by Lucy Smoke
He shakes his head and gestures for me to enter. I step inside his bedroom chamber and when he closes the door behind me, my breath leaves my lungs in a rush.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
“I just...wanted to talk,” I say.
“Okay.” He steps away from the door, heading for the bed. He turns, resting back against the edge as he watches me, his spring green eyes studying me as if I were one of his textbooks. “Let’s talk. What do you want to talk about?”
“Matric, Edwin—” I gesture around, my movements jittery. “Everything, I guess.”
“Everything?” Cool, intelligent eyes watch me.
I shrug, looking around the room—noting the dark covers of his bed and the flickering candles next to a book on the nightstand. Booker folds his arms across his chest and gives me a look.
“Nerys, what is this about?”
I bite my lip. The desire to tell him everything, to throw myself at his feet and beg him—someone, anyone—to just take over and not ask me to make any of the hard decisions is great. So great, in fact, that my hands shake as I clasp them in front of me.
He notices. “Nerys?” Booker unfolds his arms and stands up to his full height. I tilt my head up and meet his gaze.
“Has anyone ever told you that you can be intimidating?” I ask.
His brow furrows. “I’m sure I’ve heard it a time or two. I’m not surprised you think so.”
“I didn’t say that I thought so,” I say quickly. “I was just...asking a question?” My voice squeaks at the end, going up in pitch, turning my statement into a question.
He lifts one elegant brow. "Nerys—"
"I know, okay," I say quickly, cutting him off. "I know that you must think I'm a child—and I admit, I am. I'm not ready for this. I'm not suited for this. Do you know what my grand plan was back in Matric's—I mean, Euron?"
He watches me, eyes assessing—always assessing—and shakes his head.
"I didn't have one," I say. I stare at him, hoping he sees the desperation in my eyes—hoping that he won't judge me for how fucking stupid I am, how inconsequential and useless I am. I am weak. I know that, I accept that. Even if we had the time, it's clear that there is no amount of training that I can undergo that will allow me to become powerful enough to kill Edwin.
Booker sighs and his shoulders sag. "Nerys, not everyone plans out their lives."
"But even if I had planned my life out—this—" I stop, gesturing around. "This is not what I would have planned for. Who could have planned for this?"
"No one," he admits, shaking his head, "and it's not your fault that you didn't."
When he reaches for me, I jerk myself back. I can feel my limbs trembling, shaking so hard. I'm scared. Scared to know what happens if I die. Scared to see what could happen if I live. Booker's eyebrows furrow and he holds his hands out, halfway raised as if he won't take back the invitation to seek comfort. I squeeze my eyes closed and release a rough breath before reopening them.
"There has to be another way," I say. No. "I know there's another way."
Booker's eyes narrow on me and his hands finally drop back to his sides. I turn my back to him, reaching for the door when he finally voices a response.
"What do you want, Nerys?" he asks. "We've talked a lot about what Obidian wants for you, what we want for you, what I want for you. But we haven't talked about what you want. I'm sorry for that. I should have noticed before now."
I hesitate. My hand hovers over the doorknob, my mouth suddenly dusty and dry. I swallow around a thick throat and turn back to face him again. His gaze meets mine and holds, rooting me to the spot.
"What I want?" I repeat. He nods, urging me to continue. I want a lot of things, I realize. Freedom to find normalcy. Freedom to love who I want to love. Freedom to never ever leave anyone behind or let them go far from me.
"What I want is to use what I've been given to do something good," I say instead. "I want to move away from being chased and hunted. I want to forget about Matric and his son and I want there to be peace. Not just in the world, but inside of me."
Do I blame the Gods? Yeah, maybe, a little bit. Okay, not really. I get it. They have their hands tied—Ngame made that clear. They are bound by natural laws, and they cannot intervene. Still, though, I feel like I’m always the one that ends up with the responsibility. Why me? I want to ask them. Why. Fucking. Me?
