Chapter Twenty-Three - Sen #2
I’d forgotten the floral culottes. When I glance at Teagan—breathless—his gaze dances with his bobbing head while Agnetha F?ltskog sings about time slipping through her fingers. I wonder if I ever stood a chance against this boy who’s half my size, yet his presence eclipses.
***
“You’re rich then, huh?” Teagan remarks, the numbered buttons flashing as we climb each floor in the elevator towards my penthouse suite.
He cocks his head to the side. His tight curls bunch over his narrow shoulders, the mirrored walls giving me access to Teagan at every angle. My fingers curl in on themselves to stop me from exploring him at every angle, every position.
Does my quiet boy get loud?
I clear my throat, realising I haven’t answered him.
“Sometimes. Right now I have money because I’m a—”
“Detective.”
I grin at the mischievous glint shining from his dark eyes, framed with black lashes long enough to brush against his high cheeks.
“Exactly. But sometimes, just for fun, I’ll throw all my money away to spice things up.
You can’t imagine how many businesses we’ve all started and run into the ground over the years. ”
The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and I lead Teagan into my penthouse.
“Why would you do that?” he asks, gaze bouncing from the polished marble floor to the sleek and uncomfortable cream sofa. To the gold and glass light fixtures embedded in the ceiling.
“Why not?” I shrug. “Forever is a long time, and our interests wane on less important things. Luc owns a terrible club called Sucker he’s ignoring now that Golden is in his life.”
Teagan wanders. He inspects vases, peeks under tables, and pulls open drawers.
I’ve never cared about having a home, but Teagan makes me want something like it. A place that smells like him, that’s painted exactly how he wants it and filled with whatever trinkets he desires.
If my former self could see me now, the man who laughed at Luc for being a pathetic romantic, he’d never let me live this down. Or fall instantly for Teagan, and I’d have to fight him…
“I’m going to change,” I say to Teagan’s back while he pulls off the sofa’s cushions to inspect each one, because clearly finding my soulmate has driven me insane if I’m jealous of an imagined version of myself.
I head into my bedroom, my blood thrumming with Teagan so close.
I quickly strip off the horrific culottes and pull on a pair of grey sweats.
While Teagan is here, I need to tell him what we found out about his tether with Summer.
As much as I want to hide the truth to protect him, it hasn’t worked out in the past, and I don’t want him blindsided again.
“What’s this?”
For a human, Teagan is surprisingly light on his feet, and I was so in my mind that I didn’t notice him come in.
I turn, find him staring at the mess of paint I made on the wall.
The lights are off, the only glow coming from behind the closed curtains.
“Sen?” he turns to me, gaze travelling the length of my body, his breath hitching. “What is it?”
I let the T-shirt I was about to put on slip through my fingers, dropping to the floor so I can take a single step towards him.
“I’m not as talented as you,” I joke, but it comes out strained. “But I wanted to…I wanted to feel you.”
A sudden burst of spicy cinnamon flares from Teagan and hits me like a shot of adrenaline. His breathing becomes hard, his gaze so heated I could melt. I move closer, gulping in that scent, my hands clenching.
“Can I…?” he asks, low and raspy and so needy that my cock twitches.
“Anything,” I groan, the air that leaves my lungs scorching. I’m already going to give him my heart; everything else already belongs to him.
Teagan drops his bag, thrusts his hand inside to pull out a large white paint marker. He turns from me, hand on the wall to steady himself as he draws. His movements fast and rushed, his scent rolling off him. I move closer until I can lay my hands on his hips.
He lets out a gasp, then a moan when my palms slip under his T-shirt to burn my fingerprints against his hot flesh.
Softer than the most expensive silks. Hidden behind my canines, my fangs ache to slide into the luxury that is Teagan’s throat, and run my tongue along his fluttering pulse.
Have him so close that his blood and salt and fucking soul soak into my bones.
He moves faster as my hands travel up his back, my breathing ragged as my fingers learn the shape of his wiry muscles.
“You are fucking…” I bow to bury my nose into his hair, inhale that spiced cinnamon scent.
“Say it,” Teagan tells me, his dusky voice rushed as he keeps moving.
“You are sensational,” I growl, brushing my lips against the curve of his ear. Feeling him shiver in return.
Teagan drops the pen. He turns to me, and I finally look up to see what he’s done—what I tried so desperately to understand, and he’s articulated.
The messy paint wall has turned into something spectacular.
Teagan’s drawn arms in the paint—arms that reach and tear and pull and hunger, and at their centre is one figure.
Him.
He stands at the centre, pressed into my wall of painted hands, and stares at me.
I take his chin and lean towards his face, stopping before my lips touch his.
He blinks, eyes hooded. Voice low in the dark room when he says, “You gonna kiss me, slick?”
“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart, because if I start…” I brush my thumb against his bottom lip. “I might never stop.”
Teagan’s eyes clash with mine. “Who says I’d want that?”
And because he is brave—so much braver than I’ll ever be—he closes the distance. His lips take mine, and any resolve I had to stay away from Teagan is swept away by the crushing intensity of his mouth.