Chapter 10
Pippa
His hands rested just above my knees, thumbs sweeping light circles on my skin that made every nerve tighten.
Waiting. He hadn't asked for permission—he could feel the rabbit-quick pulse fluttering at my throat, the hitch in my breath that said I was already his. But he waited anyway. For me to break.
I nodded. Barely a breath of movement, but his gaze darkened instantly, amber eyes deepening to something molten and dangerous. Heat crackled between us.
Then he was leaning in, one hand sliding higher beneath my skirt to brace against my thigh as his mouth claimed mine.
Gods.
His lips were warm, insistent, and impossibly soft against mine.
He kissed me like he'd been starving for it—like I was a secret he'd spent three years trying to earn the right to taste.
Slow, deep, thorough. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him on pure instinct, a soft whimper escaping as he deepened the kiss.
This is just a fling, I reminded myself desperately. Just enjoy it for what it is. Don't think about—
But the thought scattered completely when one of his hands tangled in my hair, angling my head to take the kiss deeper, while the other—his knuckles brushed the crease where my thigh met my hip. Light. Teasing. My breath caught sharply against his mouth.
His hand went still for a heartbeat, his kiss slowing, savoring my gasp. Then his fingers found me—bare and already aching, slick and swollen from just the anticipation of his touch. A low groan ripped from his chest, rough with approval, as his fingertips slid through my wetness.
"Pippa," he breathed against my lips, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. His forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot and ragged on my skin. "Look at you. Soaked for me."
No defense against that. No joke, no deflection.
His fingers circled my clit, teasingly light, and my hips jerked off the bench, chasing the pressure.
He chuckled, dark and satisfied, and then his mouth was back on mine, swallowing my needy moan as he finally—finally—pushed two fingers deep inside me.
My back arched, a cry tearing from my throat that he caught with his lips. His fingers curled, stroking some perfect, hidden place that unraveled me. He started slow, watching my face as I panted against his mouth, my nails biting into the leather of his Rider jacket as I held on.
"That's it," he murmured, his thumb finding my clit again as he withdrew his fingers almost completely, then thrust deep once more. "Let me feel you."
I was trembling already, sparks dancing behind my eyelids as his rhythm built—long, deliberate strokes that filled me perfectly, his thumb pressing firm, delicious circles over my clit.
My skirt was bunched high around my waist, the cool stone bench beneath me a sharp contrast to the wildfire he was stoking inside me.
Didn't care who might see. Didn't care about anything but the relentless pressure of his hand and the dark, possessive heat in his eyes.
Magic sparked along my skin—golden light spiraling from the delicate pixie marks along my collarbone, threads of pure, bright energy twisting through the air between us.
It caught in Jarek's russet hair, gilding the sharp lines of his face, wrapping around his wrist where his fingers worked inside me.
Light pulsing with my racing heartbeat, shimmering like sunlight on water.
"Jarek—" His name came out ragged, a plea or a warning, my thighs shaking against his relentless touch. His thumb pressed harder, grinding against my clit, and his fingers crooked inside me, hitting that spot again with bruising accuracy.
"Let go," he commanded, his voice a low rasp against my ear. "Come for me."
He pushed me faster now, deeper, his thumb pinning my clit as his fingers pistoned into me.
My magic flared brighter, hotter, wrapping us both in coils of brilliant gold.
Live wire. Burning up from the inside, every muscle coiled tight.
Building—that impossible pressure, sharp and quick, cresting towards—
Release slammed into me so hard I cried out—a sharp, guttural sound that echoed against the stone.
My fingers clutched his shoulder, my hips jerking wildly against his hand as wave after wave of pure, blinding pleasure crashed through me.
Stars exploded behind my eyes, my magic pulsing like a second heartbeat, golden light flooding the quiet corner of the courtyard.
Through it all, Jarek held me steady, his gaze locked on mine as I shattered, his fingers gentling but never stopping, coaxing every last tremor from my body. His name spilled from my lips again and again, a broken litany against the roaring in my ears.
When the tremors finally subsided, my head thumped back against the cool stone bench. Laughter bubbled up—breathless, shocked, utterly without dignity.
"Wow," I gasped, blinking dazedly at the stars swimming above us. Boneless. Liquid. Every nerve still humming. "Since when are your hands that lethal?"
Jarek slowly withdrew his fingers, but didn't move away.
