Eidolon

Warning (PG18)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

After she stepped under the warm spray the screen slid open. Rei had just begun to lather her hair when Reon filled the doorway, then stepped in. The water beaded on the powerful planes of his chest, over the intricate tattoos that marked his rank and history.

There was no predatory demand this time. His movements were both sensually attentive and mundanely helpful. He took the soap, working it into his palms, his hands moving over her back, her shoulders, her stomach with a thoroughness that was worshipful and practical all at once.

She gave in to it, her head falling back against his chest. The inexplicable, potent attraction to him was a physical law she couldn’t defy in moments like this. It was a melting, clinging pleasure that had nothing to do with loyalty or love and everything to do with the pull between their bodies. She turned in his arms, water slushing over them, and kissed him with a passion that matched his own, clinging to the solid muscle of him as if she could fuse their forms together.

The warm spray sluiced over them, steam curling in the confined space. He didn’t speak, just moved into her space with a new focus, his hands finding her hips as he backed her gently against the cool, tiled wall. The shift from mundane to electric was instantaneous.

The air crackled with the tension at breakfast, from the night, from the simple, terrifying fact of their chemistry. His mouth found hers in a deep, searching kiss. His hands slid from her hips to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she was pinned between the wall and the heat of his body. He entered her in one smooth, devastating stroke that forced a gasp against his lips.

“How hard, Kitsune?” he murmured, his voice a raw scrape against her ear as he began to move, a slow, torturous rhythm designed to unravel her, “How deep do you want me?” Rei was trembling, blushing from the sheer, brazen carnality of the questions and her own desperate need.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back, pulling him deeper. Her fingers laced behind his neck, anchoring herself. “All of you,” she managed between moans that were swallowed by the steam and the sound of water, “I want all of you.”

A dark, approving groan rumbled in his chest. He obeyed, his thrusts becoming deeper, each one driving the air from her lungs. The pleasure was a sharp, building crest, but it was laced with a darker edge of overwhelming intensity. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath hot, and then his teeth sank into the tender flesh of her shoulder.

The sensation was a lightning bolt, white-hot pain that detonated into a shockwave of even more intense pleasure. A sharp, involuntary shriek tore from her throat, echoing off the tiles. “Don’t … don’t bite so hard,” she pleaded, her voice a ragged whisper, even as her hips arched to meet his’, her inner muscles clenching around him, “But don’t… don’t stop.”

Driven by her contradiction, by her yielding and fierce demand, he lost the last vestige of his control. She felt it in the tremor that ran through him, in the frantic pace of his heart against her chest. Seeking to master the moment, to claim a piece of his unraveling, she captured his mouth in a searing kiss. It was a conversation of pressure and softness, her tongue tangling with his, her teeth grazing his lip. She breathed for him, stole his air, gave it back.

His movements became frantic, urgent, a piston driving them both toward the edge. Just as she felt the coil within him ready to snap, she bit down lightly on his bottom lip, not enough to break the skin, but a sharp, possessive punctuation.

It was the final trigger. With a choked, guttural sound that was half her name, half a curse, he came, a violent, shuddering climax that seemed to pull his soul from his body and pour it into hers. He held her there, pinned and pulsing, for what felt like an eternity, his forehead pressed to the wet tile beside her head, his breath coming in ragged, steaming gasps that mingled with the spray. He had come before he wanted to, undone by her mouth, her bite, her impossible, consuming fire.

The water ran clear, washing away the evidence of their passion. They rinsed in a silence that was heavier than the steam, broken only by the rush of the shower and their own breathing. Reon was uncharacteristically quiet, his movements efficient as he dried himself, but his mind was a tempest.

The sheer, violent force of his climax had left him momentarily unmoored. He was a man who commanded every situation, every sensation. Yet, in her arms, leaned against that tiled wall, he had been utterly, willingly unraveled. Her influence over him was undeniable, and it left him in a rare state of wordless contemplation.

Wrapped only in a towel, he watched from the doorway as she dressed, pulling on the elegant, corporate attire she had arrived in. The transformation was stark. The woman who had been water-slicked and writhing against him minutes ago was now carefully assembling a facade of polished composure in front of his bathroom mirror, smoothing her ruby hair into place.

Rei wasn’t used to his silence. It felt louder than his usual commands. A cheeky, triumphant smile touched her lips as she met his eyes in the reflection. “You’re unusually mute… did that orgasm steal your tongue?” she asked, her tone lightly teasing, a brave probe into his unusual silence.

A broad smile spread across Reon’s face, though it didn’t quite reach his pensive eyes. He enjoyed this, her directness, the fact that she wasn’t cowed. Leaning against the doorframe, he adjusted the placement of his towel with languid indifference.

“You are treading dangerously close to a punishable offense, Kitsu,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “Offending a Ceremonial Master is not taken lightly – you really should know better by now.” Rei finished applying a touch of lip color and turned to face him fully, one eyebrow arched in playful challenge. “On the contrary,” she said, bowing her head deeply, her apology exaggerated, a performance of contrition that sparkled with mischief, “I meant it as the highest respect. You are,” she paused, letting her gaze sweep over his relaxed, powerful form with deliberate appreciation, “a very talented lover”, a beat, “and comer.”

The crude, street-smart edge of the last word, delivered in her clear, cultured voice, was respect and irreverence in a single package, acknowledging his prowess while refusing to be intimidated by the title that framed it. Reon’s smile deepened, a flash of real amusement in his azure eyes. He pushed off from the doorframe and closed the distance between them in two silent strides. Instead of kissing her, he cupped her chin, his thumb hovering over her now-perfectly painted lips.

“A dangerous compliment,” he murmured, his voice intimate, “It makes a man want to prove it again. Immediately.” He held her gaze for a charged moment, letting the promise, or threat, hang in the air, before releasing her and stepping back, the enigmatic Ceremonial Master once more, “But your primary master awaits. And I believe he dislikes tardiness almost as much as he dislikes sharing.”

Rei confirmed the theory with a deep nod and finished dressing with new urgency, feeling Reon’s gaze like a physical touch. He lounged lazily against the doorframe, his hair damp, watching her every move with a focus that felt newly tender, and therefore, more dangerous.

The time to depart arrived, and she walked through the silent shrine to the top of the long stone staircase, Reon a brooding shadow behind her. Below, like a sleek insect at the base, Takumi’s car waited. Reon had given clear orders: Takumi was not to mount the stairs. Rei turned on the top step. The morning chill was sharp after the warmth of the shower. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but clear, “for last night … for telling me about my family.”

Reon didn’t smile. He simply closed the distance, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head and kissed her. It was not a goodbye kiss; it was a consuming pull that threatened to unravel all her careful resolutions. It was a kiss that spoke of unfinished business, of an appetite that had only been whetted, not satisfied. It enthralled them both, a silent, potent promise hanging in the cold mountain air between the shrine and the world below.

When he finally released her, her breath was a visible cloud between them. Without another word, she turned and began her descent, each step taking her away from the intoxicating height and back to the complicated reality waiting in the car at the bottom.