Chapter 21
Marina
The only place in Gil’s house I haven’t seen yet is the bedroom.
We’ve gotten so carried away with music, hobbies, and unexpected visitors, it’s overdue for me to ask for a tour.
The day turns to late afternoon, my eyes become heavier by the second.
Despite wanting to stay up all day talking, I’m going to turn into a pumpkin if we don’t get a nap in.
“I can take the couch—you want to sleep, right?”
“I am not having you sleep on the couch,” Gil says with an amused huff. “It’s only…”
“Only?”
“The bed might not suit you,” he says, and instead of offering me an explanation, he offers me his hand.
My eyes linger on the sharp tips of his claws for far too long.
I wonder if he could tell how much his little arts and crafts show turned me on earlier with the way he wielded them to seamlessly cut through paper.
Then how the webbing danced in the air to pull that beautiful music from the theremin.
His hands seem capable of all sorts of things—things I can’t stop thinking about as the pad of my thumb traces his webbing.
The design of the house is consistently retro. But just like Gil’s faux-human appearance in the mortal realm, the more you look, the more magic seeps through. The quirky, stilted house gives way to something … different.
The fireflies that had come out to greet us on the porch glow throughout the space, casting golden light on the shell-encrusted, knick-knack covered walls.
With all the mortal decor pieces, I expect to see a bed and there is…
Well, almost.
The floor-to-ceiling windows make me uncertain whether we’re inside or out.
I’ve dated around enough to have seen my share of surprising bedrooms: ones that lack pillows or bedframes. But nothing could have prepared me for this.
The floor dips down into a circular pond filled with rocks, and a water lily the size of a rug floats in the center with blankets made of mossy looking natural fibers.
That’s his bed?
“See what I mean?” he says, gold light dancing around him as he demonstrates climbing onto the surface. It wobbles under his weight, but seems sturdy enough, and it does look like there’s room for me next to him.
“You sleep on this?”
“Or under it, depending on my mood.” He grins up at me like a cat, nestling into a pile of pillows. “You want to give it a try?”
I walk to the edge of the nest of stones, and he offers me his hand to steady me. He holds me at the waist, pulling me seamlessly into his arms. I expect it to rock and quake like our canoe had and subconsciously brace myself against his body.
But we don’t fall into the water this time, and his deep chuckle vibrates against my skin.
It’s what I’d imagine a waterbed would feel like, and I’m cradled by both the gentle current and his arms.
I never want to leave.
But this can’t last forever, can it? In this fantasy world of his, he could probably find a princess or someone with considerably less baggage than I have.
Sure, we have history, but unlike me, he’s had more than one friend over the years. It might be childish, but seeing all the pictures of them together made me ache for more history with him.
What have I missed in all these years? What would be different if I had been able to stay with him?
I frown, snuggling closer into Gil’s shoulder. If I tell him? Then I’ll be some toxic girlfriend, and considering I became his regular girlfriend about an hour ago, I can’t risk that.
“What’s going on, darlin’?” he asks.
“It’s nothing.” I tense. How does he always know when something is wrong? Maybe he can read my thoughts. Heck, it would be better than having to say this sort of thing aloud. “Like, really—you’d probably laugh at me.”
“Why would I laugh?” he asks, his golden eyes staring up at the ceiling before flicking back to me. “This ain’t about Magnus, is it?”
And suddenly, his tone is lower—almost dangerous. I can’t be certain, but I think he may be holding onto my waist a little tighter than he was before, his blunted claws protectively splayed across my midsection.
“Like I said, it’s not important,” I huff. “It’s good you have a best friend here.”
“Marina,” he presses, his tone serious, “tell me what’s going on.”
I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.
It was supposed to be teasing, a little goofy, but God damn it.
“I’m jealous, alright?” I laugh, awkward and forced, because oh my God, he’s really going to make me spell it out.
“I’m so into you. I can’t remember the last time I had a crush this big.
It’s like the emotional trainwreck of someone with their first boyfriend, selfish and silly.
This is so stupid, I’m sorry. I’m not usually this clingy, I think… I don’t know, maybe I am.”
But Gil doesn’t roll off the bed or swim into the depths of the water. No, his eyes spark with the same amusement that danced there when he let me think Clawrece was another woman.
He’s enjoying this.
“I assure you, the title of ‘girlfriend’ comes with some perks Magnus isn’t getting.”
“Oh?” I ask, turning on my side to face him.
“Well, you see,” his hand drifts from my hip to my thigh, “I wouldn’t touch Magnus like this with a ten-foot pole.”
“Mmm,” I moan. What was I upset about again? The soft stretch of webbing tickles with each drag across my skin. Heat pools in my lower abdomen, and I manage to choke out the words. “Well, that’s a relief.”
Especially since that vampire is 100% prettier than I am.
“Besides, if anyone should be jealous, it’s me.” He chuckles, his claws tracing little circles across my skin now.
“What do you have to be jealous of?” I ask in a sharp breath. Given the placement of his hand, it’s a wonder I can say anything at all.
“Ha! My very handsome, royal best friend?” Gil asks, voice low and serious. His eyes lock on mine. “He’s got to be more of the type you’d fantasize about.” His fingers move higher and—oh my God.
