Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
ALBIE
We sat at the small, round table in the suite with the remains of an excellent meal spread before us.
Late morning sun poured through the window, warming the already comfortable room.
Our new clothes hung in the armoire. The humans who worked in the hotel had brought dresses for Portia and dark suits for Tavish and me.
It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade them to accept my thanks as payment instead of coin.
The bathing chamber, which Portia called a “bathroom,” had been an extraordinary experience. Hot water flowed from a pump and filled the tub in minutes. No hauling buckets. No waiting for water to heat over a fire. Just twist a valve, and steaming water appeared.
We’d each taken a turn, then I’d helped Portia comb the tangles from her wet hair. The moment I finished, Tavish plopped into the nearest chair and presented his back.
“Now do me.”
Laughing, I’d obliged him, combing his long, dark waves under Portia’s watchful stare. Her lips had parted slightly, and her breathing had gone shallow. I might have lingered over the task longer than strictly necessary, plying the comb slowly while she tracked every movement.
Aye, my female liked to watch. She’d proven that already.
I shifted in my seat now, my cock stirring under my dressing gown. Tavish wore a matching garment, the soft, thick fabric lined with silk. Portia’s cream-colored dressing gown was thinner and more feminine, the lapels framing a matching nightgown tied with a thin blue bow.
Gods, that bow.
It sat just above her breasts, the pretty loops begging to be untied. One tug, and the whole thing would come undone. Those loops had tormented me since the moment she’d emerged from the bathroom blotting the ends of her hair with a fluffy white towel.
“The food was decent,” Tavish said, pushing away his empty plate.
I hid a smile. The food had been amazing, the bread soft as a sigh and the potatoes and chicken accompanied by rich sauces that tasted of herbs and wine. But Tavish would never admit another cook could match him.
“Just decent?” Portia asked, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Aye.” Tavish leaned back in his chair, his dressing gown gaping to show his tattoos. “Better than going hungry.”
“You ate three helpings.” She pointed to her plate. “And half of my chicken.”
“I need my strength.”
She snorted, and her smile warmed me as much as the sun spreading over the table. It was her first real smile since we’d killed the vampire.
As much as I wanted to avoid discussing what came next, none of us could put it off.
“We need to decide if we want to try the chronomancer’s spell again,” I said quietly.
Portia’s smile faded, and she looked toward the bedside table where she’d stashed the velvet bag. “I don’t have a choice. The 1920s are better than medieval England, but I don’t want to live here.”
Tavish poured himself whiskey from a crystal decanter with a stopper crowned with a fat finial. The amber liquid caught the light as it splashed into his glass. “We should get some sleep before we open that bag again,” he said, replacing the stopper.
I nodded. “We’re all tired. And this is a safe place to rest while we can.”
Portia chewed her bottom lip for a second. “Okay. We’ll sleep for a few hours and then try the spell again tonight.” She looked at me. “What if you’re right, and I’m supposed to interfere?”
I pushed my spectacles higher. “That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? If you’re meant to change certain events, how do we determine which ones?”
“And if that’s true,” she said, “why would the chronomancer warn me not to interfere?”
Tavish drained his whiskey, then set down the glass with a scowl. “I’ve never met a witch who liked giving a straight answer to anything.”
He exaggerated, but not by much. Witches were known to meddle purely for the pleasure of watching others struggle with the consequences.
“The problem with interfering,” I said carefully, “is figuring out what, exactly, you’re supposed to interfere with. Messing with the wrong thing is probably just as bad as not interfering at all.”
Portia rubbed her temples. “This is giving me a headache.”
“You’re exhausted,” Tavish said. “You flew through the night.”
“So did you.”
“Aye, but I’m big,” he said with a wink.
Her cheeks turned pink as she reached for her water glass.
Tavish thumped the table gently. “That’s settled, then. We’ll stay here today and get some sleep, then try the spell again once night falls.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Agreed,” Portia echoed softly, replacing her glass. Then she turned to me. “How’s your eye?”
Out of habit, I touched the corner of my spectacles. “It doesn’t pain me at all today.”
Her lips curved, and that damn little bow taunted me. “Good,” she said.
Tavish pushed back his chair and stretched his arms above his head, the knot on his dressing gown working hard to contain him. “Time to sleep.”
We all looked at the bed. It was triple the size of any I’d seen, but it was still just one bed.
