Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
If you let someone past your guard, expect to get hit.
CELINE
Ciprian fried that heckler’s brain. For me. As if casually sending a grown man to the fetal position without bothering to turn around is no big deal. That kind of power is dangerous. Sure. Whatever. I’m more concerned about how fucking hot I found it.
He followed it up by directing petty taunts at Dom.
Childish? Yes. Stupid? Definitely. But with his black eyes flashing, and his lips pressed in a thin, angry line, he was so transparently jealous that my addled brain decided to be flattered.
Jealous Ciprian is delicious.
I’ve obviously taken too many hits to the head, because Luca, Alistair, and Malach backing his ridiculous behavior made it even hotter.
Desire rolls low in my belly, joining the leftover adrenaline from the fight. It makes me want to do something reckless, like tease all four of them until they beg for me on their hands and knees.
Pull yourself together, Celine. You should be too tired to be this horny.
“Movie night?” Luca asks. His question inspires a stunned silence and implies that we’re in the habit of watching movies together as a group . . . which we certainly fucking aren’t.
“I’m free,” Alistair says, his tone innocent. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s watching me hungrily while waiting for my reaction.
What are they up to? And can I sit on the couch and watch a movie with them? It’s too normal. Too relaxing. Even if I only pretend for one night, there will be a cost. My equilibrium. My dignity. If I allow a timeout, I could lose focus.
“If you don’t want me there—”
I hold my hand up. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Ciprian.”
For once he shuts up, but now I wish he hadn’t because I have no one to argue with. I need to think. Shit, they’re all watching me . . . waiting.
I’m too warm. I should be cooling down, but the heat . . . Paired with the itch, I’m crawling out of my skin. I need to get out of here.
Shoving past Ciprian, I head for the door.
Luca calls my name, but I don’t stop. I need air, and I need it now. If I get fresh oxygen to my brain, maybe I won’t feel like the fate of the world rests on my ability to make this one simple decision.
The metal of the doorknob is blessedly cool against my fingers. The valley air is not. Arid and static, it settles around me more heavily than a coat. Frantic for an outlet, I throw my head back and scream at the night sky. Cold and unblinking, the dense canopy of stars draws me in.
They don’t give a shit if I crack to pieces.
I would curse them all if I had the time.
Marching down the street, I crack my knuckles, distracted by the buzz of dozens of conflicting thoughts. Chaotic. Fractured. Disorganized. I miss who I was before I gave in to my attraction to these monsters. Liar. I wince. You miss who you were before your father found you.
It’s a truth I’m not ready to face.
Ciprian plants himself in my path. Holding both of my motorcycle helmets, he stretches one out to me, his expression carefully blank. “Want to find a bridge to throw me from? I promise to be terrified.”
It’s outrageous. And perfect.
His joke disrupts my spiral, puncturing the airtight bubble around my lungs. For the first time since Luca suggested movie night, oxygen floods my brain.
I take the helmet from Ciprian and grab his hand, glancing at the others over his shoulder. “Meet us at my apartment.”
They don’t respond, but I’m not worried. They’ll be there, and by the time Ciprian and I join them, I’ll be myself again. I’ve got to be.
Silently, Ciprian climbs on my bike behind me, his face hidden behind the helmet. His hands settle on my hips, sending bolts of awareness along my skin.
I rev the engine.
Release the clutch.
Then we’re off, leaving a trail of burning rubber behind us.
I consider riding along Boulder Highway, but I don’t want to deal with traffic lights.
Instead, I head north toward one of the few remaining stretches of Old 91 that’s still open to drivers.
Made mostly obsolete by I-15, the highway was all but abandoned decades before I stumbled through the celestial gateway to make a new life for myself.
I lose myself in the ride, chasing the weightless feeling that reminds me of the freedom of flight. Pushing my bike to her limits, I careen around the curves and punch the throttle on the straights until we leave the city behind, and the desert swallows us whole.
True to his word, Ciprian lets me drive exactly how I want. The tightening of his thighs around mine is the only sign that he’s nervous. If I lose control, we’ll be little more than a smear on the cracked pavement—but it’s worth it. Gods, is it worth it.
A coyote howls in the distance, and goosebumps creep up the back of my neck.
I lean sharply to avoid a crater-sized pothole, and my heart skips a beat.
Ciprian must be freaking . . . hard as a rock.
