Chapter 4

Evelyn took a slow and calming breath. There was no use attempting to put out the fire inside her, but at least she could try to temper it enough to help Cullen ease the death grip he had clamped down on his control.

She released him from her feather light embrace and they stood apart for a moment.

She couldn't be more grateful that he wanted to be a tender and considerate lover, but if she only accepted that part of him she would be denying a larger part of why she was so consumed by the man, body and soul. She refused to be responsible for letting him continue to suppress the side of himself he constantly tried to hold in check out of misplaced feelings of guilt or shame.

Cullen was tender and considerate and kind. He was loyal, faithful and protective. But he was also willful and harsh. Quick to anger and slow to soothe. Violent and passionate and possessive. And it was every one of those qualities that had set her aflame in equal measure.

He had once told her that he wondered how someone could be the same person after going through the things he had. She didn't know who he was before. And even though it might sound cruel, she didn't care who he had been. He was who he was in the present, and that was the only Cullen she knew; the only one she wanted to know. That was the Cullen she grew to love.

He seemed not to be able to see past the weight of who he 'should have been', always holding back or working to correct the aspects of himself he saw as unacceptable or incompatible with that imagined ideal. There was no 'should have been' in Evelyn's eyes, only the flawed perfection that was Cullen.

Maybe that was exactly what he needed from her, even if he didn't realize it. Perhaps he needed someone who accepted him in the here and now, not who he was or could have been or might be. She loved the man in front of her in this moment, every part of him, dark and light, whole and damaged.

She could help him see what she saw, accept it as she had, and give her what she needed. He could give them what they both needed.

So she reached out her hand to him.

xxxx

When she reached out her hand to him, Cullen hesitated before he took it. It was by Andraste's grace alone he hadn't forced himself upon her on the floor of the Chantry. He had felt her eyes on him even as he sat in the garden. His heart had thumped in his chest like a drumbeat at the very thought of her presence in the shadows, watching him, waiting for him, needing him.

It was foolish to think he might have found solace in prayer; not when he knew she'd follow. Of course she followed. What kind of temptation would she be if she didn't hound his every step, occupy his every thought and fill every corner of his vision with images of sweet surrender? Hers, his, he didn't even know whose surrender it was that obsessed him so.

When he knelt on the cold stone and bowed his head he was transported back to another time when the fractures running through his soul were freshly formed and he prayed, begged, sobbed for the temptation to be taken away. How much could a young man be expected to endure? How much faith did he need to have to be spared? How long before he fell and how far?

But he was no longer young. The voice that spoke the words of the Chant now was heavy with years and in the same way dark magic weakened the Veil, there was a darkness inside him that would forever weaken his control if he allowed it to.

He remembered the clear and forthright purpose he had felt in his youth. It no longer existed. In its place was a dangerous ambivalence. If she tested him, would he even want to resist anymore? Why? He had warned her, he had shown her what he was. His innocence had long left him and a bitter parting it was. If he allowed himself, he would take hers and revel in it. He could show her what temptation really was. But if he did, how long before they both fell, and how far?

When he attacked her, and it was every definition of an attack, his twisted mind made excuses that it was she who brought this assault upon herself. Even as he kissed her lips, tasted her skin, ran his hands all over her, and dragged her across Skyhold with every intention of making her captive in his lair, he told himself she had forced this upon them both. How dare she be so beautiful. How dare she be so pure. How dare she love him.

And then it seemed Andraste truly did protect her chosen one when he was able to salvage the last thin strands of his control and back away from Evelyn's too willing, far far too willing, form before he stole away her virginity rough and hard and mindless.

But as they stood, panting on the precipice, he found himself young again, pleading to her this time, instead of the Maker, to spare him. If they were to fall, he needed it to be her to lead them to it. He loved her. He would not be the one to draw her into temptation. But he would allow himself surrender and follow her.

He took her outstretched hand.

She smiled. It was a thing that seemed to come so easily for her, her smile. She drew him in with it from the beginning and now she drew him forward with it. Her hand was small and warm inside his own, it was willful as she pulled him deliberately along. She let go and turned away to ascend the ladder to his loft, but her grip on him was still strong despite the disappearance of physical contact. She didn't once look back at him to see if he would follow. She offered no extra encouragement save for the delicate sway of narrow hips as she climbed.

