THIRTY #4
There’s nothing gentle about the kiss. Only hunger and relief and the sweet edge of finally giving in. His hands grip my hips, shoving aside my skirt as he lifts me off the floor. His jacket hits the ground behind us, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of all the clothing that we’re still wearing.
My hands slide to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling to unfasten them, needing to feel his skin on mine, needing nothing left between our bodies, between our souls.
He smirks against my lips. “Can I take you to bed before you start ripping off my clothes?”
“Only if you’re quick about it.” I tug his lower lip between my teeth, earning a growl.
Bishop hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, our mouths crushing together as he starts up the back staircase.
Every step makes it harder to breathe. Like my body knows what’s coming and is already begging for it.
We only make it a few more before he pivots and we slam into the wall.
He plants his knee between my thighs, pinning me in place as his tongue works deeper into my mouth.
His hands are everywhere. Skimming over my breasts, pushing my skirt to my waist, shoving aside the scrap of lace that’s a barrier to what he really wants.
He brushes a finger along my swollen sex, snarling with approval at the wetness he finds.
“This …” He pushes the finger inside me, and I nearly arch off the wall as pleasure bolts through me. “This is all I want for Twelvetide.”
That’s a request I’ll happily accommodate.
I choke back a moan as he continues to pump that single finger.
“What happened to going upstairs before we started ripping clothes off?” I tease breathlessly.
Bishop starts to draw away like he’s going to comply. But who needs a fucking bed? I hook my arms around his neck and drag him back to me, unable to wait a minute longer. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Smart man.
He reaches between us, swiftly unbuckling his belt, then his trousers, and a tiny whimper escapes me as he strokes his newly freed cock.
One arm circles my waist, hoisting me just high enough to bring us together.
He slides inside me, and everything else falls away.
His hips rock hard and fast. I lock my ankles around his waist and just enjoy the ride.
“Next time,” he grunts, “we’ll take our time.”
I’m not sure if it’s a promise to me or himself, but just the idea of Bishop taking his time makes my muscles clamp around him.
“Void, Arden,” he grits out. “Warn a man before you try to kill him.”
But seeing him wild like this? Knowing I can push him past the point of control?
I need more.
A smile lifts the corners of my mouth. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I squeeze my core again, and a low growl rumbles from his throat. Shivers dance across my skin as he picks up speed, each thrust more urgent, as if it might be the last thing he does. Like he’d spend his final breath right here, inside me.
My back pounds against the wall, and plaster dust showers us. Bishop moves a hand to cradle the back of my head.
“Don’t. Fucking. Stop.” I gasp each word as he stokes the heat building inside me, already close to the edge.
“Never,” he promises, driving harder.
And I will never get enough of this. Of him.
My hands unwind from his shoulders, and I slam my palms against the wall behind me, using the hard surface to gain leverage, meeting each of his strokes with my own unbridled abandon.
“More,” I beg as fire ignites in my blood.
He clutches the back of my head, his fingers digging into my ass, as he finally loses the last shred of his control.
His jaw clenches, his expression stripped raw, that relentless hunger blowing out his pupils until there’s nothing left but darkness.
The sight sucks the air from my lungs and pulls me under with him, something deep in my chest unfurling in answer as we both come undone.
The last shudders of climax tremble through me as I drop my head onto his shoulder and laugh softly. “One day, we might actually make it to a bedroom.”
He chuckles and carefully sets me down on the stairs.
“I love a challenge,” he warns, smile widening in a way that makes my chest ache. He rights his clothes, glancing to the dark landing below. “There’s still the kitchen table and the—”
“Bishop!” A shout from the other side of the wall interrupts us, and we startle apart. “Are you there, man?”
Bishop shoots me an apologetic look, then starts reluctantly down the steps. My heart crashes into my ribs like it’s lodging a complaint, and I quickly smooth my dress into place before I follow. But I freeze when I catch something dark on the wall out of the corner of my eye.
As I turn toward it, a chill crawls down my spine.
Two blackened handprints scar the plaster, faint but unmistakable. Exactly where mine were.
No. It can’t be.
I grab my skirt and scrub at them. They come off like ash being dusted from a hearth as Taliesin skids around the corner, his eyes widening at our current condition.
“Can it wait?” Bishop barks, a hint of urgency lacing his words.
But Taliesin grimaces as he shakes his head. “No, it can’t,” he says, and something in his voice makes my heart stop for a beat. “I think Shea’s been poisoned.”