Portia poked at a breadcrumb by her plate, the blush in her cheeks deepening. “I don’t know if I can fall asleep in broad daylight.”
“You need to try,” Tavish said. He went to the window and pulled the curtains mostly shut, leaving a narrow gap where sunlight slanted through.
I rose to help Portia from her chair, but she stood and started toward the bed before I could reach her. As I moved to follow, Tavish caught my arm.
“No.”
Confusion gripped me. He’d pushed for a day of rest. Wasn’t that what the three of us had agreed to? Sleep?
He released me and began stacking the plates from our meal. My confusion grew, and I looked at Portia, who’d shed her dressing gown and now sat in the center of the bed with her back against the pillows. She looked as perplexed as I felt.
“The staff will take care of that,” she told Tavish.
He continued piling the plates. “I don’t mind it. Besides, I need this space.” He met my gaze, and the lust and purpose in his eyes turned his irises to midnight blue.
Oh.
My heart sped up, and my dick tightened. Suddenly, I knew what he was about.
Tavish moved all the plates and cutlery to the far edge of the table. He left only the crystal decanter, the whiskey inside glinting in the sun that streamed through the gap in the curtains.
My gaze fixed on the stopper. The finial was large and shaped like a teardrop, the glass smooth and perfectly formed.
Heat crawled up my neck.
Tavish rounded the table and captured my fingers in his.
Blue eyes never leaving mine, he brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, darting his tongue out to wet my skin.
I shivered, and he smiled as he pressed another featherlight kiss to the back of my hand.
Then he released me and fingered the lapel of my dressing gown.
“Take this off.”
My throat went dry. Blood pumped to my shaft, and anticipation rose so thick I almost tasted it. I untied the belt of my dressing gown and let it slide from my shoulders. The heavy material fell to the carpet in a whisper of silk.
Tavish took his time running his eyes down my body, his dark gaze taking in my chest and stomach before settling on my straining shaft. I’d never been shy about nudity. My beast wore nothing but scales, and I slipped between forms so often that clothes were usually an afterthought.
But something about standing nude before my mates—both of them clothed—made me aware of every inch of exposed skin. My thighs. My sack. The cleft of my ass. Even my bare soles pressed into the carpet.
Tavish tilted his head, looking me over like he appraised a horse he might like to buy. “Good,” he murmured, then turned to Portia. “Do you want to watch, lass?”
She nodded, her lips parting. That blue bow at her throat trembled. “Yes. I want to see everything.”
“Everything?” Tavish asked with a wicked grin.
“Everything,” she said, her voice more breath than sound.
Tavish looked at me. “You heard her. Turn around.”
Swallowing, I slowly obeyed.
Portia’s breath hitched behind me. Tavish’s stare prickled down my back. Arousal and humiliation flared under my skin like someone striking flint against steel. I squeezed my hands into fists.
Tavish leaned close, his breath caressing my neck. “You do a fine job pretending. But we both know you’re a whore for this, don’t we?”
My cock jerked, and I bit back a moan.
“Exactly,” Tavish said, humor thick in his voice. He touched my shoulder, then slid his palm down to the small of my back. “Put your hands on the table and lean forward.”
Once again, I obeyed, my pulse quickening as I braced my palms on the wooden surface.
He pressed gently, guiding me down until my chest was flat on the table.
I turned my head and rested my cheek against the wood.
The crystal decanter sat right beside me, its facets catching the sunlight that leaked through the curtains.
The glass sparkled, and the teardrop finial seemed to glow.
The table was warm against my skin, but my nipples pebbled anyway. My cock hung heavy between my legs, twitching with each shallow breath I drew. Behind me, sheets rustled, and I imagined Portia leaning forward to get a better view.
“Spread your legs, sweet Albie,” Tavish said in his dark rumble.
I widened my stance, and the stack of plates clinked softly.
“Wider.”
“Fuck,” I breathed, planting my feet wide. My cheeks parted, and my hole puckered against the cool air. More blood pounded to my shaft. I curled my fists on the table, fighting the urge to rock my hips in a hunt for friction that wasn’t there.
Tavish drew a finger down my cleft. With exquisite gentleness, he traced my sensitive rim. Portia’s small, needy sound drifted from the bed, and I gasped, my hole gasping with me. My poor, aching dick twitched toward my stomach like a dog eager for its master’s attention.
But Tavish didn’t give it any. He stayed right where he was, stroking and rubbing.