He followed like a man possessed, bewitched, enchanted, offering his hand again when he reached the top. With soft footfalls she led them to his bed and then it was her turn to hesitate. She stood still but for her fingers, suddenly nervous, wringing against his. She bit her lower lip as she so often did when she wanted to consider things carefully. But this was no time for careful thought.

The next step fell to him and the chaos in his heart calmed and started to find form in that moment. This was a dance. A give and take, a back and forth, a mutual trust. He was no longer alone with a nameless urge and only his own weakness that had too many names. They were together. Where he might falter, she stood strong and where she didn't know the path forward, he would lead her.

He shifted his grip on her hand and brought it up in turn to each of the fastenings on his armor. She fumbled, her typically deft hands mystified by the puzzle of leather and metal that bound him. He guided her through the motions, digging deep in his reserves of will to maintain a placid countenance when every slight movement she made ignited fires all over his body and every angle of her shifting in and out of the shadows stoked the flames.

As she worked he felt his defenses falling away with his armor. He marveled at how easily it happened, how sure he was about allowing the barriers between them to come down, any perception of risk blowing away with her breath, now hot on his skin.

The job done, she ran her fingers down his chest, too delicate, too soft, eyes wide, lips parted as if entranced. He wanted more. He stepped forward into her touch, need overwhelming him, and he crushed into her with a kiss, trapping her hands between them. He was hungry, starved, but he savored and she tasted so fucking glorious that soon lips and tongues weren't enough to sate him. So he used his teeth and he bit down against her skin on the gentle slope of her neck that he exposed as he pulled her head back.

He heard her whimper and he felt the sound vibrate in her throat as he devoured her. He slowed slightly, waiting for her to pull away, giving her one last chance at escape. She didn't take it. Her previously hesitant fingers clawing upwards to dig into his hair and pull him closer. It was all he needed. It was time.

xxxx

Her confident and determined march up to his loft had faltered when they reached his bed. Blessedly he took over, guiding her trembling fingers through the motions of undressing him. It was a slow a deliciously painful ordeal, revealing little bits of him at a time, taking long moments to study the contours of him and how his body shone gold even in the silver glow of the moons. He felt like divinity itself under her fingertips and when she touched him she ached, ached for him, and she would have begged for him to touch her back if he hadn't acted before she could form the words.

She made some kind of incoherent noise as she fell apart against him feeling hot and wet where he tasted her and where she wanted him to taste her. Something feral broke free inside of her when his assault slowed the barest amount and she grabbed him roughly, indelicately and pulled him closer. Maker bless him, he complied with her need and pushed her backwards catching her in his arms before she landed on the bed. When he sunk down on top of her she moaned, too loud, too desperate but again he heeded her unspoken demands. He lifted her, twisted her, pulled and tugged and where one moment there were clothes between them, now there was only breath and moonlight and...Maker...the sight of him, the sight of them, as they should be, as they always should have been, bare and touching and in each other's arms, it was breathtaking.

She brought her eyes up and away, the sight of all the things she had wanted most too much, and she arched her back as she exhaled roughly. He pulled her back to him and kissed her deeply, relentlessly. More little sounds escaped her as she squirmed and writhed underneath him needing something more or everything all at once she wasn't sure. She didn't know what to do with her hands or her arms or her legs. She didn't know where to touch or how. She wanted to curl up inside the heat of him at the same time she wanted his heat nestled inside of her.

He broke from her lips for long enough to press her down more firmly into the bed, stilling her movements. He held himself a little aloft and focused his gaze on her eyes, giving her a moment to do the same to him. After a silent pause his hand that had been at her hip traveled languidly up her side, dipping in and around her curves. She tried to lean into the touch wanting him to grab her more fiercely, more definitively but he held her immobile. Eventually the hand reached her chin, tilting it down and one finger came to rest on her bottom lip, stopping there only briefly before he slowly but insistently pushed it forward into her mouth.

Her lips parted for it even as she looked up at him curiously. He said nothing, just continued looking down at her, shadows playing across his face making it hard for her to judge his expression. She let his finger rest on her tongue for a moment before she started sucking on it. She had no idea if that's what he desired her to do, her mouth simply moved on an instinct. It was an instinct that apparently met with approval. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and she felt all his muscles tense against her. He moved his finger around as if teaching her its contours and she learned them diligently before he pushed in another.

