Chapter 15 #2
He started to move,slow at first, letting them both adjust to the overwhelming sensation. But slow didn’t last. Thirteen days of restraint, of careful distance, of wanting and not having,it all broke at once.
Marcus drove into her with increasing urgency, and Hazel met him thrust for thrust. The bed frame creaked. Sparks rained down like stars, disappearing before they hit skin.
“Harder,” Hazel gasped. “Marcus, I need, ”
“I know what you need.” He adjusted the angle, hitting something inside her that made her see actual stars. “That? Is that what you, ”
“Yes,fuck,don’t stop,”
He didn’t stop. Kept hitting that perfect spot with maddening consistency, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding between them to find her clit.
“Come for me,” he said roughly. “I want to feel you… want to watch our magic when you—”
She came with his name on her lips, and the magic between them went white-hot. Purple and gold light blazed across the ceiling, and she couldn’t tell if the shaking was hers or the bed frame’s.
Marcus followed moments later, burying his face in her neck with a sound that wasn’t quite her name but close enough. His whole body went rigid, then boneless.
They collapsed together, breathing hard. A few stray sparks drifted down like embers.
“Did we just—” Hazel started.
“Yeah.” Marcus kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. “I think we broke physics.”
“Is that normal? The light show?”
“No idea. Never happened before.” He pulled back to look at her, wonder and love written across his face. “But then, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”
Hazel’s chest constricted. “You love me.”
“Completely. Impossibly. Probably unwisely given the circumstances.” He brushed hair back from her face. “But yes. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Hazel said. “Even though you’re terrible at hiding and your camping skills are nonexistent and you’re going to break my heart in seven days.”
“I’m not going to—”
She kissed him before he could make promises neither of them could keep. When they broke apart, she said, “Again.”
“Again?”
“I want you again. We have seven days left. I want to make every hour count.”
Marcus’s expression changed. “Demanding witch.”
“Your demanding witch.” She rolled them, straddling him. “Now let me show you what thirteen days of sexual frustration looks like when properly channeled.”
What followed was messier, louder, absolutely filthy. Hazel rode him with abandon, chasing her own pleasure while Marcus’s hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. The magic never fully faded, just pulsed between them, building with each movement.
“Touch yourself,” Marcus said roughly. “I want to watch you.”
Hazel’s hand slid between them, finding her clit. The sensation combined with the fullness of him inside her made her moan.
“That’s it,” Marcus encouraged. “Christ, look at you. Taking what you need,”
“Shut up and thrust,” Hazel gasped.
He did. Drove up into her while she worked her clit, both of them chasing release. When she came this time, it was harder, deeper, her whole body shaking with it. Marcus followed her over, and the magic exploded again, painting the room in impossible light.
They collapsed, tangled together, skin to skin, magic still sparking lazily between them.
“That was—” Marcus started.
“Don’t say inevitable.”
“I was absolutely going to say inevitable.”
She shoved his shoulder. He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles.
Afterward, she propped herself up to look at him. In the morning light, with his hair mussed and his guard completely down, he looked younger. More human, despite the demon marks that traced across his chest.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he murmured, his eyes still closed.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to memorize me.”
“Maybe I am.” She traced the line of his jaw, rougher now with morning stubble. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, then to her wrist, then to the inside of her elbow. “It’s the opposite of a problem.”
Azrael appeared in the window, surveyed them with obvious judgment, and vanished with an irritated swish of his tail.
“What happens now?” Hazel asked.
Marcus pulled her closer. “Now? Now I make you breakfast.”
“That’s not what I…”
He kissed her, soft and unhurried. “I know what you meant. But can we have this first? Just this morning, just us, before we have to think about trials and conspiracies and everything else?”
“One hour at a time, if necessary.”
“We’ll figure it out.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Whatever happens after the trial, we’ll figure it out. I promise.”
“Breakfast,” she agreed. “But you’re putting on pants first.”
“Fair. Same rules apply to you.”
They dressed slowly, stealing kisses between buttons. Hazel pulled on one of his shirts instead of her own, white cotton that smelled like him, that hung past her thighs, and the look he gave her made her consider taking it right back off.
“Focus,” she said, though she was the one who needed the reminder.
“I am focused.” His voice had dropped an octave. “That’s the problem.”
They managed to make it to the kitchenette without getting distracted again, but Marcus burned the eggs because Hazel wrapped her arms around his waist while he was cooking, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades.
“We’re terrible at this,” she laughed against his back.
“Terrible,” he agreed, smiling as he scraped char into the sink. “Completely unprofessional.”
“Good thing I never hired you.”
They ate breakfast on the bed, plates balanced on knees, trading bites and stories.
Marcus told her about his first case—a pixie custody battle that devolved into glitter bombs—and she shared how she’d accidentally turned the mayor’s hair green at fifteen for insulting her grandmother’s protective wards.
They kept touching: hands finding hands, a thumb across a cheekbone, shoulders pressed together. Making sure this was real.
Eventually, the conversation turned to what they’d discovered the night before. The conspiracy. The leak.
“Mrs. Henderson.” Hazel set down her fork. “I still can’t believe it might be her.”
“We don’t know for certain it’s her. Just that someone close to you has been passing information.” Marcus’s face went serious. “But the timing fits. The moonbell flowers, the council knowing your movements—”
“She’s been my client for fifteen years. Her granddaughter is like family to me.” Hazel stared at her plate.
Marcus took her hand. “We’ll find out the truth. And when we do, we’ll make sure whoever’s responsible pays for it.”
“At the trial?”
“At the trial. If we can show the court that the Shadow Council was working with the Blackwoods, it’s not just Viktor who goes down. It’s the entire conspiracy.”
Hazel leaned into him. “Is that even possible? To expand the case like that?”
“Supernatural court operates differently than human courts. If we can prove a coordinated effort to obstruct justice, the judge has broad discretion to pursue all parties involved.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “But right now, I don’t want to think about the trial.”
“Seven days,” Hazel said.
“Seven days.” He pulled her against his chest. “And right now, all I care about is today.”
Outside, the October sun did its thing. Hazel stole another piece of toast off his plate and didn’t think about the calendar.