26 Imogen #3
Our elation was short-lived. His face crumpled, mouth unhinging. The broad line of his chest surged like he tried to take in a deep breath, but an awful scraping sound rose from his throat instead.
“Imogen. Gods—” His low voice sounded suddenly wizened.
I grabbed his wrists as he tried to scrape at his eyes.
He was so strong, made even stronger by the painful throes of the spell.
A terrible groan rose from his lungs, head tipping fully back, spine arching.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and I scrambled to support him as his body tipped backward.
I cradled his head, my hands cushioning his fall, but the weight of him threw me forward, so I ended up strewn over the top of him.
Still, he tried to gouge at his eyes. The image of Nemea’s eyelids red and dripping with blood had burned itself in my mind.
“Stop, no.” I spoke through my teeth, trying to wrestle his arms down to his sides.
Finally, I managed to pin one beneath my thigh, then the other.
I hung over him, fighting against his struggle, and cupped his face in my hands.
His skin was hot as melted wax and I realized that his power was pouring through him, fighting the effects of the spell.
It didn’t take long for the spell to fade, but all the while I whispered guilt-heavy reassurances against his flushed cheeks. I wiped the tears that streamed from his eyes.
I felt his muscles begin to slacken, and his breaths began to flow in and out, as even as lapping waves. I lessened my pressure on his arms, and he moaned as he adjusted beneath my weight.
“Are you all right?” I asked, looking down at him through the strands of my loose hair.
He closed his eyes and lifted his hands to rest on the outside of my thighs, a look of half rapture, half exhaustion settling over him. “Mmm-hmm.”
“You did it,” I said quickly, setting fast kisses over his chin. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Eyes still closed, he kneaded my hips through my gown. “That’s why you won’t stop, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Magic feels…” He bucked his hips, pressing himself against me, and grunted. “It feels good. When the pain is gone.”
I closed my eyes as his hands rose to my backside, as they collected fistfuls of my skirt. “Other things feel better,” I whispered. Molten heat was rolling through my body now, and I pressed myself against him. I let out a soft moan. “And don’t make you lose your hair.”
He opened his eyes, the green facets in them shining with intoxicating promise. Need had been building between us, day by agonizing day, and this moment—this glimpse of hope—shattered the bonds that held it.
It took us like a raging tide, sweeping us up, rendering us useless against its force.
Our kiss was nearly violent, lips and teeth.
His tongue was hot and insistent as it slid against mine.
His hands were everywhere, gripping my hair, tangling with my gown.
There was no sweetness, no finesse, only untamed desperation.
My skirt was a bundle between us, and I tore at the buttons of his trousers. “Please.”
He was too overcome to speak, eyes like embers as he gazed up at me, as he gave me precisely what I’d begged for.
He ripped at my underclothes, stroking and sliding warm fingers inside me, adjusting and centering me above him with firm hands.
All of it was a wild rush of movement and breaths and aching moans, but when he entered me, he slowed us to a rippling, dreamlike pace.
He raised me up and pulled me back down, focusing on the slide and heat of our bodies where they met, but the languid rhythm didn’t hold. We were too livid with desire to draw it out. “Next time…” His head arched back as I moved above him. “Fucking Gods… Imogen… next time, we do it slowly.”
“Yes,” I breathed, throwing myself forward so I could kiss him. “Yes, whatever you want.”
He grunted, fisting my hair. “That so?” He sat up and lifted me onto the settee, where he spread my legs wide before him. I shivered at the look in his eyes, all dark and intent. “Damnit, I love—”
Quick footsteps and the clatter of guards’ armor sounded on the other side of the door. We froze, breaths holding in our pounding chests.
Fuck. Every sensation and sound became more than I could handle. I pressed my hands to my burning face.
A knock at the door. Halla’s soft voice on the other side. “Your Majesty? I’ve returned.”
I’d been moronic enough to let the euphoria of hope and relief take me, but now it became something snarling.
Theo had performed the spell, yes, but there were still countless obstacles to overcome.
Not magic, nor Gods’ power, nor my title could make him mine.
Reality tore at me, its fangs sinking deep.
I pulled away, pushing down my skirt. “I should go before she…”
“Immy—” Theo fixed his trousers.
I shook my head, starting for the windows. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have…”
“Imogen, no. You are not—”
I was crawling out the aft window, out onto the ledge, before I could hear the rest of what he’d said.