Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When he tries to pull back, I cling to his neck like a greedy child.
“I can’t do this,” he says, looking away.
He can’t, but he wants to. I can feel his every thought and impulse.
I nudge him by the jaw. “I won’t shut down again, I promise.”
With wild eyes, he searches my face.
My heart knocks against my ribs, even though I’m not breathing.
At last, he growls, “Come here.” His powerful hands lift and turn me until I’m straddling his lap like I was in his car. Only now there’s room, so much more room. And a bed, a floor, whatever he wants.
Anything to feel him close to me.
He breathes my name and captures my mouth, one hand tangled in my hair and the other gripping my backside.
From some distant corner of my mind, like an echo in a vast cavern, a voice warns, He can’t be yours. As soon as the search is over, he’ll be gone. Forever.
Determined to ignore it, I run my hands up his back, pushing up his shirt. He pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.
He could leave as early as tomorrow.
An ache tears through my chest, and my nails sink into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shake my head. I have tonight, I tell the voice. You can’t take away tonight.
When I try to kiss him again, he takes hold of my chin. “Betts. What’s wrong?”
Damn him. How dare he look up at me with those beautiful eyes? How dare he send me wave after wave of sincere concern? Just let me be reckless. Let me break my own heart.
“Betts—” He traces my cheek.
I choke out, “You’re leaving.”
His thick brows dip. “What?”
“Tomorrow, the next day, whenever,” I whisper-wail. “As soon as we find the bracelet, you’ll be gone.”
“What? No.” Understanding softens his features. “No. Betts—” He sweeps my hair from face.
Tears clog my throat. “You have to go back.”
“Yes, I do,” he sighs. “But not forever.”
“I don’t want you to go,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
Ever.
“A chroí,” he breathes, stilling my head and holding my gaze. “I’m not going to leave you. I’ll come back.”
“B… but you can’t—”
Fire blazes in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out.”
“You can’t break the rules.”
The heat of his determination fills the small space between us. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving you.” With a forceful kiss, he seals his promise.
I grab fistfuls of his hair, trapping his mouth against mine. Because, if he doesn’t care, then neither do I. At least not tonight.
You can’t take away tonight.
“I want this off,” he orders, lifting the hem of my sweater.
Obediently, I raise my arms.
Shirts discarded, he pulls me to him, holding me skin to skin and trailing his lips down my neck.
When I roll my hips, he grabs them, not to still them but to push, to make sure I feel every hard inch of him.
Eyes burning and jaw tight, he looks up at me, watches me, until the pleasure and tension are too much and I shudder.
Behind my back, his fingers battle my stubborn bra hook. “The fae don’t wear these,” he snarls, tugging the straps off my shoulders and yanking the whole contraption down to my waist.
Collecting my wits, I undo the hook myself and set my arms free, gripping him by the shoulders as he snakes his hand into the back of my hair and pulls, bending my neck back and arching my chest forward.
His teeth scrape the swell of my breast, his hot tongue following behind to soothe my tender skin.
He sucks hard. Bites. And my core throbs.
He’s different. Wilder. More unleashed.
More fae.
One arm around my waist and the other under my thighs, he commands, “Hold on to me.” I lock my ankles behind his back and wrap my arms around his neck. Without the slightest wobble or stagger, he rises.
It’s two steps to the bed and an easy four-foot fall.
The second my back hits the mattress, he pops open the button on my jeans.
I lift my hips and wiggle, helping him free my legs.
No stupid steering wheel cutting into my back, no bitter cold seeping into my skin.
Only a soft mattress beneath me, and Leo’s warm body above me.
He hooks his fingers into my panties and pulls down, carelessly winding them into a tight coil. They fall to his feet, soon to be joined by his jeans and boxers. When he bends down to kiss me, I draw up my legs, shivering as his hipbones press against the insides of my thighs.
“Now. Please,” I beg. We’ve already wasted too much time.
All those hours we endured together, fighting the pull of desire—in church, fighting in his car, making sandwiches and arguing about guns.
And for what? Because we were afraid? I have no patience for my own uncertainty anymore. It’s now and only now. “Leo, please.”
He slips two fingers inside me, a promise that has me warm and whimpering, and him swearing to the gods. I’m more than ready.
Perching on one hand, he reaches over me for his nightstand drawer. My ears pick up a rustling sound, then I hear tearing.
