by Eva Chase
At his push, we tipped over together. He braced himself over me, the muscles in his arms taut. He nipped the corner of my jaw and scraped his teeth down the side of my neck, sending a jitter of bliss through me. At the same time he leaned his weight onto one arm so the other hand could wrench down my bra.
The second his fingers closed around my bare breast, pleasure rippled through my chest. I moaned. “You like that, huh?” he murmured, flicking his thumb over the tip. “What about this? Tell me how much you need it.”
He twisted my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A shock of mingled pain and pleasure jolted through me. I arched into his grasp, instinctively seeking more. The ache in my core now burned all through my body. The flame in my chest danced with it.
“I need this. I need you. Don’t stop.”
His laugh sounded raw. He pinched the peak of my breast again, bending down to test the other between his teeth. His knee slid between my legs, giving the slightest pressure to the spot where I was neediest.
I let out another moan, rocking against his leg. I couldn’t help it. The rush of bliss and the exhilaration of my spark flaring brighter were carrying me away. Some part of me distantly remembered a plan to stay aware and in control, but it was too late. I was lost. And I didn’t mind even slightly. Not once in the times I’d brought to mind the steamiest scenes from my books and let my fingers travel between my legs had I ever felt close to this good.
And there was so much still ahead of us.
Damon’s fingers tugged my breast, and I gasped. He shoved his hand behind my back to strip my bra right off me. I took advantage of the temporary pause to wrench at his undershirt. With a smirk, he peeled it off.
He held himself still for a minute as I explored his chest. My thumb traced another scar that ran from just below his nipple to his sternum. “Such a tough guy,” I murmured.
He glowered at me. “Don’t you forget it.”
With that, he heaved me farther up the bed and grabbed the waist of my jeans. Anticipation tingled across my skin just below his fingers. I lifted my hips as he yanked the zipper down. He sucked in a breath, tugging the jeans off me. Then his hand slid over my panties to cup my sex.
My eyes rolled back as a wave of pleasure coursed through me. It urged my spark higher, hotter. “Damn,” Damon muttered, trailing his fingers over the dampness in the fabric. He slid them right under to test the wetness pooled at my core. “You are ready, aren’t you, angel?”
A giggle escaped me as I started to pant. “Not much of an angel anymore.”
Something tensed in Damon’s face. His hand stilled against me. He bent down until his nose touched mine.
“You’ll always be an angel, Rose,” he said.
Before I could come up with an answer, he kissed me as hard as before. His forefinger curled up into my opening. I moaned against his mouth. I didn’t know how to do anything anymore but quiver with bliss and ride his hand for all I was worth. My spark twirled and danced.
More. I wanted even more than this.
As he stroked me, I found the wherewithal to clutch at his jeans. Damon grunted and kicked them off. I reached for him again, the hard length of his cock beneath the thin cotton of his boxers. He shuddered as I pumped my hand. With a groan, he wrenched off the boxers too.
“Enough playing around.”
He stopped to cast his arm toward his bed stand. It took me a second to realize what he was groping for.
“We don’t need it,” I said. Even if I hadn’t been taught as much, I could feel the protective heat of my spark flowing through me.
Damon glanced at me, startled. A growl reverberating in his throat, he pushed me back on the bed, urging my hips up to meet him. A gasp escaped me as the tip of his cock grazed my opening.
“My way,” he said gruffly, catching my eyes.
I nodded, with a brief flicker of fear that was quickly wiped away by the ache of my desire.
Damon plunged into me so fast and hard that the pain radiated out of me almost as quickly as it had come. Somehow the burn as he stretched me only fed the glow of my spark and the pleasure singing through every nerve.
He held there for a moment, a tremor passing through his shoulders as I clutched them. “So good. God, Rose.”
Then he started to move. He met me with slow, even thrusts that seemed to build and build, faster and rougher, hitting deeper inside me with each buck of his hips. I clung to him, every nerve aflame. The ache inside me grew and grew until it filled every pore, until I felt ready to burst with ecstasy. But I couldn’t quite reach that peak.
Damon lowered his head with another groan. Sweat dampened his skin. He kissed me roughly.
“Damon,” I said. “Damon, please.” I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for. Only that I needed.
“Oh, angel.” His breath stuttered over my cheek. “I don’t want to just fuck you, Rose. I want to own your fucking heart.”
The words slipped out. “You’ve got it.”
He made a choked sound and buried his head in my shoulder. “I loved you. I loved you so fucking much.” His fingers tangled in my hair, gripping hard as if to emphasize his point. “Don’t you dare even think about leaving here. Not without me. Not ever again.”
As if I could conceive of leaving while he had my body on the verge of shattering apart with bliss. “I won’t,” I said. “Not because you told me to. Because this is where I belong.”
“Yes. Yes, you do.” His hand slid over my ass, raising me even higher. Letting him hit a point inside me that set off every kind of spark imaginable. He thrust and thrust again, each pump of his cock shooting pleasure through my core. “Come with me, Rose. I’ve got you.”
