by Rhea Watson
And I was a grown-ass witch without a curfew. I didn’t need a reason to be out and about.
Sniffing, stumbling over my stupid skirt, I toddled down a vaguely familiar hallway, hands in my hair. My messy, messy hair. As per usual, my curls had emerged victorious against their restraints. Tomorrow morning, the cleaning staff would find a concerning number of hairpins scattered around the staff room. For now, the only thing keeping my mane in place was my wand, the whole thing stacked on my head in a beyond messy bun, curl escapees coiling around my face.
Okay, girl. I stopped my aimless drifting in front of an old headmaster’s portrait—near the main doors, then. Oriented. Head tipped to the side, I took in the painting’s stern expression, his windswept white hair, his formal warlock robes in pine green and gold. Seriously though: they couldn’t have edited out the glaring pockmarks all over his face? Airbrushing definitely existed in the—I squinted at the copper nameplate—1640s. Sighing, I straightened, hands on my hips, and glanced left, then right, then turned my back on the glaring portrait. What are you even doing out here, girl?
A whiff of mint tickled my nostrils—spearmint to be exact, carrying on a gentle breeze that gusted through the corridors. Had I missed the herb on today’s brief tour of the courtyard?
The courtyard.
My drunk heart sang at the thought.
So many pretties to examine beneath a twinkling, starry night sky, totally alone, able to squee over flora as much as I wanted with no one around to judge me.
With a determined nod, I headed in the general direction of the courtyard—only to stumble to a halt at one of its open arches as another cloud of spearmint wafted over me.
Not a plant at all, then.
Smoke.
Frowning, I peeked around the arch and spied a deliciously familiar figure leaning against one of the other exterior archways, a pipe in his hand, head tipped back against the stone. Before I could decide what I wanted to do—bow out gracefully or make a fool of myself—the fae rolled his head to the side, eyes boring straight into mine from across the courtyard.
Cheeks hot, I stepped forward with an awkward wave. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Suit jacket splayed open, tie loose, he brought his pipe up for a puff, then exhaled a cloud of smoke that took the form of a cauldron, steam billowing over its curled lip.
Boner alert. Why the hell was that so hot? It was just parlor tricks and oh, well, it worked—I was already strolling toward him, hands twined behind my back, tiptoeing along like a schoolgirl.
“Gavriel, right?” While he had occasionally entered my orbit during the wild times in the staff room, these were our first official words exchanged. As I neared, he tipped his pipe over and dumped the herbal remnants on the ground, tapping the bottom with a nod.
“Alecto, as I recall.” Tucking the pipe inside his jacket, he straightened and raked his light grey gaze over my figure. “Named after a fury.” His eyes twinkled as I plopped gracelessly back against the opposite side of the arch, fire-forged stone gritting into my back. “What’s your story, witch?”
I sucked in my cheeks briefly; not a soul at Root Rot would get more than the basic bullet points of my existence. “Yours first, fae.”
“Mine’s dreadfully boring.”
“Same.”
We studied one another openly for a few moments, two predators in the wild sizing each other up. Mercifully, he didn’t push—didn’t even seem to care that I hadn’t answered his question, not when his stare snagged on the curve of my hip, the sharp dip at my waist belted in pearl-dotted maroon.
And that was just fine with me.
Hot fae playboys were said to be good for one thing and one thing only, and it had been a long time since I had used sex to forget my problems.
Much, much too long.
Nibbling at my lower lip, I pushed off the wall and sauntered toward him, an extra sway in my hips for his benefit—and for mine, kind of proud at the thought of captivating one of the most alluring supernatural beings around. While Gavriel rolled his shoulders back, he didn’t move, didn’t ease off the archway, didn’t even flinch when I stopped an inch away. He smelled like spearmint and aged bourbon and Convallaria majalis—lily of the valley, an exquisite bloom with little white flowers, the scent divine, the plant itself ridiculously poisonous.
“Never met a fae before,” I murmured as I reached up and brushed silvery-brown hair from his forehead. Soft, just like it looked. Probably the only thing about this librarian that was as it looked, honestly. While Gavriel was my first fae, I had heard stories about mischievous tricksters and warmongering soldiers and dangerous dealers who stole your name—and then they stole you.