My core clenches, and arousal hits me fast. The vibration of the bike adds to the sharp, needy ache between my legs.
The jealousy, the fight, the hot promise of his body against mine. It’s too much.
I let off the throttle, pull off the road, and slam on the brakes beside a craggy formation of rocks. Once a popular scenic desert vista, this turnout is little more than a crumbling slice of pavement left to break down under the unforgiving summer sun.
It’s perfect.
Dropping the kickstand, I spin on the seat, draping my legs over Ciprian’s.
I’m panting, but I need to see his face. I need to know if he’s turned on by the fear or by me.
I yank our helmets off and drop them both on the ground.
As merciless as gravity, I tumble into the inky depths of his eyes and groan. My gaze drops to his mouth. Ciprian’s bottom lip is puffier than usual, like he spent the ride tormenting it with his teeth.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I whisper.
He cradles my cheeks, his fingers trembling. “It’s way too late for that.”
I kiss him with all the pent-up emotions I’ve been fighting since I learned who he was. It’s not a gentle kiss, but it’s exactly what I need. I know what I want now.
I sigh into his mouth. My decisiveness is back with a vengeance. If I’m going to fall, I’m going to do it thoroughly. And if Ciprian’s lips end the night swollen, it will be because of me.
His thumbs move against my cheeks, and he groans, the kiss a hot and messy tangle of teeth and tongues. I taste salt—there’s no escaping the heat, even at night—and scoot further into his lap.
Ciprian yanks his lips away from mine to nibble on my earlobe. “You mad at me, Celine?”
I fist a handful of his hair and pull his mouth back to mine. “Fucking furious.”
“Yeah?”
I bite his bottom lip. “Yeah.”
“Can I get you off? Please?” His eyes are wild, and I shudder at the longing in his voice.
“I like it when you beg, Ciprian Casanell.”
“And I like it when you say my name,” he says, gasping. “If begging is what it takes to make that happen, I’ll get on my hands and knees.”
As appealing as that idea is, there are way too many spiky things around here to make him go through with it. The image of Ciprian crawling to me is enough. For now.
My gaze drifts to his lips. His shoulders. His heaving chest. “Is something wrong . . . Ciprian?” I pull his shirt over his head, then press my palm to his chest to better experience his heart pounding for me. “You seem worked up.”
“I’m thirsty.” He licks his lips and drags his eyes down my body until they land on my tiny leather shorts. “So thirsty,” he repeats.
His words go straight to my pussy. I roll my hips toward him in invitation, stretching the shorts to their limit. I’m not sure I’ll survive the night without knowing what the youngest enclave heir can do with his silver tongue.
A demon possessed, Ciprian reaches for me, pausing with his fingers an inch away to look up and whisper, “Please.”
There’s no coming back from this, but I can’t think of a single reason to stop.
“Touch me,” I say, not caring that I sound as far gone for him as he does for me.
Ciprian cups my pussy, groaning as his palm connects with the buttery leather of the shorts. “You’re so warm.”
“I’m curious how you plan to get them off.” I rock against his hand, trapping his fingers between my body and the seat of my bike. “They’re super tight.”
His onyx eyes roll over me with obvious delight. “You leave that to me.”
Yanking his hand away, he grabs my hips and lifts me. I find myself suspended as Ciprian latches onto my zipper with his teeth, pulls it down, and begs me to put my legs on his shoulders.
Calves propped against his neck, I brace my upper back beneath the handlebars and hold my body taut as he works the shorts over my hips and ass. Our position is precarious. Laughable even. But I’m hyper-aware of every sensation—and soaked. I can’t wait for him to find out how much.
Then my shorts are all the way down, pressed against Ciprian’s chin like a leather scarf. He sucks in a deep breath before lifting my ankles, one after the other, and removing the shorts.
I expect him to toss them on the ground. When he uses my belly as a tabletop and folds them neatly before tucking them under his leg, my jaw drops. Neat. Meticulous. And so fucking sexy. A trickle of arousal runs down my thigh.
Ciprian notices, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is that for me?”
If he sounded cocky, I might put him in his place, but—fuck me—he asked like a prayer—every syllable dripping with filthy, erotic hope. I want to keep the game up and tease us both more, but if he doesn’t touch me soon, I’ll be the one begging.
“Find out,” I growl, rocking my hips toward his face.