Something about those words released the final wave. Pleasure crashed over me, my body shaking with it, a cry breaking from my lips. The light of my spark washed through me from head to toes in turn. As I soared on it, Damon’s hips jerked. He came with a stutter of breath. His thrusts slowed.
He tugged me to meet him for another kiss. Then he slumped onto the bed, half on his side, half still covering me. I turned to nestle against him, needing to feel him against me everywhere I could. My eyelids drooped. All I could feel was the glow trembling through my body and the heat of Damon’s skin embracing mine.
Nothing was carved in stone or bound with magic, but a sense of finality settled over me all the same. There was no coming back from this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Damon
Rose’s arm slid against my side. Her fingertips pressed into my bare back as she hugged me tighter. The movement pulled me out of the satisfied haze I’d been drifting in, half asleep, for Lord knew how long. The soft murmur of her breath tickling over my chest suggested she was all the way asleep.
Asleep here in my bed.
The haze in my head faded. The rest of the room came back into focus. The sheets with their stains that wouldn’t wash out. The mess in the kitchen. The periodic plinking of the dripping tap I could never totally fix. The chill that seeped through the exposed concrete walls.
This wasn’t the kind of place where Rose belonged. What the hell was she going to think when she woke up and saw what she’d done?
And what had I said to her? God, in the heat of the moment, with her sweetness all around me, so many stupid words had come tumbling out. I’d told her I fucking loved her—
No, only that I used to. That was a little better. But still pathetic.
My gut clenched. I pulled away from her and pushed myself off the bed.
Rose’s arm hit the mattress. She startled awake and blinked at me. A brilliant little smile started to curl her lips, and the twisting sensation inside me wrenched even tighter.
“Okay,” I said, grabbing my boxers. “You got what you wanted. Time to go.”
How to kill a smile in less than ten words. The light faded from Rose’s face. I tugged on my jeans and tossed her clothes onto the bed beside her.
“Damon,” she said, quiet and even, “w
hat are you—”
“Did you think we were going to spend the whole night cuddling and I’d make you breakfast in the morning? Not really my style. Anyway, don’t you need to fly back home where you belong, angel?”
Rose closed her mouth. She looked at me for a long moment—long enough that my skin started to prickle. Then she reached for her clothes and got herself dressed, one piece at a time, that gorgeous angel’s body disappearing bit by bit. I turned to grab a shirt, to act as if I didn’t care about the view. I’d seen it all already, hadn’t I?
She got up to step into her shoes. The soles squeaked against the floor.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said to my back. “Nothing you say is going to make me regret what we did.”
My throat closed up. I swallowed before I swiveled toward her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We got off. Now I want my apartment back. You knew what you were getting into.”
Her dark green eyes held mine, pained but unwavering. “Yes, I did.”
She stepped forward, set her hand on my chest, and brushed a kiss against my lips, so soft and so fast it was already over before I could react. She backed away, scooping her fallen purse off the floor. “You know where I’ll be,” she said, and started up the stairs.
I didn’t want to follow her up, so I stayed where I was, watching her disappear. When the door thumped shut behind her, the clenching inside me eased—but a dull ache remained. I sank onto the edge of the bed, running my hands through my hair. With each breath, the ache crawled deeper. I gritted my teeth.
I’d taken Rose’s virginity, when I’d lost mine seven years ago and hooked up plenty of times since. I’d taken some little part of her innocence, when I sure as hell didn’t have any left.
So why did I feel as if she was the one who’d taken something from me?
“I can’t believe Silvio took you aside the other day for a private powwow,” Brad said, shaking his head with his version of awed disbelief, even though this was the fifth time he’d brought it up since the weekend. “Impressing the big boss! We’re moving up.”
“I don’t remember you doing anything,” I said. More sharply than I meant to. I’d hardly slept last night, and my nerves felt all out of whack. We were standing on one of our usual corners, just passing the time, but somehow I couldn’t relax.
“Hey, I pull my weight.” Brad took a swig from the silver flask he took such pride in carrying around and passed it to me. I tipped a shot of today’s offering down my throat.
The sour liquid hit my mouth with a pungent burn. I almost gagged. Instead I just grimaced and handed the flask over to George. “What the hell did you put in there this morning?”
“I was getting low,” Brad said. “There wasn’t enough of anything to fill it, so I put in the rest of the gin and the rum.”
“It tastes like you mixed piss and lighter fluid,” I muttered.
George took a sip. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“Well, your taste is shit.”
He gave me a look that was almost wounded. As if I was here to cater to his fucking feelings.
I kicked a dented can someone had dropped on the sidewalk. It rattled into the middle of the road. A woman who’d been walking on the other side flinched at the sound. Normally I’d have felt a little victorious, getting a reaction, but when she darted a glance at us and hurried on, all I felt was a different but equally unpleasant burn.
She looked kind of like Rose, dark-haired and pale-skinned. And she looked at me like I was a mutt she didn’t trust not to give her fleas. Her glance hadn’t been scared or cowed, just disdaining.
