Ixtic was leaning in, her intent to kiss him hanging, undeniable, between them. The gentle splash of the distant waterfalls was the only sound.
A war raged behind his eyes. His mind, the disciplined fortress of a Itzotec warrior, was in full revolt, scrambling to build barricades against the rising flood of sensation.
A kiss, the commander in his head argued, his voice frantic and thin. A simple kiss. For a warrior like you, this is nothing. A toll for passage. A strategic barter for information and the retrieval of a lost spear. You are merely... negotiating. You remain in control. This is not surrender. This is a tactic.
The internal monologue was a frantic, pathetic lie, and his body was a traitor. His heart hammered against his ribs like a war drum, a wild, panicked rhythm that drowned out the voice of reason. A fine tremor ran through his limbs. The spot on his thigh where her hand rested burned as if she had placed a hot coal there. He was not in control. He had not been in control since he first laid eyes on her.
He looked into her green eyes, searching for a hint of the guile or coyness he understood in women. He found none. He found only a calm, confident hunger, a deep and patient certainty. She was waiting, but not for permission. She was waiting for him to acknowledge the inevitable.
The last gasp of his pride forced a single, barely perceptible nod. It was a pathetic gesture of a king pretending to command the sun to rise. It was him giving permission for something that was already happening.
Ixtic's smile widened slightly. That tiny, trembling nod was all the invitation she needed, the charming little ritual of mortal pride she had been waiting for. She closed the final inch of space.
Her lips met his.
The contact was a shock that jolted through his entire nervous system. Her lips were not soft or tentative. They were firm, confident, and incredibly warm, pressing against his with a purpose that stole his breath. There was no hesitation in her, no question. It was the kiss of a creature who had never once in her existence doubted her own desires.
And the taste...
This was not a human kiss. It did not taste of a person. It tasted of the jungle itself, wild, untamed. It tasted of dark, wild honey, a sweetness so intense it was almost painful. It tasted of rich, rain-soaked earth after a storm, a flavor of life and decay and ancient things. It tasted of the heady, intoxicating perfume of the night-blooming orchids that grew around the cenote, a scent he now understood was her own. And beneath it all, there was something else, something thrilling and dangerous—the sharp tang of the air just before a lightning strike. He was tasting a living piece of the jungle.
Her mouth slanted across his, her tongue, deft and curious, tracing the seam of his lips, a silent, insistent demand for entrance. He gasped, a reflex of shock and burgeoning pleasure, and she took immediate advantage. The kiss deepened, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, a bold, confident exploration that was both an assault and a seduction. It was primal. It was utterly overwhelming. The warrior, the great Etalcaxi, who fancied himself a conqueror in all things, was being thoroughly and expertly conquered.
His mind, which a moment ago had been racing with pathetic rationalizations, went completely blank. The commander in his head was silenced, the fortress of his ego burned to the ground. All thought was incinerated, replaced by pure, unadulterated sensation. The taste of her was everywhere. The scent of her filled his lungs. The warmth of her body was a fire against his. His hands, which had been resting limply at his sides, came up of their own accord, his fingers gripping her slender, strong arms, holding on as if he were drowning. And in a way, he was.
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For Ixtic, the kiss was a deep and satisfying drink. She had been curious, and now she was learning. She tasted the lingering salt of his sweat, the faint, metallic tang of his mortal blood. But beneath that, she tasted his energy, his life force. It was bright and hot, like the sun on stone, full of pride and fire and a surprising, buried sweetness. It was a new flavor, entirely different from the slow, green, patient taste of her grove, and she found it delicious. She felt his initial resistance, the tension in his body, and then she felt it melt, felt his surrender as his mind gave way to the delightful, messy chaos of his body's needs. She felt his hands grip her arms, a desperate, clinging gesture that pleased her immensely. He was strong, this mortal. And now, he was hers to taste.
As the kiss reached a fever pitch, a raw exchange of breath and flavor and heat, the cenote itself responded to her passion.
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The glowing flowers woven into Ixtic's hair and dotted around the sanctuary pulsed with a brighter, warmer light, their gentle rhythm accelerating to match the frantic beat of Etalcaxi's heart. The water of the cenote, in which his lower body was still submerged, seemed to warm by several degrees, a soft, sensual mist rising from its surface to swirl around them. The gentle sound of the waterfalls crescendoed, the soft splashing building into a steady, rushing roar that matched the sound of the blood rushing in Etalcaxi's ears. He felt a jolt of raw vitality surge through him, a current of pure life force flowing from her mouth into his. It was a feeling more potent than any strong drink, more nourishing than any food. It was a magical transference, a stream of pure, green, wild energy that made every nerve in his body light up with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. The aches in his muscles, the lingering exhaustion in his bones, all of it was burned away, replaced by a vibrant, thrumming aliveness.
After a long, breathless moment that could have been an eternity, Ixtic was the one who broke the kiss. She pulled back slowly, reluctantly, as if drawing her lips away from a honeycomb. Her eyes were half-lidded, the vivid green clouded with a heavy, drowsy satisfaction. Her lips were slick and slightly swollen. She looked like a well-fed predator, serene and triumphant.
Etalcaxi was left panting, his eyes wide and dazed, his entire world tilted on its axis. He stared at her as if he were seeing the sun for the first time. Everything he had known, the rules he had lived by, seemed gray and distant. This—this vibrant, terrifying, beautiful creature—was the only reality. Ixtic's tongue darted out, a quick, pink flicker, and she licked a tiny drop of moisture from her bottom lip, her gaze never leaving his.
"A good start," she purred, her voice a low, husky vibration that he felt in his chest. "A down payment on services to be rendered."
He struggled to form a word, to make sense of what had just occurred in his body and mind. He touched his own lips with trembling fingers. They tingled, still burning with the ghost of her taste, the echo of her magic.
"What... what was that?" he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"That," she said, her smile returning, "was the price for my attention." She leaned back slightly, giving him a fraction of space to breathe. "Now, I will help the lost little warrior. I will guide you from this place." She paused, her eyes glittering. "And in return for this guidance, and for your precious pointy stick..." she let the words hang in the air, "...you will owe me more." Her smile was full of promises and threats, a glimpse into a future of sensual bargains he could not begin to comprehend. "Much more. Do we have a bargain?"
He looked into her mesmerizing green eyes. Every shred of his training, every instinct for self-preservation, was screaming at him to run, to flee this place, to get as far away from this dangerous, magical woman as he could. But his body, still thrumming with the echo of her life force, still craving the incredible taste of her, had already made its decision. His pride was gone, his reason was gone, and all that was left was a raw, aching need. He gave another slow, dazed nod, a gesture of complete and utter capitulation.
"Bargain," he heard himself say.
Ixtic's smile turned dazzling. She took his hand in hers. But instead of shaking it, she turned his hand over, palm down, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his knuckles. The spot she kissed tingled with the same electric warmth as his lips, a mark of ownership, a seal on their contract.
The bargain was sealed. He looked at his hand, at the spot her lips had touched, then back to her victorious face. He came into this jungle a leader, a warrior, a conqueror. Now, he was... something else. Something owned.