“Do this for me?” he murmurs, holding a condom between his thumb and forefinger.
Do this for me. Just like our first time, before I knew what he was, before I understood. But tonight he doesn’t need my help; he wants it. He sits back on his heels and braces his hands on his hips, the muscles in his stomach flexing with each heavy breath.
He’s beautiful. Perfect. Through his lashes, he watches my face, not my hands, as I roll the condom on him. I grow hot under his gaze, tempted—but too desperate—to take my time.
His voice is heavy and thick, hungry and low, “Thank you.”
I drop onto my back again, waiting impatiently as he hovers above me and nudges my thighs apart with his. He’s mine. My Leo. I brush his hair from his face and peer up into his eyes for just one second. Just long enough to remind me that this is real.
Our lips meet as he pushes inside me, stretching me and filling me with heat.
“Oh gods,” he groans, shuddering as I arch to take him all the way in. He straightens his arms, thrusting harder and deeper, his biceps bulging and his jaw muscles flickering as he fights to maintain control.
I wind tighter, clutching the blanket, his hair, his skin. Grasping for more. Then suddenly, he’s gone. I can’t reach him, can’t feel him inside me. Empty and aching, I grope for him, a sob building in my throat. Strong hands grab my hips and tug, and my eyes flash open.
He stands at the edge of the bed, between my legs, his arms hooked under my thighs. A growl rumbles deep in his chest as he sinks back inside me, holding my gaze. I gasp and arch at the shockwave of pleasure. Emotions flood me. His, mine, every emotion anyone has ever felt. It’s too much.
I cry his name, and right away he bends close, his hands cradling my head and his lips brushing mine. “Will you trust me?”
I shake my head, not to say no, but because I don’t understand.
“Let me make it better.”
“Better?” It’s already so good. Too good. Too much everything. I’m about to come, but I can’t.
“Trust me,” he whispers, his thumbs caressing my jaw. “Please.”
I nod, although I don’t know what I’m agreeing to.
From his hands comes a rush of warmth, smooth like milk as it courses through me. Steadily, my tense muscles let go, and my thoughts settle into a puddle, still and deep.
He’s calming me.
“I won’t hurt you, Betts,” he promises. “Never again.”
I grab him by the hair, bringing his mouth down to mine and letting the pleasure rebuild. His pace is even, but his thrusts are demanding. Forceful. And, oh god, they have my legs shaking and my nails raking trails down his back.
He takes each of my hands in turn and holds them above my head, pushing them into the mattress as he straightens his arms. I’m vulnerable, completely at his mercy, and I’m okay with that. More than okay.
The new angle has us both breathing hard and fast. I look up into his eyes, surprised to find them so focused.
He loves this, the way I’m trusting him.
He drops his head, taking in the sight of my whole body stretched out underneath his.
And when his eyes find mine again, they’re hooded and the color of molten gold.
He lets go of one hand to take hold of my face. “A chroí.”
“My heart,” I whisper back. A translation or a reciprocation?
His eyes widen for a beat before he kisses me, before his hand leaves my face to slide down my belly.
When I realize what he’s about to do, I gasp.
He hums in reply. He has to know no one’s done this to me before.
I’m sure it’s obvious by the way I’m shaking as I tilt up my hips, welcoming his hand between my legs.
With skilled fingers, he strokes me in time with his thrusts, coaxing me higher.
I whimper, my muscles clenching. “Leo—”
“Let go,” he urges. “Go ahead.”
I break with a cry, heat and pleasure exploding from my core, and my back arching off the bed. I hear Leo growl while my body wracks, feel his fingers still working, even while he comes. He doesn’t stop until we’re both gasping for breath and the last wave curls my spine.
Trembling, we collapse onto the mattress, his body covering mine and our hearts slamming in our chests.
What in god’s name just happened? We were supposed to be working on my power and now here I am, limp and shuddering in Leo’s arms after the best orgasm of my life.
He rolls onto his side, taking me with him, and sweeps my hair from my hot face. I feel his ribs contract as he lets out a long exhale, feel the backs of his fingers as he traces my cheek.
Eyes searching mine, he breathes, “You know what it means.”
“What what means?”
“A chroí.”
I nod. “‘My heart.’ And a chuisle mo chroí means ‘pulse of my heart,’ right?” I don’t tell him I googled the pronunciation.