I tugged at my jacket, but the worn leather suddenly felt less like a shield and more like a scuffed-up rag. Was that and a scowl really supposed to impress anyone?
How pathetic were we? Spending the whole day talking about nothing, drinking shitty alcohol, acting like big men just because we moved stuff around in a warehouse a couple times a week. This was my life.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s do something.”
“Like what?” George said, looking blank. “Is something going down?”
“There’s never anything to do in this town,” Brad said with a roll of his eyes.
I sighed and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I didn’t have any ideas either.
The aftertaste of the alcohol turned even more sour in my mouth. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? How was I any better than these dipshits? What the hell had I ever done to deserve a chance with a girl like Rose?
What the hell had she ever done to deserve the good-bye I’d given her last night?
Nothing. Nothing at all except being what I hadn’t thought I could ever have.
My throat tightened. “I need to take a piss,” I said. “Maybe I should top up that flask of yours.”
George guffawed. Brad huffed and grabbed the flask from him. “Maybe I should stop sharing my booze with you, asshole.”
“That’s okay. I can afford to buy my own.” The cheap shit, anyway, but at least enough not to mix it in awful combinations.
I headed down the street to the one bar in town that opened right at noon. When I pushed past the door, the bartender was just wiping down the counter. “Give me a minute,” she said.
I nodded. “That’s fine. I need one anyway.”
I ducked into the bathroom and closed the door to one of the stalls. As I sat down on the closed toilet, I pulled out my phone. This wasn’t a good setting for this. This wasn’t a good setting for anything. The floor stunk like puke and spilled urine no quick cleaning could completely erase.
Or maybe that was completely fitting for how I was feeling right now.
I brought up Rose’s number. Stared at it for a while with my arms braced against my knees. It shouldn’t be this hard. Just say something.
This was what a tough guy I was. Couldn’t even find the courage to reach out to the girl who’d given me a tour of heaven.
Her face, the expression on it when I’d told her to leave, flashed through my mind. My fingers tightened around the phone. Did she even care—did it even matter to her—?
I forced myself to take a long, slow breath of the bathroom air. She’d come to me. She’d picked me. Hell, she’d even kissed me before she’d left, despite how much of a bastard I was being.
I could blame a lot of people for a lot of things, but the only one I could blame if I shut Rose out was me. She couldn’t have been more clear that she was willing to take me however I decided to present myself.
The words still didn’t come to me, but I moved my thumbs over the keypad anyway. Pressing the symbols to form a heart. <3 I hit send and leaned back against the tank, feeling as wrung out as if I’d just scaled Mount Everest.
I went back into the bar before the bartender could start wondering if I’d drowned in the toilet, and ordered a drink. I was halfway through the beer when my text alert went off. My pulse skipped a beat as I reached to check my phone.
Rose’s response was as brief as my offering had been, but it was all I needed: a matching heart, offered back to me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rose
Is she gone yet?” Philomena whispered, craning her neck toward the window.
I cocked my head. The rumble of the chauffeured car’s engine was just fading into the distance. My heart started to thump. “I think so.” I paused. “And I think I’d better do this alone.”
The only good thing that had happened in the manor since—well, since Kyler had climbed through my window that first night—was that my stepmother had a work appointment this afternoon. Celestine would be gone for at least three hours. With Meredith fired and only the weekend staff around, there was no one left to notice if I made use of the fading but still heady flame of my spark.
With my spark not properly kindled, its heat had been diminishing from the moment I’d left Damon’s apartment. I had to do this soon, or I’d lose my chance. And I’d have to be very careful how I
expended the energy I had left.
I padded past the common magicking room to the private one for the lady of the house’s sole use. The power inside me picked up the quiver of a spell laid across the door.
Celestine hadn’t wanted to take any chances of anyone breaking in. This was the only point of access to the windowless room. But she hadn’t counted on anyone trying to enter who could draw on magic anywhere close to hers.
I turned my body slowly and deliberately, sliding my hands down through the air. Picturing a wall around this end of the hall that would encourage anyone who came this way to change direction. No interruptions, please.
My spark wavered and dipped a little lower. My chest tightened. The magic wouldn’t slip through my fingers anywhere near this quickly after I was consorted. If I was consorted in time.
I put that thought out of my head. The spell on the magicking room door was a more difficult problem. I didn’t want to remove it, because I couldn’t perfectly replicate it for when Celestine returned. So I needed to convince it to let me somehow… slip through.
Her magic was focused around the lock midway up the completely smooth surface. Where a knob would have been if non-witching folk had been meant to ever open this door. I held my hands over that spot and curled my fingers toward the lock, testing the pulse of the spell’s warmth against my skin.
Come with me, I thought at it. Just ease a little over to the side…
I dragged at it with my own power, gently and then with more force. Heat flared between my hands. I winced, but the spell moved in the same moment. It eased, inch by inch, until I left it quivering off to the side of the lock. Then, with a twitch of my fingers, I popped the deadbolt.