Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Briony
Thorne collapses down on top of me, his weight pinning me to the bed, his breath panting, and his shadows free from his grasp and spiraling all over my body and every inch of my skin.
They’ve touched me before, crept close to me, but never ventured this close, never touched me like this.
The sensation is a mixture of pleasure and pain, somewhere caught between a burn and a caress.
And I like it. I like it a lot.
Especially when those shadows explore every part of me, gliding all over me, drowning me in their embrace, and then coalescing between my legs.
Thorne’s cock is still buried deep inside me.
I’m sticky with his come, but his shadows find their way to my clit, and as they brush over me, I cry out.
They’re hovering there, playing against me, and I’m rushing up toward another release.
“Oh stars,” I cry out as I come a second time, clinging to Thorne and lost in this strange sensation.
When the last aftershock of pleasure has ricocheted through my body, his shadows linger for a moment more and then race away back inside Thorne.
I open my eyes and stare up into his dark gaze.
There’s a little apprehension lingering on his brow, a little nervousness about the set of his mouth.
I massage the back of his neck and kiss his lips – slowly, sloppily, lazily.
When I break away, he still looks a little unsure.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him, frowning myself now.
“Did you … was that …”
“Thorne,” I tell him. “It was so good. So, so good.” I lay my hand against his rough cheek. “How was it for you?” I bite my lip. I know someone’s first time can be a bit weird – disappointing even when you’ve built it up or been waiting quite as long as Thorne has.
“Briony. That was incredible, utterly incredible. But for you?” He doesn’t look like he believes me.
“It was utterly incredible as well.”
I kiss him again. And then we lie there, still clinging to one another, my legs wrapped around him and his flaccid cock still inside me. He’s big and heavy, pressing me deep into the mattress, but I love the feel of his body against mine.
“Do you like it that way then?” he asks me after I’ve kissed him again. “I know for some girls, they don’t like it.”
I lift a quizzical eyebrow at him.
“And how exactly do you know that?” I ask.
“Dray,” he tells me.
I giggle. “You talk about this stuff?”
“Have you met Dray? All he does is talk about you and pleasuring you.”
“I’m probably wired all wrong,” I tell him, “but I like it that way. I like it other ways too.”
“Like how?” he asks me. And I could be wrong, but I swear his cock is already stirring inside me. This conversation is turning him on.
“I like being on top,” I say. “In fact, I’d really like to ride your cock, Thorne.” He growls. “But I also like it on my hands and knees. I like it against the wall. I like it bent over the bed or a desk. Thorne, I think I’d do it any way you wanted – even if you asked me to stand on my head.”
He laughs. “Did I tell you you were incredible?”
“You mentioned it,” I say. “But you know… you can tell me again. I don’t mind.”
I reach out and stroke my fingers down his beautiful face, and it’s as I do that I spot it in the twinkling, flickering candlelight of his room: marks across my wrists.
I gasp.
“Thorne?” I say. “Look!”
He rolls off me, lies down by my side, and cradles my wrist in his hands.
We both stare at the dark patterns that dance across my wrists, lit up by the orange light of the candles.
I lift my other arm and it’s the same. The marks are there too.
They weren’t there moments ago, and they’re so dark, like the ink that stains Dray’s body.
Thorne lifts his arms so his wrists hover alongside mine, and the patterns are the same. Identical.
I’m always looking at the marks on these men’s wrists. Yet I’d never been able to make sense of them before. I thought they were erratic, nonsensical, random.
Now I see something in the patterns. In the dim light, I think I understand what they are.
Flames of light and swirls of shadow mixing together, intertwining, connected in a way that makes it impossible to determine where one starts and one ends. And it makes perfect sense to me. It describes the five of us so perfectly. This is what we are. Light and shadow combined.
I’d happily stay in bed with Thorne for the rest of the next morning, the afternoon, and all the way through to the next night too. But I’m guessing the others have other plans, because we’re rudely awakened by a fist hammering on the door as morning light creeps into the room.
“You lovebirds up yet?” Dray calls through the door.
“What time is it?” I groan. Automatically, I squirm, finding myself encased in Thorne’s warm embrace, a very welcome hard cock nudging at my backside – one I would definitely be taking advantage of if I could.
“It’s already 9 a.m.,” he says. “And we’ve been waiting for you for hours now.”
“Seriously?” I say skeptically, as Thorne nuzzles my neck, ignoring his bond brother altogether.