No telling where this fae fell on the spectrum, but as his mouth twisted into a devilish grin that sent heat fluttering down my navel, I just didn’t care.
“Allow me to properly acquaint you with the fair folk, little witch,” he whispered, fingers ghosting up my arm, smoothing over my shoulder, treading dangerously along my throat. I sucked in a stuttering breath, trapped in his gaze, skin prickling at the heat of his touch. His toyed with a rogue curl, a dangerous glint in his eyes, in the flash of his teeth, then cupped the back of my head and scooped me into a kiss that had my toes curling.
Warmth coiled in my core and quivered between my thighs, flaring when my body crashed into his. It started so romantic, him supporting the nape of my neck, our mouths moving like they had danced this slow, sensual routine a dozen times before. Rhythmic and fluid and polite. Just a hint of tongue, his flavored with spearmint. Noses nudging. Me up on my toes, hands planted daintily on his chest, on a wall of steely muscle that had no give beneath that luxe suit.
Sweet, kissing under the moonlight, under the watchful eyes of a thousand twinkling stars.
Until he flipped the switch—literally.
Snaking an arm around my waist, Gavriel spun me around and thrust me up against the stone archway. I exhaled sharply, eyes snapping open to find a grey inferno blazing back, all danger, no sweetness, no tentativeness in the way his tongue hooked into my mouth to claim me. My hands skimmed down to his belt, our breaths rising together, the kiss coming undone frantically on both ends, deep and furious and urgent.
It was only mildly frowned upon to sleep with a new coworker, right? It wasn’t like we shared a flat, or anything, and he wasn’t my boss.
We weren’t even technically in the same category, him sequestered in the library, me in the greenhouses. Perfect one-night-stand material; nothing cured stress like sex. Especially good sex.
Please be good.
Please don’t be a dud.
“You’d better be worth it,” I mumbled against his mouth, wrenching open his belt and yanking down his zipper. Gavriel groaned softly when I grazed his cock in passing, rigid and very present, straining against a pair of silk briefs. He then stopped and reared back, frowning down at me even as his busy hands hiked my skirt up to my thighs.
“What did you just say?”
Emboldened by liquid courage, I smirked and tilted my head against the stone wall at my back. “You heard me. You’ve got all the stories to live up to.”
As one of his hands braced on my hip, the other delved between my thighs without warning. My cheeks flared when it came time for him to smirk down at me, his eyes heavy-lidded and his touch smug.
“Is that so?” Gavriel purred as he cupped my sex, both of us now aware of the need soaking through black cotton panties that were way too basic to wear for a man like him. The base of his hand found my clit with ease, brushing over it, featherlight at first so that I twitched and whimpered at the flicker of pleasure, then firm enough to stoke the embers in my core.
“Uh-huh,” I forced out before biting down on my lower lip. Magma oozed through my veins, slow and hot and torturous and so fucking delicious, everything tightening as he massaged me.
“Well,” Gavriel rumbled, nudging my panties aside and stroking my slick slit. “I’d better not disappoint, then…”
“No, you—” I tapered off with an embarrassing squeal when he thrust two fingers inside me, forcing my hips back up against the stone. He found that magnificent little spot along my inner walls in a heartbeat, stroking it furiously, pleasure skyrocketing through my core and melting into my limbs. I grabbed at his arm, up on my toes and trembling, and Gavriel responded with a hand to my throat. A firm cuff that pinned me to the archway, held me in place even when I wanted to squirm and twist away at the almost painful spikes of heat pulsing through me. When the flat of his hand found my clit again, I was a goner, eyes clenched, mouth hanging open, hopelessly under his thrall and everything about today, about why I was even here, forgotten.
It was just me and him and starlight and his skilled fingers working me into a frenzy…
And that hand on my throat, squeezing experimentally—like he was testing my limits. My eyes snapped open to find him watching me, scrutinizing me, and when I sucked down a ragged breath and went back to the darkness, he gripped tighter, fingers gritting into my windpipe.