“Can I be honest?” I squeak. His body and grip tense as he braces himself for critique. I can’t even begin to compare the two when it comes to my type. That vampire? Well… “Not enough scales,” I whisper.
In response, he clutches me tightly, pressing his lips hard onto mine. I break away because—how can he want to kiss me after everything I just said? “Wait, aren’t you mad about me getting so weird and jealous?”
“Mad?” His claws continue to trail across my skin, leaving shivers in their wake. “If you’re feeling clingy—I’m here to cling to.” He whispers, guiding my hand to his shoulder. “Besides, I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior now, was I?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever dated anyone who would threaten to push someone in a lake for me,” I admit, our lips a mere millimeter apart. And it was so hot I couldn’t stand it.
“Well, they’ve all been damn fools.” His voice is rough as he places a hand behind my neck and pulls me in for another kiss. I gasp as he bites my bottom lip. My hand rests on his hip, feeling the smooth scales against my skin.
Moving down, he places a kiss on the broken skin on my neck. The urge to scratch kicks in, along with the anticipation of relief from tension and stress that will hit me as soon as my nails dig in. But Gil’s mouth has moved on, planting kisses on my collarbone until I’ve melted into a puddle.
His hand continues to move toward the center of my thigh, and the kisses continue—pointed and deliberate, as if he’s noticed everywhere I wince at when I look in the mirror, and thinks a kiss can fix it.
Maybe it can.
“More?” he asks, and I nod as both his mouth and hands travel closer and closer to where I ache. His claws retract, and fingertips lightly graze up and down, teasing the hem of my panties.
“Do you mind getting wet?” he asks, and I blink. Considering my panties have been soaked since the moment he touched my thigh, he should have asked earlier.
“Uh, I mean, I’m already…” I scramble to find the right words. He grins, pulling away from my body, and lowering himself into the lagoon-like pool the lily pad is suspended in.
“The water, darlin’,” he says, amusement dancing in his darkening eyes.
Ah, that kind of wet.
Heat rises to my face as I nod, and Gil eases my legs to the edge of the strange floating mattress. The spring water hits my knees and below, soothing the rough skin as he touches and teases every part of me, planting kisses from my ankles back to my upper thigh again, and again, until—fuck.
He’s between my legs now, his body below me in the water, the flat of his palm circling exactly where I’m aching.
“I want to taste you,” he murmurs but doesn’t move, letting the statement hang in the air between us. I tremble, anticipating what his tongue would feel like in place of his fingers.
“Please,” I beg, moaning when his breath warms my skin. His tongue is tentative at first, as if registering my body’s every reaction, then acting accordingly. I bottle it up, trying to sound pretty with each word, each sound, biting my bottom lip to keep from being too much. It doesn’t last long.
With every swirl, nibble, and skillful way he builds feeling and pressure, I’m a muttering, swearing mess until his head has resurfaced just long enough for him to whisper, “Let go for me, darlin’.
” His voice is soft but demanding. Every sound, every “more” that escapes my lips is suddenly his, and he knows exactly what to do with it.
Desire builds, tangling inside me in long pulses until I’m on the edge, my fists clenched around the woven moss blankets.
“Gil!” I shout, thighs tensing around his head that’s still directly between my legs. Now he’s moaning just as loud as I was—and, oh, oh, he’s not done. And just when I thought I couldn’t feel anything else, emotions swirl and build until I’ve dissolved into a puddle of pure bliss.
That was—he is—Oh my God.
Moments pass in a dizzy haze until he’s climbed up next to me. I lie still as he dries off my legs before snuggling close.
Whether it’s out of habit, from friction, or just because it feels…good, my nails end up digging into my neck.
Gently, Gil catches my hand, planting a kiss on my palm. Anticipating he’ll scold me the same way Grams does, I shake my hand away.
“You can scratch—it doesn’t bother me.” He says, reaching for a jar he’s set on the side of the rocks. “So long as you don’t hurt yourself.”
“It’s not hurting anyone.”
“You sure about that?” His voice is tender, as he touches the same plaque. The pad of his finger is cool against the thick skin. As he traces the lesion, I can feel where the skin is broken. His pupils suddenly get bigger,
“Shhh—” He hushes, kissing my forehead before I have a chance to overthink. “Brought something for it, if you don’t mind.”
I nod; I’ve tried every cream in the book. But, as the cool soothing liquid is applied in small circles across my skin, this might be the nicest one—or maybe it’s just because of the person applying it.
“Sorry—it’s gross.”
“It’s not,” he says, so assured I can’t possibly argue. “I promise—no shame, no guilt, but if I can help, I want to.” Once he’s done with my neck, he moves to apply cream to my elbows and knees. By the time he’s done, the itch isn’t gone, but I do feel sufficiently doted on.
“For the record, you’re not just my girlfriend,” he says, planting a kiss on my lips.
“Oh?” I ask.
“You’re my best-best friend,” he whispers in my ear, drawing me and the blankets close in one smooth movement. I let my eyes get heavy, more comfortable than I’ve felt in years, and fall asleep next to my best-best friend.