I take a rushing breath before I continue. His eyes never leave mine. "But I can't have that. Not right now. So, I'll take what I can have. It's no less important, but I want you safe. Coen, Luca, Titus, Holden…I want you all safe and I will do whatever I have to in order to make that a reality."
"And what exactly is it that you think you have to do to keep us safe?" Booker challenges.
I stare at him, throat constricting. "Well, I'm—"
"I swear to the Gods, Nerys, if you're about to preach to me about self-sacrifice and giving yourself up for us, I will do something that won't make you happy." He glares at me, a hand pushing through the dark strands of his hair, tempting my eyes to follow the movement. "Is that what you were about to say?" he demands. When I don't answer, he releases the deepest growl I've ever heard and his green eyes root me to the spot. "You can't possibly know how badly I want to take you over my fucking knee, Nerys."
My mouth falls open in shock. Not only am I surprised by his language, but I'm utterly spellbound by the movements of his muscles as they tense and constrict under his shirt. "Y-you," I start only to scramble backwards as he stalks towards me. I back up into the door, forgetting that it's the only exit. I spin and grab the knob.
A wide palm, the same one he ran through his hair, lands over my shoulder, slamming against the wood and holding the door closed. "Is that what you were going to say?" he repeats.
I pant, breathing in his enticing smell. He leans closer until he blocks out the light from the candles on his nightstand from behind him; I feel like we're in our own little, darkened corner of the world. All I hear are our breaths as Booker's head tilts down, and I can feel his gaze resting on me as he waits for an answer.
Should I tell him? I ask myself. But at the same time, I know I can’t. He wouldn’t understand the plan or my reasons for the decision I've made. Actually, he may understand, but he certainly wouldn’t agree. Not only would it royally piss him off, but he would ensure that I couldn’t go through with it.
"Tell me what?" he asks. My cheeks flush red in both anger and embarrassment as I realize he's peeking into my mind, trying to find out exactly what I'm planning. I slam the barriers I've erected up so fast, I can practically hear the mental locks engaging. I hadn't realized how flustered he was making me that I had accidentally let them slip so far. I thought I had gotten pretty good at blocking them out.
"You can't do that," I snap, trying to hide how rattled he's gotten me. "My mind, my business."
"Oh no, Nerys." Impossibly, he crowds me even closer against the door, until my breasts are smashed against it and he's breathing down the back of my neck. "You give privacy up when you threaten yourself. You give privacy up when I know there's something going on that you won't tell us. Not something small and insignificant, but something that will affect us all. You can't deny that whatever you're planning won't do that, can you? What are you planning?"
I lower my face, pressing my forehead against the solid wood. Booker won't have that though, apparently. He flips me around, slamming my back against the door once more and nudges my chin up with an insistent hand. Because of his massive height, his lips are directly in front of my eyes. I blink, caught on their plushness. The way his lips part, his stubble-covered jaw moves as he speaks.
"When will you lean on us?" he asks. "When will you understand that we're not just here because of Obidian's magic, because of some magical pull. We're here because of you. We care about you. Titus, Holden, and Coen are practically in love with you. Luca already is, I know it for sure.”
"And you?"
The question escapes before I can think better of it, before I can draw it back inside of me and extinguish it. For a moment, in the silence that follows, I'm shocked down to my core. I shouldn't want them to be in love with me. Not when I know nothing can come of it, not when I know that I may not be coming back.
You will. Obidian’s voice is strained as he repeats his earlier promise. I know he’ll continue to repeat it until my very real, very near, actual death. I shove him away and build up another wall so that he can’t intrude anymore. At least, not for the time being.
"Yes, Nerys," he says, "I very well think I’m in love with you too."
His mouth brushes across mine softly. Unlike with Titus or Coen, it's not a hard crashing of lips. It's a slow seduction. His lips part and I gasp, mine separating as well and his body presses closer, urging me to lean against the door as he moves over me. My hands come up to cup his neck, holding him as his chin tilts and his tongue enters my mouth.