“How did you know?”
“Rime.”
When his jaw clenches, I quickly add, “Remember when we went to Bingo and he was supposed to be my Irish boyfriend? When he said it, I remembered hearing it. From you when—well—you know—”
“And he told you what it means?”
“No, one of the old ladies at our table did. She said it’s engraved in her wedding ring.”
“Her wedding ring?” He’s calmer now, toying with a lock of my hair that’s fallen over my shoulder.
“Yeah. It makes sense, actually.” He watches as I open his left hand, palm up.
“Apparently people used to believe that there was a vein here—” with the tip of a fingernail, I draw a line from his ring to his wrist, “—that runs directly to the heart. That’s why we wear our wedding bands on this finger. ”
I trace the vein’s trail again, this time further up the inside of his arm. He shivers and exhales, snatching my hand and bringing it to his lips.
“You’re the pulse of my heart, Betts. I can’t live without you.” He presses my palm to his chest. “I’m not going to leave you.”
His heart thumps against my hand, slow and strong. But when I kiss him, it picks up its pace. My eyes sting and a hollowness swells between my ribs.
What if he doesn’t have a choice?
“Rime’s going to be furious,” I say.
“I told you, let me worry about Rime.”
I burrow in closer. “I’m sure he heard us.” Truth be told, I’m surprised he isn’t pounding on Leo’s door.
“He didn’t,” Leo says. “I put up a sound shield.”
I jerk up onto my elbow. “A what?”
Wearing a crooked smile, he holds up a hand and brushes his thumb across his fingers. “A sound shield. It’s a type of glamour. Sound can get in, but nothing comes out.”
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. “That’s why no one was staring at us when you and Zander were fighting in the library.”
Leo shrugs. “They might’ve thought we were acting a little strange, but since they couldn’t hear us, they lost interest.”
Unwelcome memories come racing back. All the accusations Zander threw at Leo. You a senior? Junior? Grad student, maybe? Because I couldn’t find you registered here at Brownhill. He was right, and yet so wrong.
“I know,” Leo says softly, somehow reading my mind. “And I’m sorry. For every single lie.”
I shake my head. “I’m not angry anymore.” Because if I’d listened to Zander, if I’d held onto the resentment, I wouldn’t be here right now.
“And you trust me?”
I kiss him. “Yes.”
He tips onto his back, pulls me on top of him, and kisses me harder.
I rest my hands on his chest. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“How old are you?” Because if he’s not a college senior, then he isn’t necessarily twenty-one.
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four?” I raise up on my hands to look into his dark eyes. “But that’s like, what, twenty or twenty-one in faerie years, right?”
Chuckling, he tucks my hair behind my ears. “It doesn’t work that way. We’re not like cats. We age at the same rate you do, we just survive old age longer.”
“Oh.”
“Does twenty-four seem old to you?”
“A little, maybe?” Maybe not. Zander is twenty-two. “How old are Rime and Topaz?”
“They’re both twenty-six.”
“Now that is old,” I say, smothering a giggle.
Leo laughs and seizes me by the ribs. Next thing I know, he’s flipped me onto my back. “You think I’m an old man, huh?”
“No, I think you’re an old faerie.”
I’m braced for him to tickle me, but he doesn’t. He kisses me. Deeply. I reach up to hold the hair back from his eyes. “You’re not old at all,” I say, more to myself than to him. “You’re young. Too young. All three of you.”
Too young to have the fate of an entire realm in their hands.
Catching my meaning, he replies, “We’re strong and healthy. We don’t have children at home or anyone who depends on us. We can be spared.”
Spared.
A lump settles in my throat, so thick I can barely swallow.
It’s a struggle not to cling to him when he rises from the bed and ducks into the bathroom.
Thank goodness it’s en suite. I picture Rime sitting on the couch under the cold light of a lamp, waiting up like a parent whose teen is trying to sneak in after curfew.
I’m half dressed when Leo returns.
“What are you doing?” he asks, frowning.
“Going out to sleep on the couch.” I pull my sweater over my head.
“No—” Leo yanks it off before I can get my arms into the sleeves. “You’re not.”
“But—”
He shakes his head as he backs me toward the bed. “Rime is my problem, not yours. I want you—no, I need you—to stay with me.” He pulls me in close. “Betts, please.”
I nod and sag against him.