“Seriously. We have visitors. So enough – whatever the hell you’re doing in there. What are you doing in there?”
“None of your business,” I call out.
“Oh yeah,” he says with eagerness.
“Yes,” I repeat, “none of your business.”
“Well, whatever. We’ve got visitors and they’ve been waiting fucking ages. So untangle yourself from Thorne Cadieux,” Dray says. “Put some damn clothes on, Little Kitten, and come downstairs.” I groan. “You want me to send Beaufort up here?” Dray threatens.
“No,” I mutter.
“I’m giving you five minutes,” he warns, and then I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway.
I spin in Thorne’s arms.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he responds.
“I really don’t want to get up.”
“No,” he says, kissing me, and for a moment, we both forget Dray’s warning.
But then there’s a yell from down the stairs.
“I’m serious, guys. Get the fuck up!”
“I really hate him sometimes,” Thorne mutters.
“No you don’t,” I say. “You love him. Just like you love me.”
I kiss the end of his nose, and then – with a lot of reluctance and a lot of self-will – I force myself from his arms and out of the bed.
I’m still sticky from last night, but I don’t exactly have time for a shower, so I find my abandoned clothes from yesterday and dress, forcing one of Thorne’s giant sweaters over my head in the hope it will disguise the fact I haven’t changed my clothes from last night.
And then I hesitate.
Thorne is still in his bed, laid out on his back, arms tucked behind his head, looking the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him, and it is so severely tempting to slip back into bed with him, climb onto him, and take advantage of that hard cock.
But we have a situation, and people are counting on me. Sometimes my life seriously sucks.
Instead, I pad back over, kiss him one more time, then head toward the door.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
“In a moment,” he says.
I blow him one last kiss and set off downstairs, hearing many voices in the kitchen and wondering who exactly these visitors are.
When I step inside, I find everyone sitting around the kitchen table – Beaufort, Dray, the Professor, but also Fly, perched on the lap of the redhead, Clare, Damien, Naomi (Esme Jones’s girlfriend), and two of her friends.
“Finally!” Dray says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I know they say once you pop, you can’t stop, but you’ve been fucking that—”
I give my shifter mate a hard stare. He grins at me but shuts his mouth.
“Good morning, everyone,” I say, feeling all their eyes on me and feeling incredibly self-conscious.
Not only because Dray has now announced to everyone gathered what I’ve been up to for the last few hours, but also because everyone is still expecting me to come up with all the answers – and I’m not sure I have any to give.
I take a seat at the table, and Beaufort slides me a plate full of toast and a hot cup of coffee.
Fly is definitely looking recovered from his ordeal yesterday. In fact, he looks the happiest I may have ever seen him – seriously loved-up, and if the flush on his cheeks is anything to go by, I’m betting he spent his last few hours in a similar manner to me.
I take a big gulp of the coffee as Clare says, “Naomi wanted to speak to you, Briony.”
I smile at her and she manages a little smile of her own.
“How are you doing?” I say to her, sympathetically. The death of her girlfriend is still so recent and I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for her.
“How am I doing?” she says, with a shake of her head. “Surely I should be asking you that!”
“Yeah,” I admit, “it’s been a lot.”
Naomi mirrors my sympathetic smile. “These are my friends; Mark and Sonya. I hope you don’t mind me bringing them along.”
“Of course not,” I say.
“We came for moral support,” the boy called Mark adds.
“Oh.” I snap a piece of toast in half. “Am I that scary then?”
“You have a dragon,” Fly says. “You did that…” he waves his hand in the air, “impressive thing yesterday. And your boyfriend?” He thumbs in Dray’s direction.
We all swing our gaze to find Dray – the same man who ripped out the throat of Silas Sterling yesterday. He’s mid-bite of a piece of toast that’s overflowing with red sticky jam.
“Yeah, you’re freaking terrifying, Cupcake,” Fly concludes.
I stick my tongue out at him and return my attention to Naomi.
“Was there something in particular you wanted to talk to me about?”
Naomi glances at her two friends, who nod eagerly at her, clearly encouraging her to go on. She swallows, fiddles with the cuffs of her sleeves, and then says:
“It’s about Esme.”
“What about Esme?” I ask, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling, as if I sense what’s coming next.
“I think… she may have had powers. Powers similar to yours. I don’t know for sure, and maybe I’m imagining things or …” She trails off, clearly doubting herself.
“Tell her, Naomi,” the boy says again.