Chapter 10 #2
"You're so wet." His voice drops to a growl. "So ready. How long has it been?"
"Years." The admission tears out of me. "Not since before Gran died. Not since I started hiding my power."
"Then I'll make this good for you. Make it worth the wait."
His thumb finds my clit while his fingers curl inside. Finding that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes. Pressure builds. Coils tight in my belly. My hips rock against his hand, chasing release.
"That's it." His mouth moves to my ear. Teeth catching the lobe. "Take what you need. Show me how good this feels."
The orgasm hits like a tidal wave. Pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me shaking and gasping. And somewhere in the intensity, my magic responds.
Sea witch power floods out. Not controlled. Not directed. Just pure reaction.
Mist fills the room. Salt spray materializes from nowhere. Water streams down the walls in sheets, pooling on the floor. The temperature drops as humidity spikes. Magic mixing with pleasure until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
"Fuck." Awe colors his voice. "That's beautiful. You're beautiful."
The climax finally ebbs. Leaves me boneless and trembling. His fingers withdraw slowly. Carefully. He brings them to his mouth. Tastes.
"Definitely better than I imagined."
Embarrassment should hit. Concern about losing control of my magic. But satisfaction leaves no room for anything except the man standing between my legs looking at me like I'm the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
"Your turn." My hands reach for his belt. Fumble with the buckle. "Let me—"
"Not yet." He catches my hands. "I want to be inside you when I come. Want to feel you around me. Tell me you want this. Say it."
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He kisses me again. Deep and thorough and claiming. When he finally pulls back, his eyes have gone dark with intent.
"Don't move."
The command sends a shiver through me. He steps back just far enough to unbuckle his belt.
The leather slides free with a whisper of sound that makes my mouth go dry.
His hands move to his pants. One button.
Then another. The fabric parts, revealing a strip of taut abdomen, the sharp cut of muscle at his hips.
He shoves the pants down along with his boxer briefs in one smooth motion.
My breath catches.
He's beautiful. All lean muscle and golden skin, but it's the thick length of him that makes heat pool low in my belly. Hard and straining, curving slightly toward his stomach. A bead of moisture glistens at the flushed tip, and the sight makes my core clench with anticipation.
"Like what you see?" The rough edge to his voice tells me he knows exactly what effect he's having.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. His cock twitches in response, and satisfaction curls through me at the visible proof of his want.
"See something you like?" Amusement threads through the roughness.
"Very much."
"Wait." The word comes out breathless. "Protection. I'm not on anything."
"Shifters can't pass anything on." His hand slides up my thigh. "And I can't get a non panther-shifter pregnant. Cross-species conception doesn't work that way."
Heat floods my face at the casual mention of biology. "You're sure?"
"Positive." His thumb brushes across sensitive flesh, making me gasp. "I want nothing between us, Moira. Want to feel every inch of you. But if you need—"
"No." The word comes fast. Certain. "Nothing between us."
His pupils dilate. A growl rumbles in his chest. Then he's back between my legs. Positioning himself. The blunt head pressing against me.
"Look at me." His hand cups my jaw. "Don't look away."
Our eyes lock. Hold. He pushes inside. Slow. Controlled. Letting me feel every inch as my body adjusts to his size. It burns. Stretches. Borders on too much. Then he's fully seated, and the burn transforms into something else entirely.
"Okay?" The word comes strained. Like it's taking everything he has not to move.
"Yes. God, yes. You can move. Please move."
He pulls out almost completely. Pauses. Then slams back in.
The desk creaks. Papers scatter. Evidence bags slide to the floor. Neither of us care.
He sets a punishing rhythm. Each thrust drives me higher up the desk, papers scattering, evidence forgotten. The slap of skin against skin fills the room along with my ragged breathing and his low growls. He takes what he needs without apology, and I give it freely.
My legs wrap around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back. Pulling him deeper. Demanding more. Meeting each stroke with a roll of my hips that makes him curse in Spanish.
His mouth finds my throat. Teeth scraping across the sensitive skin where my pulse hammers.
He bites down. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make me cry out.
Enough to leave a mark that will be visible tomorrow.
The thought sends a dark thrill through me—being marked by him, claimed in a way everyone will see.
One hand grips my hip hard enough that I'll have bruises in the shape of his fingers.
The other fists in my hair, using the leverage to control everything.
The angle. The depth. The pace. He holds my head exactly where he wants it, forcing me to feel every thrust, every slide of him inside me.
The desk groans beneath us with each impact.
And I love it.
Love surrendering control to someone strong enough to handle it. Love being wanted with this intensity. Love matching his strength with my own.
"Harder." The word tears from me. "I won't break."