I’d never done kinky before. Never veered into spanking or collaring or whatever else people did behind closed doors, but I had always wanted to try. I liked sex. Liked how it made me feel—made me forget, relax, live in the moment. But I had never been great about demanding my heart’s secret desires.
Not that I was about to here with some random fae, a new coworker, but he did just fine on his own, pumping his fingers in and out of me, caging me in place, forcing me to take.
And I did. Greedily, hungrily, desperately, I opened my legs and rocked my hips, seeking out the inevitable implosion that would outdo every star in the Highland sky. Just as the cup threatened to spill over, on the brink, my movements jerky and my hands in such tight fists that my nails stabbed into my palms—he stopped.
Pulled out unceremoniously.
“No,” I protested meekly, my cheeks igniting when I caught him licking his fingers clean and grinning at me like the cat who’d caught the canary. Fucker. My hands dropped to his open belt, and Gavriel hastily joined me there, nudging his pants down and fishing out an impressive cock that stood rock hard and wanting.
Good to know the feeling was mutual.
Mutual and equally frantic. The fae went for my skirt again, and I helped him yank it up and out of the way. All the sweetness had vanished by now, replaced by a heady hurry that had our breaths racing and hands fumbling and bodies crashing together. Gavriel wrenched my panties aside this time, the elastic groaning in protest, then hoisted my leg up to his hip before piercing me in a single, gloriously rough thrust.
“Oh.” A twinge of pain cut through the mounting pleasure, and I threw an arm around his sturdy shoulders for balance, the other bracing on the stone arch overhead. With a flash of teeth and a ridiculously hot snarl, Gavriel hoisted me up, guiding both legs around his torso and smacking at my ass.
“Lock,” he ordered gruffly, and I did, ankles crossed behind his back, heels digging in hard. Just to show he wasn’t as totally in charge as he thought, I threaded my fingers into his ashy-brown locks, then yanked sharp enough to drag his head up and away from my neck.
“Move,” I hissed, bucking my hips for emphasis. His grey gaze narrowed, and he gripped me hard under my knees, retreated, then speared me again—more violently this time, like he had been holding back initially.
And it was just what I needed. My soft moan seemed encouragement enough, and the fae buried his face back in my neck, open mouth grazing my skin, his teeth a warning, a threat when they passed over the tender flesh of my throat. I tightened my grasp on his hair, braced on the archway—and then held on for dear life.
We fucked hard and fast, rough and dirty. Wordlessly, Gavriel pounded me into the stone in a way that would leave me sore for days. Moaning, I spurred him on with my heels, with my writhing hips and my hand in his hair. It was mutual gratification at its finest, both of us giving just enough to justify the selfish taking, seeking out our own pleasure in each other’s arms—scratching an itch I’d left festering for way, way too long.
And when I finally came, I swore I saw the sun, the moon, and all the stars. A storm of light and color ripped through the darkness behind my lids, pleasure weeping through my limbs and raging in my core. Swirling galaxies and imploding stars and Apollo in his chariot bathing the world in gold—
“Wait,” Gavriel rasped, his pace slowing to a torturous grind. “Are you—”
Nothing killed a climax faster than a cold dose of reality. “I take my p-potion…”
Religiously. Once a year, I brewed that damn potion, most expensive and complex in my arsenal—but totally worth it for no babies, no STDs, no periods, no unwanted nothing between my thighs. Satisfied, the fae picked up again, slamming into me, his teeth on my neck and his hip bones pistoning bruises into my thighs. The franticness dragged out a few lingering bursts of bliss, heat pinwheeling around my belly and sizzling between my half-closed lids, until he stilled, stiff as a statue, and spilled himself inside me.
The sound he made when he came, savage and primal and guttural and unf, would stick with me for a long time.
Panting, sweaty, we slowly untangled our mess of limbs and clothes together.
“So?” he asked, as I wiped my panties between my thighs, catching whatever had dribbled out with a grimace.
“So what?”
Gavriel jerked his zipper up, buttoned his pants, and stabbed his belt through the buckle without ever once taking his eyes off mine. “Worth it?”
Oh, definitely. But a guy who looked like him, breathtaking, his eyes ancient but the rest of him boyishly handsome—who had probably already screwed his way through the Root Rot staff just for kicks—certainly didn’t need an ego boost.
