Chapter 60
Chapter
Sixty
“So,” Donovan says. “Do you want me to go?”
It’s three in the morning, and we’re standing on the front porch of my cottage. After hours of cleanup and a whole bunch of spellwork by the Sinsters—not to mention High Priestess Marilyn, who showed up at the eleventh hour and was Big Mad at me for taking matters into my own hands—we’re back in Sapphire Springs. Both of our cars started right up, surprising me not one bit. Somehow, the Blood Witches must have channeled the ley line energy to mess with their electrical systems. Donovan’s laptop is okay, too. But even though I told him I was fine, he insisted on following me all the way home, just to make sure I got there safely.
I argued with him, but honestly? Not too hard. Because having him a few car lengths behind me was still too far away.
“No,” I tell him, staring up into those eyes of his, the ones that will never cease to mesmerize me. “I don’t want you to go anywhere. Unless you’re tired?”
A slow smile lifts his lips. “I could sleep here, maybe.”
“I have a feeling,” I say, turning to fit my key into the lock, “that if you stay here, we won’t do much sleeping.”
“Aw.” He presses a kiss to the crook of my neck, and a delectable shudder ripples through me. “I’ve had a tough day, Chaos. It started with some idiotic ice breakers, included some freaky revelations, and almost ended in the Red Wedding. Maybe I need a nap.”
His lips trail down my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and I squirm against him, struggling to insert the key. “First a Matrix joke. Now a Game of Thrones reference,” I manage. “Aren’t you just Mr. Pop Culture?”
“Turns out,” he says, sliding my shirt off my shoulder, “that a guy has a hell of a lot of free time on his hands when all he does is design databases for a homicidal maniac. But you know what I’d rather have in my hands?”
“Don’t say it.” I shove the key into the lock and turn in the circle of his arms, intending to press my fingers to his lips. But he’s just right there, his eyes playful and his hands braced against the door on either side of my head, grinning down at me.
“I’d rather—” he begins, and I stop his mouth with my own. He tastes like cinnamon, and he smells like vanilla and cedar, and now that I’ve started kissing him, I don’t ever want to stop. We’re outside; anyone could see. But for once, I can’t bring myself to give a crap. If the Sinsters have enough energy after tonight to post this on the Facebook page, then we’ll damn well give Sapphire Springs a show.
Before, I was always holding part of myself back, afraid of what might happen if I gave myself to him completely. Before, there was only one way I saw this ending. But now, when he groans and licks along the seam of my lips until I open for him, when he sucks on my tongue and tugs on my hair, angling me how he wants me, I kiss him back the same way. My fingers slip under his shirt, ghosting over the hard planes of his stomach, and he draws a sharp breath.
“You’re driving me insane, Rune. Do you know that? Since I met you, I haven’t been able to think about anything but being inside you. And now—tonight?—”
“Survivor’s lust,” I pant as he lifts me, pinning me against the door the way he did in his office. My head falls back, and he skates his teeth along the delicate skin of my throat.
“I don’t care what you call it,” he says, sounding breathless. “And I understand if you don’t feel the same way. But if that’s the case, then tell me now. Because if you don’t want me like that—or if you’re not ready—I should probably go home and take a cold, cold shower.”
Even as the words leave his mouth, he’s rocking forward, into me, as if he can’t help himself. My legs tighten around his hips, feeling him just where I need him most. Where I crave him. “Donovan,” I say, digging my nails into his shoulders.
Those brilliant irises of his fix on mine. In his gaze, I see so much—hope, doubt, fear, desire. “Yes?”
“I want what you want,” I tell him. “So open this damn door and take me inside. And then, take me to bed.”
Donovan’s eyes widen, like I’ve surprised him. But all he says is, “Yes ma’am.”
I’m giggling as he shoves the door open so hard it bounces off the wall, then yanks out my keys and tosses them on the floor. He almost trips headlong over Valentine, who’s winding between his legs and meowing up a storm, which brings on a fresh spate of laughter. But when he lays me down on my bed and props himself up over me, when he brushes the hair back from my face with such tenderness it brings tears to my eyes, suddenly I’m not laughing anymore.
