Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Shock overtakes me at first—the cold, disorienting rush that comes after finally diving in. A feeling of falling in place, of tumbling, of not knowing which way is up.
It passes quickly.
I throw my arms around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss.
He moans against my mouth and picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist and shoving me against the nearest wall, pinning me to it with dizzying strength.
Heat and desire overwhelm me and I feel like I’m floating and I never, ever want to come down from this high.
I’m dazed when he tears his mouth from mine with obvious effort.
“I don’t want to pretend with you anymore,” he rasps. “I can’t. If you don’t want—”
“I’m not pretending,” I reply, just as breathlessly.
I don’t realize it until I say it out loud, but it’s the truth. I’m tired of trying to fool myself. I still don’t fully trust this feeling growing between us, but I want to.
Desperately.
He studies me for a moment, as if to make sure I’m not lying. Whatever he sees must convince him, because he doesn’t waste another second before carrying me to his bed, laying me against the mountain of pillows at the headboard.
He crawls in after me, caging me underneath him and lowering his lips to mine.
The kisses come slowly at first. Tantalizing little tastes, each soft brush sending another jolt of electricity twisting through me.
But it turns quickly to devouring—to a messy tangling of tongues as I take his face in my hands and press my legs against him, holding him in as tightly as he’s holding me down until we’re a single, breathless creature with no clear beginning or end, each of us trying to kiss the other one harder.
Minutes pass before we come up for air.
Heart pounding, I settle back into the pillows, closing my eyes and catching my breath.
He leans in, sinking against me until our bodies are touching in more places than not.
My thigh rests between his legs, feeling the hard, thick length of him as it throbs, each twitch of movement sending another delicious shiver cascading through me.
He’s not resting fully on me, but it still creates a heady feeling of being trapped, yet safe and warm, under his weight.
A little smile crosses my lips. “This certainly feels like an attempt to conquer and claim me.”
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in for a moment before answering. “I only have so much restraint, it turns out. Trust me, though, when I tell you I’m using all that I possess at the moment.”
“So am I,” I say.
It’s more of a quiet confession to myself than to him, but his lips press against the pulse of my throat in response. The fluttering gasp I exhale is involuntary.
He lifts his gaze to my face again. It stays there even as his mouth moves to the swell of my breasts, teasing the hardened peaks through the fabric of the shirt he gave me; even as he kisses lower, pausing just beneath my navel while his hands smooth over my hips and take a possessive, commanding grip on the backs of my thighs.
Every touch, every taste, every move he makes…he watches my reaction to it all with an intensity that only heightens those reactions.
I twist and tremble with want, with anticipation, with need, and his eyes shine with a mixture of lust and teasing mischief as he dips his head even lower, finding the bare stretch of skin just beneath the hem of my shirt. His fingers flirt with the edge of the fabric as he continues to kiss me.
My back arches. One of his hands slides under it, pulling my aching center tantalizingly close to his mouth—then he seems to catch himself. He lets out another soft curse, but instead of giving in to the hunger between us, this time he merely rests his head against me and goes still.
“This…is probably not a good idea,” he says.
“Yet another thing we disagree on,” I breathe.
He laughs softly. The sound only arouses me further; I can’t remember the last time I was this close to losing myself over a man.
“I don’t want to do something we end up regretting,” he says, planting one last lingering kiss against the inside of my thigh before pulling away.
I force myself to take a deep, rational breath. “I’m protected, if that’s what you’re worried about. Silphane root. I never miss a dose.”
“It isn’t that. Though that’s good to know.” His eyes glaze over in thought for a moment before he slides an arm around my waist, hooking and pulling me with him as he rolls onto his side.
We end up facing one another, no longer touching—save for the arm he keeps around me—but we’re still too close for me to think straight.
“Was this the torture you had planned for me all along, when you first dragged me back to your city?” I mumble. “Making me want you, only so you could ultimately deny me? This was a long, cruel game you’ve been playing, if so, and you’re even more of a maniacal bastard than I gave you credit for.”
“I assure you none of this was planned. And you have effectively shattered every plan I had regarding you, anyway.”