I moan against the sensation. It's like electricity zinging under my skin. I gasp again, my hands moving lower, slipping around to his back. The muscles under his shirt ripple with movement as he pulls away to take a breath before coming back down for more. A reverberating growl in his throat shakes me deep inside. I want to crawl up his chest, close my legs around his massive tree trunk sized body, and forget why I came here tonight. I want to forget any silly notions of goodbye and just let him hold me and take care of me and hide me from the world.
That thought is a fantasy, though. Booker isn't the type to hide me from the world. He's the type to put me in armor, train me until I can't see straight, and send me out into a battlefield expecting...I don't know what he expects from me. Whatever it is, though, I know I'm not some sort of avenging Goddess. I'm not even smart for the sake of the Gods.
Wide palms grip me under my thighs as he grunts, and I gasp again. I realize I don't just want to crawl up his body, but I already have. I'm too absorbed to back down though. He simply takes my weight and pushes me harder against the door. Tiny little explosions skitter over my flesh as I kiss him and twine my tongue with his. His thumbs rub little circles on my thighs, making them clench down on him as I wrap my legs around his pelvis and link my ankles together.
When Booker pulls away, I'm panting and trembling and on the verge of something that feels just out of my reach. My nails dig into his skin ready to yank him back. But he stares down at me, his green eyes darker than I've ever seen them. His lips wet. One of his hands moves slowly upward until it circles my neck and my breath stutters in my chest. He presses his thumb over the pulse point of my throat. His thumb holds the erratic beat under my skin as he licks his lips again.
"You push me too damn far sometimes, Nerys," he says. "You lead me right to the edge and I go willingly and when we get there, you urge me to leap over the edge."
It takes a moment for me to reply. I'm too focused on finding a way to get his lips back on mine as soon as possible. "What's on the other side of that edge?" I ask.
He shakes his head, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the heartbeat in my throat, lips curling in weary amusement. "Sometimes I think it's destruction and sometimes I think it's paradise," he says quietly. “A woman like you promises both.”
His whole hand clenches around my throat, squeezing lightly before he swoops back in and ravages my mouth once more. My hand finds its way into his hair and I grab onto it, holding tightly as he swipes his tongue across my lower lip before delving back into the cavern of my mouth.
When he drops my legs back to the floor, I can barely see straight much less breathe around the lust clouding my system. He takes my hand and tugs me back towards the bed. There is nothing in the world that can stop me from following him.
When we reach the edge, he pushes me back and crawls up over me. His hands snake up my sides, both stopping to cup the sides of my throat again, pressing down. I shiver as he slides his tongue back over my bottom lip before pressing his closed lips against mine once, twice, and a third time before pulling away to look down at me.
"Stay with me tonight," he says. "Tomorrow, we'll talk and we'll decide as a group what to do. You’ll tell us whatever it is that you’re planning and we’ll figure it out together. I swear to you, we won't let anything bad happen to you."
When I reach for his face and I skim over his solid cheek, he leans into my touch, his eyes closing. I won't stay for tomorrow. I know that, but maybe I can have one last good memory—just in case—for myself. Selfishness opens my mouth and lies to him, tells him exactly what he wants to hear and his eyes open in relief when I say that I'll stay.
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He kisses me again, but he stops just as I feel a fire building in my belly. "Do you want this?" he asks. "We don't have to do anything in this bed. If you want to just lay down and go to sleep, I can do that. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."
I smile. Even in the throes of lust, he's still so sweet, so righteous. I lean up on my elbows and kiss the underside of his jaw. Then I drop away and reach up, awkwardly shimmying my shirt over my head. I hold it out to the side and let it drop to the floor. His lips part and he sits back hard as if he’s struggling to keep his hands away. I resist a smile.
"Do you even know how beautiful you are?" he croaks.
I can't respond. Saying anything to the contrary will likely push him into completing his threat of turning me over his knee or ruin the mood. Instead, I push him back and crawl over his lap, sitting myself over his thighs until I'm just a few inches higher than him.
