His breath snagged in his chest as she swiftly lifted entirely off the tip of his erection before slamming back down. They gasped as one into the darkness.
"Fuck, Gwyn," Az hissed breathlessly, watching his thick length sliding in and out of her core. Covered in her. "That was amazing, but I pray you use caution."
"Why?" Panting, her hands flowed across his chest. This time Azriel did thrust up into her, causing her to clench around him. The room echoed with his low grunt.
"Because if you take the angle wrong and go down hard? If you miss?" He folded his arm around her waist and kept her still as he thrust into her. "I won't be able to do this." She dragged in her bottom lip and cried out in pitiful whimpers as his hips chased her rhythm. "And I'll be no good to you with a broken dick."
The coppery brown of her hair followed the tilt of her head, halting him with a hand pressed to his chest. "You can break it?" Her gaze fell upon the place where the two were joined. "Truly?"
Azriel pursed his lips, struggling not to laugh. "Trust me. You live long enough. Been to war with a bunch of lecherous males who seek pleasure anywhere and everywhere. One hears and sees some things."
Gwyn's eyes grew immense. She leaned forward, her breath a whispered kiss against his ear. "We wouldn't want that to happen. I shall endeavor to be more careful."
When Gwyn shifted her hips forward again, her face flushed. That fast, all laughter ceased.
"Oh," she breathed. Her entire body tensed, and she became wetter than the Sidra. Each time her hips rolled at this angle, Gwyn rubbed that sensitive bundle of nerves against him, and he could feel her inner walls of her body tighten like a vice.
Always a quick study. Gwyneth Berdara was a fast fucking learner.
She took control, what she wanted. Riding him with vigor, her powerful thighs lifting her up and down. Hips rocked back and forth against him, unhurried.
"Fuck, that's it, Gwyneth."
"Az, I can't… describe..." Gwyn yelped in pleasure, gulping hard. "This feels so good," she murmured in a husky tone, warm pants against his cheek.
"You feel so good," he said, his voice a low growl as he lovingly nipped on her collarbone above her ribbon tattoo. "So tight. So fucking good."
Their pace was deliberately languid. A slow and steady build in pleasure. And Az let Gwyn enjoy every long minute. Her soft body was all his to caress. Knead out her tension. Kiss her. Praise her. Encourage her every step of the way.
Gwyn arched back, hands tangling in her sleek red strands as her breasts swayed with her erratic, unsteady rhythm. His hands reached forward and captured the swells in his palms, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks of her nipples. Whimpering, she pressed down harder, rotating her hips. Faster and harder. Until she climaxed on a choked sob, trembling from head to toe, her body straining and tugging on his.
Azriel held onto her waist and plunged himself into her, over and over, burying himself as deeply as he could. He never wanted this to end. Drawing out every moment of her pleasure, relishing the warm flutters of her body around his cock. His own release was a rapid rush down his spine. Az shouted her name as he came, fingers grasping her hips hard enough to leave lasting marks.
Their gazes locked as he lifted her and withdrew fully, the slick sound making him groan. Then, with a satisfied smile, his lovely pliant Valkyrie fell upon his chest in a contented heap, tucking her head beneath his chin. In his arms, she had fallen asleep blissfully. His scarred fingers continued lovingly sketching over her naked back as she slumbered and he remained awake.
There was something different about his morning. Usually in the deep stillness before daybreak, even with Gwyn in his arms, the shadowsinger's mind strayed to darker places. Upon waking, inner voices in his head mimicked those once heard beyond his cell door of the keep. Sinister voices from those who did not want him. Over his shadows, they spoke, hatching insidious thoughts in Azriel's head. Planting seeds of doubt. Taunting. Ruining.
They chased him from sleep, upstairs for late-night rooftop training sessions. The ones who convinced him he was nothing but a burden. Unwanted. Worthless. Reminding him he was meant for the shadows, for the darkness. Destined by the Cauldron to be alone in his dark seclusion.
Gwyn stirred, snuggling her cheek into her chest. But this morning? The voices were silent. For the first time, Azriel felt a spark of hope, glowing softly in the center of his chest.
Hope.
Hope, he warned himself, has tortured countless people. The Spymaster had seen that cruel faith in his hostages first hand. The brief flash when the damned believed they'd live. They'd leave free and whole. Then that glimmer died as they did, as Truth-Teller stole their chance with the fatal blow.
