Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  Too much sensation. Too, too much.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he says, his breath fanning against me. “You’re going to need to stay in place, cherub.”

  Desmond’s magic rolls against me, and—

  “You—are a terrible—person,” I gasp out, the words broken. I’m quickly losing the last of my composure.

  “I am,” he agrees.

  He licks and sucks and rolls my clit between his teeth, the bastard only moving away when I’m close to coming. I’m pinned in place by his hands and his magic, and no amount of arching or twisting can get me out of his line of fire. So I’m left to ride his cruel ministrations.

  And they’re really, really cruel. I’m caught in an endless cycle of build-up and let down, my body winding tighter and tighter.

  “Damn you, let me come,” I say, glamour filling my voice.

  But the order I give isn’t phrased correctly, and rather than forcing the Bargainer’s hand, I’ve allowed him to slip through mine.

  Des pulls away, releasing my legs as he sits back on his haunches. He runs his tongue over his lower lip, looking like the Seven Deadly Sins wrapped into one, and oh my God, why isn’t he finishing this?

  “That’s not how this works, love,” he says, looking at me like a man bewitched.

  After a moment, Des leans back in, but just when I think he’s going to take up where he left off, he lifts me from the bed. Instinctively, I wrap my arms and legs around him, feeling his cock straining against his pants.

  “Sweet thing, the night’s just beginning.” With that, he takes my lips in a carnal kiss.

  I taste myself on his tongue, and that makes my core ache all over again.

  I lock my ankles together behind him, my fingers mussing his hair. My body is lit on fire, my flesh raw from the way Des worked me.

  Des carries me across the room, until my back thuds against the wall. He breaks off the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine as he breathes heavily.

  “I don’t intend for this to be some easy claiming.”

  Claiming. He keeps using that word, and not for the first time, I sense his fae side trying to consume all that it can.

  As he holds me, his clothes slide from his skin, pooling beneath us. His hips pull away from mine and, keeping me flush against the wall, he thrusts into me. I gasp at the sensation, my core clutching his cock like a vise.

  Yes. I bask in the exquisite pressure and fullness, and his overwhelming body straining against mine.

  I slide my palms over his wide shoulders, feeling the steel bands of muscle beneath. Des’s presence is intimidating enough when he enters a room, but now, when he’s driving into me, it’s all-encompassing.

  His hands slide to the backs of my thighs, angling my pelvis so that each stroke of his cock slides deeper than before.

  He leans his forehead against mine as he hammers me against the wall. “This is every wish, cherub, every dream of mine, actualized. I would give up all my secrets—I’d give up my very throne itself—if it meant being with you.”

  I want to say something eloquent, but all that comes out of my mouth is a breathy moan.

  So smooth.

  “And I like it when my mate moans in my arms,” Des says. “Hmmm, maybe I should make you moan again …”

  The first tendrils of the Bargainer’s magic lick against my skin “Don’t,” I say, glamour filling my voice.

  Des grins at me, looking thrilled at my response.

  Our bodies make slick sounds as he pounds in and out of me, and all too soon sensation is building up until I’m coiled tight. Release is right there—all I have to do is let go …

  Des slides out of me, and I nearly cry out.

  A woman could be driven mad by this!

  The Bargainer drops to his knees, hooking my legs over his shoulders. His mouth is inches from my core, but his head is tilted up to take me in. I thought that maybe this was part of his game—to withhold my orgasm as long as possible—but one look in his eyes banishes that thought completely.

  He’s gazing up at me like I’m something akin to his religion, something he might pray to, and right now I feel like a dark queen, my throne made of this man’s flesh.

  “Marry me,” he says.

  Time slows, and my breathing stops.

  Marry me.

  A second ago I was mad with lust, and now … now …

  “It’s not enough to be mated to you,” he says, “I want it all, if only you’ll have me.”

  My hands begin to tremble where they grip him. I can barely hear my thoughts over the pounding of my heart.

  “Marry me, and I will cherish you forever, cherub.”

  Marry me.

  We’re already bound by unbreakable forces. The supernatural world sees us as soulmates, as does the Otherworld.

  Marriage is for humans.

  Suddenly, I feel all of sixteen again, and Des is asking me to prom. Prom, marriage—all of it is for that part of me that has always been a desperate outsider, a loner. That painful part of me that wants to be normal.

  This is Des giving me normal.

  “Godsdamnit,” Des whispers, “please say something, Callie.”

  I shake my head, beginning to smile.

  Only, Des misinterprets my action.

  His eyes are dying, dying …

  I cup his cheeks, just as I did earlier.