“Why are you torturing me, then?”
He’s quiet for another long moment. “Earlier, you asked about the magic you felt in my office. There’s something else you should know about it.”
“What’s that?”
“That strong emotions can sometimes trigger it against my will. And what happened earlier…I wasn’t entirely in control of that.
After everything that’s happened tonight, and then…
it was what Selwick said, about our enemies violently targeting you.
” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as if he’s still fighting for control, even now.
“The thought of anyone taking you away from me, it…did something to me.” Another deep breath.
“You do something to me. Something I’ve never really dealt with before. ”
My heart is suddenly pounding so fiercely I can’t hear my own thoughts over it, making it hard to form a coherent response.
“And until I get a better hold on this,” he says, “it’s probably safer if we take it slow. At least for tonight. Because I’m not certain I could hold off the more beastly, unpredictable parts of myself.”
I try to nod—to show him I understand—but I don’t think I actually make any noticeable movement. My heart is still entirely too loud, my head spinning from his latest confession.
You do something to me.
“Look at me,” he whispers, and I force myself to, though I’m not sure meeting his eyes is any safer—it certainly does nothing to douse the desire burning its way through my core.
“I want to savor you the first time, anyway,” he continues. “Earn you. There will be other nights to abandon all restraint, if that’s what you want.”
I swallow hard at the thought. “Bold of you to assume there will be other nights.”
“I’d be willing to bet on it.”
Another ribbon of heat curls through me. “You can’t be certain.”
“But I am.” He leans in, letting his lips brush against my ear with the words, and it’s all I can do to not climb on top of him and abandon every rational thought I have left.
So, yes.
He makes a valid point.
And he knows he does, judging by the small smirk that flashes across his face.
“Insufferable man,” I mutter.
“Unbearable woman,” he replies, and then he’s kissing me again—softer, more restrained than before, but I’m so close to the edge that it feels like torture just the same.
“You have to stop kissing me if you’re not planning on doing this fully,” I complain. “It’s cruel. It’s…” I trail off, biting my lip, still unwilling to admit—at least out loud—how badly I want him.
“Well, I do have a reputation for cruelty,” he says, his thumb tracing the spot I was just biting.
“Yes. You do.”
His fingers move away from my mouth and sweep lower, curling around my throat. His grip is light, but I can feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the urge he’s fighting to take a more possessive, claiming hold on me, consequences be damned.
I understand his hesitation.
His reasoning.
It doesn’t make me want him any less.
He must see that want blazing in my expression, because he shakes his head as if trying to convince himself not to give in to it.
“And yet, I can’t seem to make myself be cruel to you,” he murmurs. “Never to you.”
“Your very touch is cruel,” I inform him in between uneven attempts at breathing.
“I doubt you’ll think so once I’ve finished with you.”
“Finished?”
“Mm.”
“But you said—”
“That I don’t trust myself. So, we’ll have to focus only on you.”
Before I can utter even a syllable of a reply, he’s rearranged us both, sitting up and leaning against the headboard with my back against his chest.
His hand brackets my throat once more, tilting my ear closer to his mouth as he whispers, “Spread your legs for me.”
The words leave me too stunned to move at first.
“Do as you’re told,” he says. “Just this once.” He punctuates the command with a sharp nip on my earlobe, and my reaction is automatic—my thighs parting, every inch of me opening, suddenly willing to let him in.
“That’s my girl,” he praises. “Now, relax.”
Relax is not the first word that comes to mind as his other hand slides between my legs.
How can I relax when his touch is so thrilling, so perfect, so completely unlike anything I ever expected from him?
I didn’t expect him to take his time tracing every inch of sensitive skin he can, to be so completely captivated by my body and what he’s doing to it. It’s impossible to settle myself under the obvious, undeniable obsession he has with me in this moment.
I still close my eyes and try my best.
I don’t relax, but before long, I do manage to melt against him, to trust his hand to orchestrate a building symphony of pleasure, focusing only on his touch as it slips underneath the thin undergarment I wear—the last barrier between his fingertips and the full, obvious state of my arousal.