He knelt between my legs, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left.
He brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine, and slowly sucked them clean.
Fresh jolt of heat straight to my still-twitching core.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bench on either side of my hips, caging me in. His lips brushed my ear. "I've had a long time to think about how I'd touch you, Pippa."
He pulled back just enough to see my face, his expression stripped bare. Not cocky. Not teasing. Awed. Reverent. Like he'd just witnessed something sacred.
Laughter died in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, vulnerable thing.
This was dangerous. This look, this feeling—a chasm opening beneath me.
Free fall I hadn't planned on. The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged.
I could feel myself teetering on the edge of something that would change everything, and every instinct screamed at me to run.
To make a joke. To deflect before I fell too far.
But Jarek's amber eyes held mine, patient and knowing, like he could see straight through every wall I'd ever built. His thumb traced a gentle line along my jaw, and I shivered despite myself.
"Pippa," he said softly, my name a question and a promise all at once.
I opened my mouth, desperate to make a joke, to deflect, to pretend that hadn't just cracked something open inside me—
But the words wouldn't come. Not while he looked at me like that. Like I was the only thing he'd ever wanted to guard.
I blinked hard, catching my own reflection in his amber eyes—twin flames flickering back at me, wide and startled and far too revealing. Abort mission. I needed safer ground. Now. Before I did something stupid like lean into that touch.
"Well," I managed, my voice coming out husky but determined to sound cheeky, "you're definitely earning your tips today."
He chuckled, low and warm, the sound rumbling through his chest where it pressed against mine. But his gaze didn't waver, didn't let me retreat into the safety of banter. His eyes traced my face like he was memorizing every freckle, every flush of color still staining my cheeks.
"Is that what we're calling this?" he asked, voice soft but edged with something that made my pulse stutter. "Just a tip?"
The question hung between us, loaded with everything we weren't saying. Everything I refused to acknowledge. My throat went dry.
Which was good. Perfect, actually. Because this was fun.
Temporary. No strings attached. Just two old friends blowing off steam at a festival—not the boy who used to pull my braids and steal my lunch, who'd somehow grown into a man who could unravel me with a single touch. Definitely not me catching feelings.
Nope. Not happening.
But even as I thought it, I could feel the lie crumbling. This wasn't the teasing boy from our childhood. This was Jarek—confident, dangerous, looking at me like I was something worth claiming.
My magic had settled back beneath my skin, but I could still feel the echo of it—golden threads that had wrapped around us both, binding us together for those breathless moments. I shoved the thought away. Magic was unpredictable. It didn't mean anything.
Jarek shifted, his hands moving to my ankles without a word. I watched, mesmerized despite myself, as his fingers worked the laces of my boots with maddening gentleness. Each brush of his skin against mine sent little aftershocks through my still-sensitive nerves.
This was torture. Pure, deliberate torture. The way his fingers lingered on each lace, the reverent care he took with something as simple as my boots—it felt like worship. Like he was claiming every inch of me, even the parts I tried to keep hidden.
When he finally finished, he stood and offered me his hand.
I stared at it for a heartbeat—those long, clever fingers that had just unraveled me completely, now extended in simple courtesy.
I took it, but only to lever myself up from the bench.
Not to linger. Not to let our fingers tangle together like they wanted to.
The moment my palm touched his, heat shot up my arm like lightning. I jerked back immediately, pulling my hand free with more force than necessary.
The moment my feet hit the ground, I stepped past him with what I hoped looked like casual confidence. "You know," I said, tossing him a wink over my shoulder, "if we'd known food service came with this kind of dessert, we could've skipped the stew entirely."
Jarek's grin was immediate and devastating, that fox-sharp smile that had been getting him out of trouble since we were children.
But his gaze lingered on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
Like he could see right through my casual act to the panic underneath.
Like he knew exactly how hard I was fighting not to turn around and demand he touch me again.
"Running away, Pippa?" he asked, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. The challenge in his tone made my spine stiffen.
I forced myself to keep walking, even as heat flooded my cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself, fox boy. I'm just hungry for actual food."
But I could feel his presence behind me like a warm weight, steady and sure. My skin still hummed from his touch, golden sparks of magic dancing just beneath the surface, and I had to clench my fists to keep from reaching back for his hand.
Don't look back, I commanded myself as we started walking toward the festival glow.