Hope.
How long had he attached hope to Mor like a clinging vine?
Hoped the bond could be snapped?
In his desperation.
In his loneliness.
In his weakness.
Hope was trying to catch wisps of shadows.
Hope was sweet devastation.
Hope was dangerous.
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he thought about Gwyn's affirmations. His own. Everything they'd been through since the moment their eyes met that horrendous day in the temple. The small smile he'd sent her from across the training ring upon arriving that first day. The lingering glances they shared and ignored. The fluttering descent of the white ribbon. The mild, playful teasing. The first time their lips gently met. The first time they touched. Her unyielding acceptance. Gwyn's mouth moving around the three small, sacred words he'd waited his entire life to receive. Everything up until tonight.
Her words, her touch, her love… Azriel vowed to be worthy of them. Resolved to listen to them. Believe them. Drown out the stupid voices of seething darkness within. He had to… because if he didn't…
An icy river of fear swept through his veins, flowing straight to his heart. It skipped and squeezed in his chest, his arms constricting around Gwyn.
"Azriel," her soft voice broke through his rumination. Her finger diligently traced the spirals of the tattoos across his rib cage, causing him to remember how it felt when her nails dug into his shoulder, leaving small crescent marks in his skin. "Az, are you okay?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he replied softly, kissing the crown of her head. Gwyn arched under his touch as his fingers glided up and down her back, reminding him of a feline.
Gwyn's chest expanded in a breathy, contented sigh. "I'm more than okay. I'm wonderful."
His hand stilled. Gwyn lifted her face, resting her chin on the back of her right hand. Godsdamn. She was in a beautifully rumpled state. Her hair was a mess of copper tangles from his eager fingers, a pink flush spread across her body, making those cute freckles stand out. Az was going to make sure he kissed all of them over her body. Those hooded teal blue eyes shiny from the pleasure they shared—and something else.
Keeping his eyes locked with hers, Azriel lifted a hand to cup her smooth cheek, his thumb tracing a constellation of freckles. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
The little Valkyrie's lips tipped up at the corners. "Shouldn't I be telling you that?" she said, throwing his words back.
He tugged her up higher over him, so they were nose to nose, her wonderful breasts flattening against his broad chest. He pressed his lips to hers, hoping she felt his gratitude and awe.
"This far exceeds any fantasy I've ever had," she admitted against his mouth.
"Fantasies? Are those perhaps the ones I starred in?" he quipped.
Her face went as red as an apple, and she buried her face in his neck. He couldn't help but bind his arms around her and smile.
"Would it make me terrible if I said yes?" Her mouth placed tiny kisses on his throat. He groaned, his arms squeezing tighter and skimming lower over her back.
"No," he said, his tone still light and teasing. "Would it make me terrible if I admitted I did?"
She stopped, ceasing her wonderful, torturous kisses. A giggle escaped as she rubbed her nose into the side of his neck. "No," she said, surprise coating her tone. "You... You did?"
"Does that make you uncomfortable?" he asked, eyebrow raised. Azriel kept a trained eye on her body language, things he trained to spot for dishonesty or discomfort. The last thing he wished was to push her in any form. Over-sharing included.
Gwyn's auburn brows shot up to her hairline. "No. No. I mean know we've mentioned touching ourselves thinking about one another… but… I guess this still boggles my mind."
"What?" His palm feathered across the swell of her rear. Just a hint of a touch, a nudge to gauge her response.
She bit her lip, her backside rising to meet his palm. "Well, that the most beautiful male I've ever laid eyes on finds me desirable."
Az chuckled darkly in her ear. He palmed her ass tighter, and Gwyn rolled her hips, the truth of his desire hardening against her. "There has been more than one night I've had my fist around my cock wishing my hand was yours or your warm, wicked mouth, Berdara. You don't know how many ways my mind conjured pleasing you when I was alone. Taking my time, traversing and tasting every single godsdamn inch of your stunning body."
Gwyn moaned, her face flopping forward, pressing into his neck.
"Too much?" he asked, half-serious, partly jesting. Kissing her forehead, his hand happily lived on her cute behind. And if Azriel had it his way, it would never leave.
"I read smut for fun, Az, but it still makes me blush. To think your dirty fantasies included me? I guess I'm just as shocked as I am flattered." Rubbing her thighs together, her cheeks flushed a comely pink that reminded him of grapefruit flesh. "I think I need to clean up," she whispered. Her eyes glanced down at her shapely legs.