Running my hands through the dark, silky strands of his hair, I tilt his head back and run my lips down his jawline before sucking on his neck. He groans before turning, pressing me into the cloud-like mattress. His lips run up the length of my throat as his hands go to the waistband of my pants. As he goes to pull them down, I grab the back of his shirt and pull it up as he moves down. His arms slip out of the shirt and I toss it somewhere unknown. My pants are gone and he comes back down over me.
Face to face, chest to chest, he's a quiet sun radiating all over me. Booker's fingers sweep across my skin, eliciting shivers and gooseflesh everywhere he touches. His hands grasp the delicate fabric of my undergarments and he yanks them away. Booker's mouth roves unencumbered, making me gasp and moan, and I clutch my hands in his hair.
"Nerys," Booker whispers my name against my skin, his palms grazing the undersides of my breasts. He sucks one nipple into his mouth and I gasp, arching against him. The sensations are hot and sizzling. I've never felt anything like it.
When he parts my legs and settles between them, though, I freeze. He stops and pulls back, looking down at me in concern. "Are you okay? Did you change your mind? Do you want to stop?"
I shake my head slowly and he relaxes before tilting his head to the side. He reaches for my face and brushes a lock of hair back. "What's wrong?"
"I-I..." How do I tell him I've never had sex before? My mind rushes to present to me all the worst case scenarios when I finally open my big fat terrified mouth and tell him. But the way his eyes widen in surprise, I realize he already knows. Stupid bond.
I groan in embarrassment and slam my eyes closed. Both of my hands slap over my face. He chuckles, moving back a bit. No, no, no, that's not what I want. I drop my hands and grab onto him before he can move any farther away.
"I'm sorry," I stutter out. "I just didn't know how to tell you. Please don't go."
His face softens and he leans down to brush his lips against mine. "I'm not going anywhere, Nerys. I just don't want to crush you if we're about to have this talk."
"Do we have to talk?" I ask desperately. "Why can't we just continue doing what we were doing? We can pretend this part never happened right?"
I can feel how hot and hard he still is against my thigh and I find that I want it. I want it like it’s the most important thing in the world. He doesn’t know that tonight could be my last night. And yes, even though Obidian assur
es me that I will make it, that I will live and survive—dying isn’t exact. He doesn’t know for sure. I don’t know for sure. What I do know is that I want to have as few regrets as possible. I want these desires.
I rub against him, a horrid manipulator, I know. But I'm desperate for him. Booker groans as I brush against his hardness and he presses me back against the bed, his lips finding mine. I sigh in relief and kiss him back wantonly.
His hands run up my arms to hold my shoulders and he yanks himself away. My head drops back in disappointment. "We need to talk about it, Nerys," he says. His naked chest rises and falls over me.
"Fine," I huff. "Then let's talk." I spit the word at him in frustration, but Booker merely chuckles before turning me to face the wall and scooting up behind me.
“Don’t be upset,” he says, nuzzling into my hair. I sigh in pleasure as he presses a kiss behind my ear and I can’t help but press my butt back against him. He grunts and pushes his hips against me once before pulling away and shaking his head. “So, you’re a virgin,” he says the words roughly as though he’s trying to remind himself why we stopped in the first place.
“Do we really have to talk about it?” I ask, wincing.
He chuckles quietly and presses another quick kiss to the top of my head. “I just want to make sure this is right for you, Nerys.”
“It feels right,” I assure him.
He sighs. “I just don’t want you to make a choice you might regret later,” he says. “I want you to be sure.”
I turn over, resisting when he tries to keep me facing away from him. “I’m not going to regret it,” I whisper, pulling his hand up to my mouth. I press an open-mouthed kiss to his palm and his eyes spark to life, lighting on the way my lips part and my teeth nip against his skin. “I promise you that anything we do tonight, I won’t ever regret.”
He smiles and raises a hand to brush his knuckles against my cheek. “Even when you think of the others.”