I expect him to devour me immediately and brace for a rough touch—but Ciprian surprises me yet again. Pulling me away from the handlebars, he kisses his way up my legs as he reels me in. By the time his nose bumps the crease of my right thigh, I’m squirming.
The moonlight shines on Ciprian’s hair, making it gleam like silver between my pale legs. When he finally licks me, I come hard from the first wet glide of his tongue. My pussy clenches around nothing, aching and empty.
Ciprian groans as if he’s the one getting off, and his fingers dig into my ass cheeks as he plunges his tongue inside me. The ache goes away for a second, then comes back twice as strong.
“Another,” I demand.
Ciprian whispers a response against my pussy, but since he doesn’t bother coming up for air, I can’t hear anything but an indecent wet noise.
His tongue returns to my clit, and I gasp into the night.
Lick by lick, Ciprian takes me apart, until I hear myself pleading for relief—a chaotic mix of please, yes, and right fucking there torn from my lips like they’re the only words I can remember besides his name.
He whispers against my clit again, and the drag of his chapped lips over the most sensitive place on my body throws me over the edge. Toes curling in my leather boots, my thighs clamp around his head, and I worry that I don’t have a lock on my strength and might crush him.
I wail, my head thrashing into the bike’s horn.
Ciprian grunts—proof of life I can barely hear over the roaring in my ears—and for a few weightless moments, I float, hovering outside of my body and gravity itself. Even with my wings trapped inside me, he’s managed to make me fly.
Headlights on the horizon bring me crashing back to Earth.
Without a word, Ciprian helps me sit up, using his discarded shirt to shield me as the car passes. Then he looks at me and beams. A wide, genuine smile, with more teeth than practiced charm.
My heart stutters, and I distract myself by digging around in the bike’s top case for the pair of cotton shorts I keep stuffed there in case of emergencies.
Ciprian puts the folded leather shorts in the compartment, but he seems reluctant to give them up. That’s when I remember: this is the second time I’ve crawled on top of him, come hard enough to alter my blood pressure, and left him hanging.
“I didn’t . . .” I wave my hand clumsily in the direction of his crotch. It’s too dark to see much, which I’m thankful for, because I’m blushing for absolutely no reason except the fact that I’ve never sounded less sexy.
Ciprian laughs and scrubs his hand over his tangled blond hair. “I came when you did.”
I blink at him. “The second time?”
He releases a heavy breath and shakes his head.
I’m officially confused. Is he trying to say he came as soon as he tasted me? Because that is by far the most ludicrous, far-fetched, flattering lie anyone has ever told me.
“There’s no way,” I blurt, annoyed that he would fib for no reason.
“Well, I’m not proud of it, that’s for sure,” Ciprian says.
“You’re messing with me.”
He shakes his head, studies my face, then groans like he’s in pain. “I can’t believe—you know what? I don’t give a fuck. I’ll prove it.”
Swinging one leg over my bike, he stands and unzips his jeans, dropping them below his ass and dipping his hand into his boxer briefs. With jerky movements, he pulls his fingers free and holds them out for me to inspect.
They’re dripping cum.
I giggle, not because it’s funny, but because I’m shocked.
Ciprian closes his eyes, the night sky showing me a handsome face that’s growing redder by the second. You’re ruining it, Celine. The thought snaps me back to reality.
I grab his wrist and pull it to my lips, sucking his fingers into my mouth one at a time. His eyes snap open, and he watches, mesmerized, until I’m done.
Finishing with a kiss to his cheek, I give him a moment to reset his brain while I retrieve our discarded helmets and reflect on all that’s happened between us.
I think about who he is and everything he hid from me. The murder investigation. His real identity. The things I shared and the things he concealed.
Next, I consider how he saved Alistair’s life, lied to his family about Roscoe to protect me, and helped cover up the battle outside my apartment.
When I add in the fact that he came in his pants from the taste of me alone, the sting of our turbulent history doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. Ciprian Casanell isn’t bad or good—he’s everything in between, and gods help me, I’m falling for him.
“Hold on tight. We’re missing movie night,” I say, cranking my bike. He chuckles and sags against me, radiating pleased exhaustion from every pore. “Oh, and Ciprian?”
“Yeah, hot wings?”
I smile under the safety of my helmet and raise my voice to be heard over the roar of the engine. “You taste good too.”