He smirked, knowing what she was hinting. Azriel left a small mess on the inside of those pretty thighs. The potency of Illyrian males was the stuff of legends.
"A bath then?" he suggested, and she nodded and hummed.
Well, then bath time it was, at least for her. He would wait for an invitation into the water. Whether she was ready to dive into this headfirst, the shadowsinger remembered they were still treading the choppy waters of her history. Gwyn was the pacesetter. Nothing could or would go any farther without consent at her speed. On her time. No matter what.
"A bath. I would love that, except I can't feel my legs," she sighed, stretching, her body arching, making it difficult to not hop right back into bed. Those exquisite rosy peaks aching for his tongue.
Bath, he refocused from his lustful thoughts, stepping into the bathing chamber lit by dim faelight to complete his mission. With a squeak of the handle, steaming water gushed into the enormous porcelain tub. Az grabbed the softest towels he could find as he rummaged through the linen closet for soap, finding only tar and pine-scented. Not what he had in mind.
At the bottom, concealed in the back, he uncovered a dusty, unwrapped basket. Dragging it out, he recognized it as a gag solstice present from Mor several years ago. All feminine soaps. Bubble bath. Various oils in frilly decanters. For once, Az was thankful for Mor's unfortunate gift-giving skills. Lifting a yellow bottle to his nose, he popped open the lid and took in the soft floral scent of honeysuckle. Perfect.
After gathering everything she'd need, Azriel returned to find Gwyn shining in filtering moonlight, still sprawled naked on top of his sheets. She hadn't moved an inch, her eyes fastened shut and lips parted as if deep in sleep. Tiptoeing to her side, he stared at her, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
What she had given him last night? To be given that trust? No female had ever chosen Azriel. And Gwyn?
'Everything, Shadowsinger. She'll give you everything.' He shooed his invisible spies from his ear, demanding they remained cloistered until he called for them again.
Everything? He shook the idea from his head. Sitting beside her, the mattress dipped under his weight.
"Gwyneth," Azriel whispered, brushing the hair off her forehead. "You awake?"
"Yes," she answered, a soft, drowsy smile on her blush-tinted lips. One eye opened halfway. "My bath ready, Shadowsinger?"
He nodded, his hand resting on her cheek. "Yes. I gathered some nice smelling stuff so–"
"So I won't smell like an Illyrian male? Very thoughtful of you," she said wryly. "But I still can't move."
Concern coated his features. "Are you... sore?" Down there left unsaid. He cringed.
"A little," she admitted sheepishly, sitting up on her elbows. He could tell by her expression that the pain was more than a minor irritation. "But I guess I somewhat expected that part... and a little tenderness is worth it. Hell, a lot of pain would have been worth that. But the rest of me is still just..." She flopped onto her back like a fish on a riverbank. "Do you think you could get me out of squats and lunges at training tomorrow?"
"If you need some help up...," Azriel offered as he bit back a laugh.
Gwyn nodded, putting her arms straight into the air, wiggling her fingers. He bent over the bed, and her arm, being careful of his wings, came around his neck.
"Thank you, just let me try my LEGS," she shrieked, giggles erupting as his other arm swept under her knees. Azriel scooped her up, carrying her the rest of the way.
Instead of her usual protests, Gwyn leaned her face into where his shoulder met his neck. Her body was dead weight, her legs bouncing a little with each of his strides. Positively boneless. And didn't that make a male stand taller?
A hiss of pleasure escaped Gwyn's lips as he slowly lowered her into the steaming water. After she granted permission, Azriel took his time washing her, leaning over the back of the tub, lavishing her damp bare shoulders with kisses.
"Mmm," she moaned as he spent a decent amount of time massaging her breasts, and then slipping to clean the inside of her thighs. "This feels so nice. But you didn't have to bathe me. I could have done it myself."
His lips caressed the side of her throat. "I know. But I wanted to. I enjoy taking care of you." She sucked in a short breath as his thumb circled slowly between her legs. "Besides, now that you're all clean, I can get you filthy all over again."
The rosy glare of the emerging dawn through the window had Azriel groaning, delving his nose into her collar. Gwyn smiled faintly, smoothing her fingers over the heavy forearm thrown across her breast.
He lifted his head to peer at the light streaming between the split in the thick curtains. "Fuck, I don't want to go."