  “Yes,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. I begin to nod, and once I start, I can’t seem to stop. I smile, and it feels like that smile is touching every inch of my face—every inch of this room. A happy laugh slips out.

  I’m going to marry Des!

  Life flushes through his face, brightening his features, and I’m sure the world has no use for suns with a smile as bright as his. It spreads across his whole face, his eyes crinkling from the action.

  “You’re going to marry me?”

  I nod again, and I’m smiling so hard my face is beginning to hurt.

  “You’re going to marry me,” he says again, processing it. “You’re going to be my wife.” He lets out his own disbelieving laugh.

  All at once, he stands, and my legs slip off his shoulders. He catches me halfway down his torso, and then he spins us, pressing me close.

  Right now it feels like the two of us are in our own little universe. He’s my moon, my sun, my stars, my sky, and all that space in between them.

  Des lays me down on the bed, moving up my body languidly. He takes my mouth, kissing it like he’s breathing life into me.

  My hands rake up his back, brushing against his wings. His wings! I didn’t notice them before, but they must’ve emerged when I said yes. Mine are still locked away from his earlier magic.

  This time, when Des enters me, it’s not nearly as carnal as it was minutes before. His wings splay out, shrouding the two of us as he fills me. He pulls out, the action an agony.

  “Years I have waited for this,” he says, “anticipated it. My wife.”

  He thrusts back into me. Again and again, he moves out and in like the tide, each deep, rolling stroke a brand, as though he wants to make it known to everyone and everything that we are real, we are together, we are one.

  This time, when Des relentlessly pushes me towards my orgasm, there’s nothing there to stop it.

  “Des,” I breathe, and then I’m moaning, arching, coming.

  I climax in his arms, staring into those light eyes of his as I feel myself come apart.

  The Bargainer pounds into me, stretching out my orgasm until he pauses, his breathing stilling for an instant. Then I can feel him thickening. He groans against me.

  “Callie—” he bites out. That’s all he manages to say before he gives himself over to sensation, pistoning in and out of me as he rides out his own orgasm.

  Eventually, his strokes gentle. Even once he’s finished orgasming, he stays in me, brushing my hair back as he stares down at me. “Cherub … there’s something I’m forgetting …”

  He snaps his fingers, and from
the ether a ring appears between his thumb and forefinger. “I believe this is yours.”

  The Bargainer’s wings are still out, and beyond them, the once bright room is now dark with the Night King’s magic.

  Des slips off of me so that he can take my hand. Pressing a kiss to my ring finger, he begins to slide the piece of jewelry on.

  The stone set into the band glows faintly; it’s no diamond. I’m not one to care about rings, but this one has me mesmerized.

  “What is it?” I ask, staring at the glowing stone.

  “I made a deal with the stars …”

  A deal—of course he did. I smile a little.

  “It’s captured starlight,” he explains, squeezing my hand. “I figured the Queen of the Night should carry a piece of her kingdom with her.”

  Going to cry all over again.

  “You already had the ring picked out …” It’s such a ridiculous statement. Obviously he picked out the ring some time ago; it’s not like he interrupted sex to make a deal with the stars on the spot.

  Des grins, and the sight of it just slays me. “Cherub, it would frighten you how long I’ve carried that ring around.”

  Yeah, I’m sure frightened is not the word I’d use.

  “I’m going to marry you.” I get a little zing of excitement just saying the words.

  “I’m going to marry the shit out of you,” he agrees.

  As I stare at him, I think about that old vow, the one that got me into trouble. “From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, for the rest of our lives, be mine always, Desmond Flynn.”

  He kisses my lips. “Until darkness dies.”

  Chapter 22

  The next morning, when I wake, I open my eyes and see a shock of white blond hair. Des’s head rests just above my breast, his features softened by sleep. His arms are wrapped around my waist, one of his legs thrown heavily over mine.

  I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. Des is here with me, seducing me in my home. My left hand is buried in his hair, and now I remove it to stare at my ring for the five thousandth time.

  Millions of people go through this—falling in love, getting married, yadda, yadda yadda—and yet I can’t possibly imagine anyone else being as happy as I am in this moment, as in love as I am right now.

  My hand drops back to Des’s white hair, and I pretend for a moment that the two of us have simple lives. That I’m just a human, and he is just my fiancé. That he has no realm to rule and that I don’t have wings and scales and a fae stalker that wants my head. That we aren’t embroiled in an Otherworld battle that might destroy everything that fairies hold dear.

  I pretend for a few minutes that we’re just two long lost lovers reunited at last. That later today we’ll hold hands and stroll to the coffee shop down the street.

  I hear Des’s deep rumble. His face rubs against me, his arms tightening around my waist. He tilts his head up, those luminous eyes finding mine.