“I don’t know where you came from,” he whispers. “Or how I came to feel so much for you, so soon. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it scared the shit out of me. But I want you, Rune, and not just for now. I want to wake up with you every morning and have your face be the last one I see before I go to sleep at night. I want you to challenge me and push me so far out of my comfort zone, it pisses me off. I want you by my side when we figure out what the next steps are after the crazy crap that went down today, when we finally lay my dad to rest. I want you.”
His eyes scan my face, desperation clear in their depths—like he thinks I’ll tell him he’s alone in this. Like I’ll say he’s lost his mind.
I reach up, tracing the pads of my fingers across his cheekbone. “I want you too. I always have, even when you were being an ass. I just…being together would’ve killed you, Donovan. I was trying to save your life. But we were always meant for each other. I saw our future, remember?”
He smiles, bending to brush his lips across mine. “And what do you see now?”
“I see you.” I tug at the hem of his shirt, urging him to take it off. “And I’d like to see a whole lot more of you, if you don’t mind.”
He kisses me again, slow and deep. And then, without another word, he pulls his shirt over his head, baring the full inscription of his tattoo. I outline it with my fingers, marveling at the connection to his heritage that he felt compelled to ink on his skin, even when he didn’t know why he was doing it. At the hundreds of threads that brought us together, the impossibility of our connection. At how so much grief and loss has culminated in this: a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
As his hands rove over my body, as item after item of our clothing falls to the floor beside the bed, as I learn the places that make him moan and he does the same for me, our future unfurls behind my eyes. I see us starting our own company, with Donovan doing the programming and me doing the graphic design. I see the Blood Witches getting their comeuppance from both the High Priestess and the justice system. In my mind’s eye, I see us sitting down for dinner with Charlotte, Jess, Emma, and Sophie, Donovan laughing as Charlotte tells the story of text spreadsheets nigh. I see myself starting a support service for those, like me, who were forced to lose or hide their gifts due to the Blood Witches’ schemes. I see Julia, sitting across from me in Brew Box, telling me she’s a witch, and her actual job is to work with women and children all over the world who have been the victims of magical crimes. That she’s been looking out for me, ever since she graduated, trying to keep me safe. I see me joining the Coven, learning how to use my abilities, and Donovan putting up with #donorune #ronovan #steamyinthesprings posts even though they drive him around the bend. And that’s just the start.
There’s so much waiting for us. So much for us to look forward to.
But first, there’s this. And I don’t want to wait anymore.
“Donovan,” I beg, knotting my fingers in his dark hair. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He rears up, over me, then bites his lip. “I don’t have?—”
“Don’t worry. We’re both clean. And it doesn’t happen this time,” I say, arching against him. “What happens is that we absolutely fucking sizzle together. Like, off-the-charts chemistry. You should probably come up with an algorithm just to analyze it, because holy hell is it hot.”
“Oh, yeah?” He slides one hand beneath me, angling my hips. “I don’t think I needed to see the future to know that.”
I revel in the feeling of being believed. Of the caress of his breath on my skin and the way his free hand tightens on the sheet as he pushes that first hot, velvet inch inside me. “What if,” I say, breathless, “I told you we elope to a tiny island somewhere and get married? You tend bar on the beach and I spend every morning doing goat yoga and our six kids surf from dawn to dusk.”
That crooked grin lifts his lips as he fills me, as I gasp and set my nails into his back and he begins to move. “If you told me all that,” he whispers against my neck, “I’d say I’ve got a lot of work to do. Because the only drink I know how to make is a martini.”
I’m losing track of my ability to form a coherent thought. But I started this, and so I have to finish it. “Is…is that all you’d say?”
He does something with his hips that he should probably patent. “Nope. I don’t really know how to surf either, so if all six of our kids are gonna be doing it, I should probably learn.”
I’m panting now as he drives me higher and higher, the world a kaleidoscope of color behind my eyes. “Is…is that it?”
“No. But I’m done talking.” Slipping a talented hand between us, he pushes me over the edge. And then he shows me just how right my premonitions were.
After, when we’re curled up together, with Valentine at our feet and the sun beginning to creep over the horizon, he whispers against my skin, “I’m more of a mountain guy than a beach guy, and goats kinda freak me out. But I’d go just about anywhere for you. So if you told me all that, I’d have a little meltdown. And then I’d say… Okay, Chaos.”
THE END