Go? The question bounced around in her exhausted mind until it hit her.
"Oh. Your snowball fight?" His eyebrow arched in suspicion. "Rhysand and Cassian told me last night at the party. It's tradition, correct?" He bobbed his head. "Why don't you want to go?"
Azriel pulled her closer into his warmth. His strong, nude body curling around her own. "Because you're here."
True, but... This was a family tradition. An institution. Much like the friendship bracelets were hers and Catrin's, some things were sacred. There was only one way to push the shadowsinger's perfect ass out the door.
"I heard you lost last year."
Azriel stiffened, astute eyes narrowed. His wings shook as he sat up. "You did?"
Absently twirling a strand of hair around her forefinger, she continued. "Oh, yes. Cassian was talking all about it at the party last night. How last year, you and Rhysand were basically too busy trying to kill the other, and Cassian, even in a euphoric state from his mating bond snapping, still won. Which, it surprised me to hear, given how you're a master strategist and I assumed you'd have an invincible battle strategy in advance for such occasions, Spymaster."
He dragged fingers through his short, tousled ebony hair, the tendons and muscles flexing in his arms in such a way that she wondered if staying was a better idea. Focus, Gwyn.
"I indeed have a plan of attack," Azriel sighed deeply. "Last year… things got away from Rhys and me."
"So you have a strategy this year?"
A smirk curled across his lips as he glanced sidelong at her. "Of course I do."
Next to him, she sat up, holding the sheet against her front. Gwyn placed a palm on his back between his wings, rubbing up and down. "Then go. Have fun with your brothers. I'm not going anywhere."
His hazel eyes found hers and she'd never seen them so cloudless. So cleared. The golds and greens were vibrant like two pieces of polished jasper. Leaning in, she swept her lips against his in an encouraging kiss.
"Alright," Azriel said, relenting with a slow exhale. "I'll go. Do you want me to drop you off at the House of Wind or—"
She settled back down on the bed, stretching her arms high above her. "Can I just stay here? I just want to sleep."
He stood up and Gwyn admired the corded muscles of his back bunching and tightening as he stretched. Then his wings spread out, nearly touching wall to wall. Wingspan indeed, she grinned to herself, trying to hide her rising color with the sheet. At least now she knew the legends were true.
Azriel peered over his shoulder, noticing her watching him with her chin propped on her fist. His eyes deepened to rich, swirling amber. "You sure you don't want me to stay, Berdara?"
He stretched purposefully and winked. Insufferable smug male.
"Go!" She tossed a pillow at his bare backside. "Be with your brothers."
He groaned as if disappointed. "Okay, but I'm going to go fetch you something to eat first... "
"But..." The shadowsinger suddenly planted his fists on the mattress on either side of her legs. Leaning forward, Azriel kissed her passionately, silencing her thoughts.
"No buts. If I'm going, I'm making sure you're fed. I'll winnow to our bakery and pick out some chocolate for you."
She grinned against his mouth. Our bakery.
"Sounds perfect, Azriel." As he moved to pull away, Gwyn clasped his face between her palms. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Do you think you're going to win?."
"Yes." His lips drifted over hers. "And what do I get if I win?" Az's shadows danced around them and she could swear the wind was laughing.
"Since there's no chance in hell you're going to win, Shadowsinger, I didn't bother to get a prize."
He chuckled darkly. "I look forward to proving you wrong, Berdara."
Hours later, but still early, Azriel returned to his apartment to find Gwyn wearing his dress shirt from the night before, asleep on his couch. A few of his shadows having remained behind to function as sentinels. On her back, she snored lightly. An open book on military strategy covered her face. A half-eaten chocolate cake donut lay on the low table.
Something inside his chest hummed at the image of Gwyn living in his sacred space. How nice it would be to come home to find her peacefully sleeping, safe, and sound. Because he couldn't deny it any longer; despite all the awful things inside him telling him this was doomed, he wanted her. Wanted this. Loved this.
Azriel's brothers figured out something had shifted in his relationship as soon as he stepped out of the shadows. Snow crunching under his feet, he'd walked by both his brothers with his hands tucked into his pockets… whistling. A soft smile plastered on his face. His shadows shielding her lingering scent on his skin from his busybody brothers.
