Chapter 25
Electra
Cillian comes to an abrupt halt when I appear from behind his camper.
His cheekbones are flushed, and his eyes sparking with fire. He’s angry. I have no doubt it’s with me. But is it because I’m here or because I ran away from him?
His cheeks hollow, like he’s clamping down on whatever he wants to say.
For some reason, I, too, am suddenly short on words; I’m also short on breath. Partly from running here in the pounding rain. Partly because he is where I found myself running toward.
He drops his gym bag, then, fingers flexing at his sides, he backs me up against his camper. One of his palms spreads on the white metal, while the other keeps twitching at his side as though he’s contemplating strangling me.
“You drive me fucking insane, Electra.” His Adam’s apple jackknifes his corded throat.
I still don’t say anything. I don’t even know what I’m doing here—or what I want.
No, that’s not true. I know what I want.
I want this man…this human to obliterate the space between us and deliver my first kiss.
He reaches up and cups my jaw, tilts it back and back and back. Droplets of rain bleed out of my hair and roll down my spine in time with a shiver.
His long thumb traces a line from my chin to the hinge of my jaw and back, causing my pulse to trip and another shiver to race through me.
“Fucking insane…” His mouth is so close to mine that his husky growl vibrates against my teeth. “You have three seconds to stop me.”
His warning tightens every nerve in my body, pulling every muscle taut until I feel shrink-wrapped in my own skin.
“Three…” His heavy-lidded stare roams over mine. “Two…” His thumb pushes into my throbbing pulse point. “One…” His gaze locks on my mouth, and he closes in.
The contact hits like a jolt. One that makes my heart detonate and my blood surge, pressing hard against my too-tight skin. Waves of heat and cold roll over me in such rapid succession that I tremble.
He slots one of his legs between mine and presses the length of him against the length of me, throttling the tremors with the infernal heat of his body.
My hands finally come alive and slide around his waist. He kicks my mouth open with his lips and plunges his tongue in deep, slow, practiced sweeps. I moan as I try to reciprocate with as much assurance. I don’t want him to guess that this is my first kiss.
He flexes his thigh and grinds it into me, coaxing another moan from my lungs. I fist his hoodie and press him closer, the bulge in his sweats digging into my hip like a bone. The groan that drops from his lips emboldens me to reciprocate his rocking motion.
His mouth skids off mine, and he pants—deep, rasping breaths that heat my entire face. Though I still tremble, my body feels like it’s caught fire. He runs his callused palms down my arms. Instead of panic, his slow sweeps bring comfort, stripping away years of abuse from my skin.
How is this possible? I don’t even know him.
When he does it again, my skin breaks out in more goosebumps.
He steps back, drops his hands. I want to beg him to put them back on me, but Electra Serran doesn’t beg.
He drags his hoodie off his head and spears it over mine, guiding my arms through the warm gray cotton. And then he presses his glasses back up, his eyes smoldering as they sweep over me.
Funny how a single look can galvanize a person. Under Cillian’s stare, I feel like the sexiest woman alive, as though something dormant in me has suddenly awakened. A drab moth transforming into a vibrant butterfly.
“You’re a fucking knockout, Electra.”
I swallow.
He gives his head a small shake as though he can’t believe this is real, and I’m here. I mean, I hardly can, and I’m the one who came.
He crouches, unzips his bag, then fishes out a keyring shaped like a four-leaf clover. After he straightens, he weaves our fingers together, coaxing my spine off his camper.
It takes him three attempts to fit the key inside the keyhole, mostly because he’s looking at me instead of at the door. I almost facilitate his endeavor with magic, but that would give him pause, and I don’t want to take him out of the moment.
When he finally succeeds, he drags the door wide, then looks at me, rolling his lips like he’s unsure how to ask me in.
I help him out. “Do I get a tour?”
A crooked grin drags up a corner of his mouth. I don’t know if it’s the lingering effect of his kiss, but I suddenly find him gorgeous. He tugs on my hand, helping me into the camper. It doesn’t escape me that he keeps the door open.
It’s sweet even though I want it closed. Again, I almost employ magic to shut it, but that’s a part of me I can’t reveal.
Maybe someday, I’ll be able to.
Maybe someday, his blood—
I shut the thought down.
“This is the couch.” He points to the small banquette that hides deep storage space. “My dining table slash desk.” He designates the table with a bump of his chin. He reaches for the handle of his bathroom. “Through here, you’ll find my ensuite.”
“Fancy,” I say around a smile.
His crooked grin grows, and he stabs his fingers through his mussed hair. “Try not to get overwhelmed.” He glances skyward. “Window’s up there. People might rave about starry skies, but I’m more of a cement-and-pipes kind of guy.”
“I understand the appeal. It’s…trippy.”
He’s downright beaming now.
Until I ask, “Where’s the bed?”
His grin fades in an instant, replaced by a tight, intent focus, first on the latches that keep the Murphy-bed flush to the wall, then on my face. “If I open it, we won’t have any more room to stand.”
I give him a slow nod.
“Are you sure?” His breathing turns shallow, swelling his chest before compressing it.
“That I want to see where you sleep? Yes.”
He blinks hard. Then swallows harder. And then he’s unfastening the latches and easing the mattress down. We have to step farther back until our heels hit the threshold of his trailer.
“There you have it. The place I laze on from midnight to five.”
“Is that all the sleep you get?”
“Sometimes I’ll drop like a fly around ten or take a midday nap in between classes. Depends on my schedule and my level of fatigue.”
“Have many people gotten a tour of your bachelor pad?”
“No. I never bring anyone in here.”
“Not even if they ask to sightsee?”
He pivots to face me. “Electra, I didn’t open my home to you because you asked to come in.”
“Then why did you open your home to me?”
“Because since the moment we met, I haven’t stopped fantasizing about you crossing my threshold.”
“What’s better—the fantasy or the reality?”
“Do you really have to ask?” He cups my cheek and leans over to kiss me again.
His lips are soft, but the way he uses them isn’t. I can’t explain why it thrills me that he’s taking the lead and control from me. Maybe because I’ve spent the last decade obsessively seeking to control everything.
My knees aren’t weak like the heroines from my books, but I pretend they are, and sink onto his bed, making him hinge at the waist. His mouth chases mine before releasing it with a shallow pop.
For a moment, he remains bent over me like this, his forehead touching mine, his glasses fogging from our labored exhales.
“I’m three seconds away from shutting that door and doing ungodly things to you.” His gravelly warning hits me square in the core.
“What do you qualify as ungodly?”
“Eating you out until your clit is so swollen that any piece of fabric will chafe and send you over the edge.”
Holy Gaea. My cheeks blister, and my hands grow so clammy that I park them on my knees.
“Penetrating you so languorously that you’ll beg and whimper for me to let you come on my dick.”
The flush he conjured to my face spreads to my chest, as though I’d entered a sauna instead of a camper.
The automatic lighting in the parking lot fizzles, casting him in deep shadow. Yet I don’t miss how his shoulders roll as he straightens as far as his ceiling will allow.
I crane my neck and meet his hungry stare. It’s heady to be desired like this.
So heady that I recycle his countdown. “Three…two…”
When he realizes what I’m doing, he reaches blindly behind him and engulfs the small handle in his big hand. The veins in his forearm strain and bulge with impatience as I keep my lips from shaping the last digit. My own petty attempt at torturing.
“What comes after two again?” I ask, tone sweet and innocent.
The darkest smile spreads over his lips as though he were a monster about to devour me whole.
“Oh, right…” The instant I speak the number, “One,” he shuts the door.