A growl tears from his throat. Purely animal. Then both hands grip my hips. Lifting me slightly. Changing the angle. The next thrust hits something inside me that makes me see stars.
"There?" He does it again. "That the spot?"
"Yes. Right there. Don't stop."
He doesn't. Just keeps hitting that perfect angle with perfect precision. Building pressure until I'm climbing toward a second orgasm. This one deeper. More intense.
My magic rises with it. Water condensing on every surface. The mist growing thicker. Salt spray coating our skin.
"Come for me." His voice rasps in my ear. "I want to see and feel you fall apart."
His thumb finds my clit. Circles. Presses.
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me with enough force that my magic explodes outward. Water streams from nowhere. Swirls around us like a living thing. The windows ice over from the temperature drop.
Through it all, Rafe keeps moving. Chasing his own release. Then he's there. Groaning my name. Body going rigid as he comes.
We stay frozen like that. Both trembling. Both breathing hard. My magic gradually settles, the water dissipating into mist.
He pulls out carefully, gathering me against his chest. Carrying me to the leather couch against the wall.
We collapse together. Tangled limbs and racing hearts. His hand strokes my hair. My palm rests over his heart.
"Well." He sounds wrecked. "That was—"
"Intense."
"Was going to say life-changing, but intense works too."
Laughter bubbles up. For the first time since seeing Elspeth's corpse in the water. "Your office is going to smell like ocean for days."
"Worth it." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Completely worth it."
We lie in comfortable silence. The adrenaline fading. Reality creeping back in. But I'm not ready for reality yet. Not ready to think about necromancers and dead sisters and impossible rituals.
"Tell me something." My fingers trace patterns on his chest. "Something real. Something that matters."
He goes quiet for a long moment. Then: "The exile hurt worse than Diego's betrayal. Worse than Catalina's lies. Because my father looked at me and chose not to see the truth. Chose to believe I was the monster she painted me to be."
My throat tightens. Breath catches.
"I built this empire because I had nothing else," he continues. "No family. No home. No one who cared whether I lived or died. So I made myself valuable through fear and money and connections. Made myself into exactly what they accused me of being."
"You're not a monster." The words push past the ache in my chest. "You're someone who survived impossible situations. Who protected me tonight even though you barely know me. Who's risking everything to stop a necromancer from completing a ritual."
"And what does that make you?" His hand cups my face. "You've been hiding for ten years. Running from your power. Pretending to be less than you are."
The accusation stings because it's true.
"I was scared." My voice breaks. "Gran died and all that power hit me at once. Drowning in currents I couldn't control. So I hid. Served drinks and smiled and pretended my gift didn't exist. For ten years."
"You were grieving." His hand cups my face. "You lost your grandmother. The woman who raised you after your father and Elspeth drowned. Of course you retreated."
"But maybe if I hadn't hidden. If I'd been the sea witch I was supposed to be, I would have felt it. Sensed something wrong in the waters." The guilt crushes down. "Instead I was serving pints and pretending to be normal while someone tortured my sister's spirit."
Tears burn my eyes. I blink them back.
Rafe sits up. Pulls me with him. His hands frame my face. Force me to meet his gaze.
"Listen to me. What happened to Elspeth wasn't your fault. What's happening now isn't your fault. The only person to blame is the summoner. The necromancer who's killing innocent people."
"But I—"
"Could have done more. Should have been braver. I know." His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes. "I tell myself the same things about Diego. About my family. About every choice I made after the exile. But guilt doesn't change the past. It just poisons the present."
"Then what do we do with it?"
His expression hardens. Jaw setting. "We use it. Take all that guilt and rage and regret and channel it into stopping this ritual. Into finding the anchor. Into ending whoever's using your sister as a weapon."
"More deaths coming." The thought haunts me. "More people will die before the ritual completes. And we're no closer to finding the necromancer."
"We'll find them." Certainty colors his voice. "We hunt together now. Your magic and my muscle. Your knowledge and my resources. We'll track them down and end this."
Want to believe him. Want to share that certainty. But all I can think about is Elspeth's face watching from deep water. The child's laughter echoing in my memory. The summoner is still out there, and innocent people will keep dying until we stop them.
"Stay with me tonight." Rafe's request pulls me from dark thoughts. "Not sex. Just sleep. Let me hold you so the nightmares don't win."
"Okay."
He stands, lifts me in his arms, cradles me to his chest, and carries me to his bedroom. We fall into his bed still naked. He pulls the covers over us. Tucks me against his chest like I'm something precious.
Exhaustion pulls me under.
In the darkness behind my eyelids, Elspeth's face watches from deep water. Still laughing. Still waiting.
We have to find the necromancer before it's too late.