"You ready to be beaten, again, Az?" Cassian smirked, goading while adjusting the red hat Gwyn had made him on his head. A hat she'd made with her own hands. The same fingers that had roved all over his body last night. Fuck. He had to keep it together. The last thing the shadowsinger needed was his nosy as hell brothers scenting his arousal—and asking questions.
Azriel's chest rumbled with his answering chuckle. "Oh, brother, I have so much more at stake today. Your defeat is all but set."
Rhysand stayed quiet, watching the two rib each other, rolling snow into balls for their arsenals. And as the High Lord looked on, head tilted, his violet-eyed brother's face softened. Dark talons scraped at Azriel's mental shield, waiting for permission.
'Yes?'
'You look happy, Az.'
The shadowsinger exhaled long and peered up at his High Lord and nodded. 'I am.'
Rhysand's lips twisted up into a crooked grin. 'I wonder why?'
As Rhysand pulled back his power, Azriel's lips twitched. They turned their attention back to Cassian, who was rambling on beside a veritable hill of compacted snowballs at the ready.
"Anyway," the general continued, "When I left the river house this morning, Nesta said she was going to get up and find Gwyn and Emerie for a walk beside the Sidra."
"Feyre just sent me a message that Gwyn didn't stay at the house," Rhysand related. He clicked his tongue and rolled another icy ball into his hands, patting it into a perfect sphere. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Azriel?"
High Lord of busybody pricks.
"Gwyn's not there," Azriel said cooly, his shadows suddenly roiling over his shoulders.
"Did you take her home? I went to the House this morning, and I didn't see or hear…"
"She's not there either."
"But where is she?"
"Safe and resting," he snapped, his voice dipped low. And that was the only answer Az would offer.
"Well, good, because the last anyone saw her was last night, and no one—" Cassian's eyebrows lifted as he took it all in. Azriel knew where she was… because Azriel had been with Gwyn all night. As he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and avoided making eye contact, Cassian's cheeks blazed as bright as his siphons.
And Rhys? The High Lord offered a kind smile and a nod. With that, the three picked their positions and battled until only one remained standing and crowned the victor.
Treading quietly, the shadowsinger stepped toward the hallway. He needed to take a bath and wipe off the sweat from the birchen. Though, truthfully, he enjoyed scenting Gwyn on his skin. A soothing reminder. She was here. The long hours they'd consumed in the dark, tangled up in each other, were real.
The bob in his eyes reminded him of those long hours. Sleep. Before the family meal at the House of Wind, he needed to get some rest.
A soft thump sounded behind him. "Shadowsinger?"
He peered over his shoulder and saw a bleary-eyed Gwyn sitting up on the couch, the book now upright on the floor. "Hi."
"Hi," she answered with a smile. She rose from the sofa, the hem of his shirt just hitting her knees. As she walked toward him, she reached up and brushed snow from the top of his brand new black hat. "So?"
Smirking, he held up two distinct knit hats as if they were the severed heads of their enemy. One black as midnight and the other a vivid crimson. A warrior's trophies of victory.
Upon realizing the significance, she smiled widely. "You won?"
"I won."
In an instant, her arms circled him, her lips pressing against his in a bruising kiss. The hats slipped from his fingers to the floor and fell to her backside. There was the hint of chocolate on her tongue as it stroked over his. And by the time she finally drew back, they both were panting.
"The best fucking prize I have ever received," he whispered, tucking wayward tresses behind her ear. Her lovely, warm smile turned downright roguish.
"Oh, my sweet, Azriel. That wasn't your prize."
"It wasn't?"
"I told you I didn't get you anything." She shrugged, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she patted his shoulder. "But I suppose you can have the rest of my donut."
His head fell back in a deep, hearty laugh. To laugh, to be content was such a great feeling. His chuckle ceased when her velvety lips brushed his neck. His collarbone. Then lower. Lower.
Azriel stared down at the Valkyrie with a questioning look, swallowing hard, as she slowly sank to her knees. He caught her bright cobalt blue eyes as she tugged at the leather stays of his pants. Grasping her hair, his fingers twisted in bronzed silk as he watched. He was even more glad that Gwyn persuaded him to win when his pants hit the floor. Mischievous glittering teal winked as she smiled at him. Those sparkling eyes. That luminous smile. Both things of secret lovely beauty were the finest prize Azriel could ever hope to receive.
Next chapter coming in hot with plot and angst. Chapter 45 teaser will be up on my Tumblr ( mystical-blaise) this weekend! blog/view/mystical-blaise