This is Issue #73 of DeathWatch, Book II: tentatively called Heart Of Ilona, an ongoing Serial. Click that link to go find DeathWatch, the first in the series, or start from the beginning of Book II!
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Lucy kissed Jet with all the desire that had been building since the first night their lips had met. Though every touch before that moment had been either a ploy, or Gemma’s machination, those that Lucy had done on her own had had their own share of truth behind them.
She kissed him as she knew him, intimate and slow, as though there would never be a reason to rush.
The kiss was long, and sweet, and Jet gave himself to it without thought, until he grew lightheaded, realizing somehow he’d forgotten to breathe. When he pulled back, she pulled him closer, and kissed him again.
Her voice was low, and her eyes were dark and dangerous, like the night of their first kiss. “Fac me oblivisci, my Jet. Hoc volo aliud sentire.” Make me forget, my Jet. I want to feel something other than this.
“Lucy–” Jet breathed, pulling back, hesitant.
“I do love you, Lucymea.”
“Love me as my husband. Love me as your wife.”
“Who do we have but one another, hm? I saw you give away your Secta. I don’t know why you make yourself suffer. Why should either of us be miserable?” She looked at him, pained.
“Never have I loved a woman as I love you,” Jet promised, stroking her cheek. “Never have I known ten women as brilliant, as beautiful, as cunning and swift as you.”
Lucy knew well what came after such praise. If he had no reason to turn her away, he would have been more than in her arms already. “But?”
Jet glanced away, bronze cheeks darkened in a flush. “Am I wrong to wish you might bed me for my own sake, and not to rid your mouth of the taste of her?”
Lucy lifted her chin, and reached to touch Jet’s chin, to turn his face to hers. “Oh?”
For a moment, Jet feared he’d said something to cause grievous offense; Lucy’s expression shifted to something that was pain and shame all at once, but then it rebounded — she pursed her lips and her dark eyes flashed. “And would you bed me, face to face, my Black stone?”
“What?” Jet didn’t have to pretend confusion.
“Perhaps instead, you will turn out the lights, and put me on my belly — make it easy to imagine I am someone else?” Lucida turned to present her backside to him, arching her body into him.
Jet’s eyes widened at her brazen words. He flushed, more red than before.
“Do you know, caro, love of mine, husband of mine, lover of my brother… I would let you.” Lucy’s voice was low, hungry.
Jet’s jaw dropped, and he found he could say nothing in response.
“I watched you on the telescreen. I watched you tell our people of war.” She rucked up her skirts and pulled his hand close, putting it to her bare thigh, let it lay, hot on her skin.
Jet’s heart skipped a beat. When he found his voice, he was more concerned with the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, like fine silk, smooth and inviting. “And?”
“I listened to you speak to them of what is coming,” Lucy said. She slid a hand to his braccae and deftly undid the ties. Her hand slipped within the fabric, and she wrapped her fingers around him, put her palm against him, and began to stroke.
Hissing a breath between his teeth, Jet shifted his hand, slipping it between her thighs, fingers laid to her, matching the slow, yet furtive method of her movements. “And?”
She put her lips to his neck, whispering urgently. “Audivi te promitte vindicta. Te enim diffamatus como ei. Como Immanis. Audivi te.” I heard you promise vengeance. You reminded me of him. Of Immanis. I heard you.
Jet licked his lips, frowning, thinking of Immanis as well, of the way he could command love, the way he could simply desire love from his subjects, and have it. He kept moving his hand, listening to Lucy’s breath, Lucy’s pulse. “And?”
“Et. Et eam fecit mihi volo te.” Lucy panted as she spoke. And it made me want you.
Jet closed his eyes, felt his pulse quicken. He kept moving his hand, slowly at first, then urgently, as she reached down to put her hand to his, to direct his attentions. He was a quick study, and for a long moment, she stopped speaking. He heard himself ask, “And?”
Lucy’s smile was audible. “And I spread my legs to the telescreen, and I lifted my hips, and I watched you bare your teeth.”
Jet bit his lip, panting. “And?”
Lucy’s eyes glittered with desire. “And I cried out for you, alone in my bed.”
“For me?” Jet whispered, moving his hand faster. He felt her knees weaken, felt her pulse against his skin.
Lucida leaned against Jet, and her hand on him stilled; he didn’t care — he was wrapped up in his own focus, holding her up, pleasuring her as she stood clinging to him. “For you, caro. Vivat Ilona–” The words were half lost in a cry as she sagged in his arms, staggering to put her mouth to his, biting at his lips.
Jet held her, his heart thundering. Clearly, he knew what his body wanted, but his heart was still heavy with what had been done to them, with what they had been made to do, while they slept, while they dreamt. “Lucy, I–”
“You see that I am pleased by you. And I can tell that you are pleased by me. Caro, do not make me beg.”
Jet nodded, watching her dark eyes. He kissed her again, and then carefully walked her to her bed. “We will be late to our own coronation.”
“They’ll wait,” Lucida said, pulling him down against her. She rolled with him then, and knelt between his legs, taking him into her mouth.
Anything else Jet had planned on discussing simply went unsaid.
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