Now she closed her eyes as well, enjoying the odd action far too much, but enjoying it more when he removed them and trailed the slick fingers on a path downward. They left a trail of chilled skin along her chin, her neck, between her breasts and then over each of them grazing lightly leaving her shuddering and then...Holy Andraste...pinching leaving her to cry out but instead of pulling away from the shock she found herself shamelessly pulling him closer, back arched, chest out and hands digging into his shoulders where she had been bracing herself.

Cullen let her bring him down to her, making shushing noises into her ear combined with a soft laughter that made her feel exposed, more exposed even than when her clothes came off. He was drawing things out of her, unfamiliar actions, secret sounds and hidden pleasures that only he knew about, that only he was allowed because it was only him that she would permit.

And as if he knew that, as if he had always known, he captured another hidden oasis within her when the fingers she had learned with her tongue slipped inside her, lower, deeper and...mmmmm...not enough, not nearly enough. She was heat and fire and she burned and she needed so much more. She whined and found his lips with hers, kissing him eagerly, insistently, using her mouth against his as a silent plea, begging with it.

Without conscious thought her hips moved erratically against his hand. His hand that, before this in their everyday life, she would casually notice resting on the pommel of his sword or rubbing at the back of his neck and she realized she would never look at his hands the same way again. More than that, she was sure she'd be jealous of anything else they ever touched that wasn't her.

He laughed again, damn him, and held her hips still while he continued his motion, deeper, then faster then, damn him again, he stopped. Her eyes that had been shut against the stars in her vision flew open, her legs that had been spread wide for him drew closed, or as closed as possible with him lying between them, trying to keep him in place and her hands that were clinging to him let go and she wanted to hit him for stopping.

Her face must have shown what she was thinking, because he hushed her aggravated cry before she voiced it.

He whispered against her ear, his voice deep and strained, thick with lust as urgent as hers. "I know, love, I'll give you what you need..."

xxxx

Fuck. He felt like he was drowning. Drowning in her skin and her hair and those noises she made and her scent...Fuck. She was unraveling too fast, he felt it. She was new, untested, untouched and damn her if she didn't make him feel the same way again. He was unable to draw this out any further. Every dark phantasm that had ever haunted him was snuffed out and forgotten in this moment by the sight of her beneath him, eager and begging for release. His ears were ringing and his vision blurred and he throbbed.

He leaned back and sat upright. She was angry at the abandonment and he understood, Maker, did he ever understand. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted to continue living and if this was the last thing he did before death took him he would wander the Fade happily until the end of days. But he had just enough sense to stop and let her see. Show her. Teach her...

xxxx

When he sat upright and looked down at her, she could see now that he was sweating with restraint, the angle of his jaw tense, his brow furrowed, and his nostrils flaring with labored breaths. He kneeled between her legs and her eyes moved all over him, lips to shoulders to navel to the hard length of him and she started panting shamefully with want.

He took her hand in his and brought it slowly up to feel him. He closed his eyes at the first hesitant touch of her fingertips but he opened them again quickly when she wrapped around him grasping tight. He let out a strangled sounding grunt and grabbed her wrist with equal effect and he pulled her hand along him, in and out, up and down and she felt every flex and twitch and learned every smooth surface and beautiful contour.

She was utterly captivated and her mind reeled at the feeling of him in her hand. The thought of what he would feel like inside of her thrilled her to the point of madness and a flood of imagined sensations spilled over her. What would he sound like when he took her? What would she see in his eyes? What would he taste like if she...

And then her agonizing anticipation was over and he was pulling away her hand as he stretched himself atop her again. Her breaths came faster and she reached up to clutch the sheets above her head. It was too much to watch, like looking into the sun, she wanted to feel him, not be blinded, so she threw her head back and closed her eyes when he lowered his mouth to her breast and lifted her legs around his hips and pushed inside.

If she thought she would have an instinct to pull away at the intrusion she was sorely mistaken for the only thing she could think to do, the only thing her body seemed capable of doing was rising up to take him deeper.

And he growled her name and it was a searing, filling, tight and wrenching bliss.

Cullen's rhythm made her moan and she ground up against him when he pulled her close. Close. She was so close. She needed to scream and ride him out and she did, loud and lovely and she fell. Into him, onto him, with him, she fell and when he matched her screams with a roar of his own she wanted to die, right there underneath him, not caring if her first was her last and not ever wanting to rejoin the world.