Still, I wasn’t completely heartless. Patting him on the chest, I flicked a few of the curls sticking to my damp forehead away with a grin. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“But it is morning,” he argued lightly as I wandered off, and just as I was about to round the corner, unsteady on my feet and pleasantly sore all over, Gavriel claimed the last word. “Minx.”
Peeking around the stony wall, I flashed a grin and an eyebrow wiggle, then left for good. More sober now than I had been… however long ago we had started this, I found my way back to the staff tower easily, clarity crystalizing with every step, then slamming into me as soon as I passed through the secret portrait entrance.
All things considered, sleeping with someone my first night here was probably one of the worst things to do for my burgeoning reputation. Face hot, I scaled the staircase slowly, lost in thought, the aches and pains of rough—awesome—sex making themselves more apparent with every floor. By the time I made it to the fourth, all the giddy, bubbly silliness from the party had disappeared, replaced with…
Well, not quite guilt.
Sex and guilt didn’t coexist in my world. I liked to get my rocks off every now and then, and given the fact that I had been single for years, there was nothing wrong with it. I had needs, just like everyone else.
But I wasn’t exactly impressed with myself as I gingerly turned Flat B’s doorknob. I had a persona to maintain at Root Rot, and for the sake of my grand plan—which was, unfortunately, still in the works—I ought to fly under the radar. So, you know…
Maybe don’t dance on tables in front of my new boss or do body shots with the mathematics professor off the PE instructor’s washboard abs or warble through Spice Girls’s “Wannabe” with the nursing crew, then let the hot librarian screw my brains out.
All on the first night.
Maybe I ought to take a step back and reassess.
And maybe I just needed to go the fuck to sleep.
Worry about it in the morning. Figure out a strategy for some damage control.
Right. Plan.
The fade of tipsy ushered in the inevitable hangover, a dull throb percolating behind my eyes, but I had enough sense before I stumbled inside to remove my flats on the off chance that
my roommate was asleep. Even if he wasn’t, I didn’t need to sully this relationship by clomping in at half past three, sweaty and rumpled and looking thoroughly fucked.
Even if that was the case.
Voices greeted me as soon as I cracked open the front door, and I snuck into a dark common area bathed in the television’s dim glow. As I gently shut the door behind me, I noted Bjorn’s long legs dangling over one end of the greyish-blue couch, shoes off, socks patterned with an oddly endearing bacon-and-eggs motif. No movement. No noise. I frowned. Had he passed out in front of the TV?
In front of what looked like reality TV?
I mean, I wasn’t up to date on human hits, but I could have sworn those housewives looked pretty desperate. Smirking, I tiptoed left toward the bathroom, careful not to interrupt.
“You smell like sex.”
My heart sank when his voice rose above the screaming women on the screen, but seconds later Bjorn’s head popped up over the back of the couch, smirking in the TV’s glow, more teasing than judgy. Thank the gods, because I so wasn’t in the headspace to lecture anyone about female sexuality tonight. Still, highly aware that he could hear my pitter-pattering heartbeat, I popped a hand on my hip and mustered up a glare.
“Rude.”
Bjorn settled down with a chuckle, crossing one ankle over the other, toes wiggling inside those thick wool socks. “I think we’re going to get on just great, Alecto Clarke. We already have such similar hobbies…”
A snort flew out before I could stop it, and I pressed the back of my hand over my mouth to muffle the rest. When he peeked over the couch again, only half his handsome face visible but brows very up, I flipped him off, hating that my lips twisted into the smile I saw in his eyes. Dignity in shambles, I then darted into the bathroom and closed the door firmly behind me.
After a much-needed pee and a lightning-fast shower, I brushed my teeth, guzzled some freezing water, and then tiptoed back out. Reality garbage still at the same low volume, Bjorn said nothing as I crept by him to my room, wrapped in a massive towel with my soaked curls temporarily slick and straight—manageable. With tonight’s outfit hanging over my arm, I stopped at my door, and from this angle found him sprawled out on a couch that was much too small for a giant Viking vampire, his eyes glued to the screen, head pillowed on one folded arm while the other hand rested on his chest.