Chapter 37: Beneath the moon, Beneath the skin (II)

Nylessa's smirk lingered like a blade just shy of skin.

Clive stood frozen by the doorframe, the low amber light from the hall casting a faint glow on his hesitant expression. Selvara had just pulled her robe back up over one shoulder, the dark curve of her collarbone still glistening from a freshly applied balm. She looked better. Alive. The blood no longer seeped from her side. Her breathing was steady, deeper.

"You're staring, Clive," Nylessa said, her voice like silk caught on thorns.

He blinked. "Sorry. I just wanted to see how Selvara was doing. I—"

"Hard to focus on that with your... current state of distraction." Her gaze dropped meaningfully, her smirk deepening.

Selvara let out a soft laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she turned to Clive, eyes kind. "You're not as stealthy as you think, Clive. But it's sweet."

Clive rubbed the back of his neck. "I should go. I just—"

"Stay," Selvara interrupted.

That single word hung heavy between them. Nylessa arched an eyebrow.

Clive looked at her, then at Selvara.

Nylessa stepped away from the dresser where she had been unpacking a satchel of silks and oils. She walked toward him, slow and deliberate, her hips swaying with a rhythm that matched the tension in the room.

"We're not in the Veil tonight," she said, brushing past him to close the door with a soft click. "We're in a place that isn't trying to kill us. No monsters. No gods. No voices in the dark. Just warm beds... and warmer bodies."

Clive swallowed.

Selvara, already beneath the thin sheet of the wide inn bed, patted the space beside her. Her eyes sparkled with something deeper than mischief. There was longing there—an unspoken understanding of everything they had survived.

"You saved me," she whispered. "Twice, maybe three times over. And I thought I'd die before I ever felt this again. Don't make me beg, Clive."

Nylessa chuckled lowly as she slipped her robe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "Let's see if you can survive something... sweeter."

Her lips, red as roses, gave a weak moan into Clive's ear. As much as he tried to resist, he found his arms winding around her neck. With his other hand, he reached back and locked the door.

Their eyes met in a flash of tension—intense, unrelenting.

She slid a hand down and touched his "sword," feeling how big and hard it had grown. He kissed her. Deeply. Hungrily. Selvara watched, but instead of jealousy, a strange hollowness formed in her chest. Ever since Clive had described their moment as "average," she'd wondered what she had done wrong. She had enjoyed it. Every second. But maybe—just maybe—with Nylessa, he'd be satisfied.

Clive kissed Nylessa with the kind of longing that came from months of denial. He had imagined her lips. Her tongue. Wondered what they tasted like. Now he knew, and he loved it more than he'd ever expected.

Forgetting Selvara for a moment, he picked Nylessa up. Her soft thighs wrapped around his waist, and somehow—neither of them knew when—their clothes had disappeared. They fell onto the bed.

He lay beneath her and pulled her hips forward, guiding her to sit on his face. He licked slowly, hungrily, as she moaned with pleasure, her fingers tangled in his hair.

And then—he felt it.

Something warm. Moist. Wrapping around his cock.

Selvara.

He knew her touch. He felt her mouth, her tongue, and it made him groan into Nylessa. For a moment, all three of them were locked together—giving and receiving, making unholy sounds that echoed in the room like chants from some forgotten altar.

Nylessa trembled. Then came, crying out in a release so intense her legs shook around him.

Clive gasped for breath, his face glistening. He looked down at Selvara, whose lips still pressed to his length, and met her eyes with a lustful smile.

"Your turn," he said, voice rough with need.

Selvara instinctively climbed up, positioning herself over him. Nylessa, now stretched out lazily on the other side of the bed, leaned over and kissed Selvara, their lips meeting as if they'd done it before. Clive's hands gripped Selvara's waist and lifted her—once, twice—before she pushed his hands away and pinned them to the bed.

Her movements were confident now.

She rode him slowly, deeply, while Nylessa's mouth found hers again—and then drifted lower. Her tongue trailed down to Selvara's chest, circling around her dark nipple. Selvara gasped, and suddenly, a warm fluid spilled between them.

A sound—raw and primal—filled the room.

Release.

Then silence.

The three of them lay back, breathless, tangled in sheets and each other's limbs. No one said a word.

But none of them regretted it.

They remained there, tangled in the afterglow, breath mingling, the haze of the moment still heavy in the room. The faint noise of the hotel below—laughter, footsteps, music—felt like another world.

Selvara lay curled against Clive's chest, her leg draped over his. Nylessa, on his other side, had her fingers resting just above his heart, tracing idle circles into his skin.

"Maybe we stay a little longer," Nylessa murmured. "Just until the next full moon."

Clive didn't answer right away. He stared up at the ceiling, at the faint flicker of candlelight shadows playing across old wooden beams.

Maybe they did stay.

Maybe, for a while, the world could wait.