  A slow, easy smile stretches across his face. There’s nothing but love in his expression, though even that look on Des is a bit devious.

  He brushes a kiss against my sternum. “You know, Callie, I’ve never been partial to daylight, but I definitely think I could get used to this.” His hand slips down and begins to pet my thigh. “Tell me, how do you feel about … sleeping in?”

  The gleam in his eyes is hint enough. We’ll be sleeping in sans the sleeping part.

  “I think that sounds amazing.”

  The two of us don’t slide out of bed until hours later, caught up in each other. I’m pretty sure heaven consists of endless days like this one.

  Only reluctantly do I drag myself out of bed, and only then because Des promised to make us breakfast.

  I watch him now, my shirtless Des moving about my kitchen like this is his house and not mine. (I’m pretty sure he feels the place is now his.) I try not to smile as he pulls ingredients out of thin air.

  Eggs dance in midair, and bell peppers chop themselves. All the while, Des whistles away, his hair tied back.

  My eyes move lower, taking in his muscled body and his sleeve of tattoos. The Bargainer is a thing of beauty. A deadly, wily thing, but a beautiful one nonetheless.

  It’s as I’m relishing the sight of him that I notice the claw marks scouring his back.

  I hiss in a breath. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, my claws came out to play earlier.

  Des turns around, instantly alarmed. “What is it?”

  I nod to his back. “I hurt you.”

  He casts a glance over his shoulder. I know he can’t see the markings, but he must recall them because he smirks.

  “If you’re feeling truly terrible about it, Callie, I’m sure we could work out a way for you to repay—”

  “Des!” That’s what I get for being thoughtful.

  He laughs, then turns back to my stove, where he’s cooking up an omelet. I realize then that he could’ve simply healed himself. But much like Malaki with Temper’s hickey, he hadn’t.

  Never going to understand fairies.

  The Bargainer flicks his spatula-wielding hand, and a mug of coffee prepares itself. Once it’s finished, it floats across the kitchen to where I sit.

  “For you, my love,” he says, not bothering to turn around.

  I catch the mug out of the air. “You’re the best,” I say, taking a grateful sip.

  “Was there ever any doubt?” He glances over his shoulder and winks at me.

  It’s only a short while later that Des finishes the omelets, my dish floating over to me, his trailing after. They clatter down on the table, forks and napkins hustling through the air after them.

  Des takes a seat across from me, dragging his chair back, and holy Jesus, a shirtless Des is sitting at my table. My lady parts aren’t handling the situation well.

  He raises his eyebrows at me, and looks pointedly at the meal.

  The Bargainer leans back in his chair. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Giving me your fuck me eyes. I’m trying to be a gentleman and not screw you right here on your kitchen table.”

  I set my coffee aside. “The table can take a beating …”

  This may legitimately be heaven.

  “Can we do this always?” I ask.

  I’m sitting cross-legged on the table, my clothing skewed. Scattered across the floor are the remnants of breakfast, the omelets splattered across the ground, the dishes shattered to pieces.

  Why hadn’t Des and I come back to earth sooner? It’s obvious this is where we get our freak on. Honeymoon: my house … then Des’s house … then somewhere in the clouds between the two.

  Des steps up to me, his pants back in place. He brushes a kiss against my lips, then extends a hand. The pieces of my broken mug vibrate off the floor, then fit themselves back together. The splattered coffee funnels itself into the air and then back in the mug.

  The Bargainer hands it to me. “Need you even ask such a question? I’ll insist we do this.”

  I take the cup of coffee from him. “Thanks.”

  He sits down next to me on the kitchen table, a mug of his own floating into his hand. Breakfast begins to fix itself back up, the omelets reforming, the plates piecing themselves together. They clatter onto the table.

  “What shall we do today?” Des sounds downright devious.

  “I thought we’d already figured that one out.”

  “Demanding little siren. I’m nothing but your little sex doll, aren’t I?”

  I shake my head, blowing on my coffee. (Somehow, Des managed to make it steaming hot.) “You have me all figured out.”

  He flashes me a mischievous smile. “I was thinking we might do a little something between shags.” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, I know.”

  I glance over at him. He looks a little too conniving for my taste.

  A minute later, a box floats out of my guest room. At first, I think we’re doing Redecorating Callie’s Home, Part II. But then I recognize the box heading our wa
y.

  I nearly drop my mug.

  “What are you doing, Des?”

  This is not a part of my past that I want to explore with him right now—or ever.

  The box drops onto the ground in front of us.

  “What does it look like I’m doing—digging up all your dirty little secrets. Oh look—this box isn’t dusty like ours was. Someone revisits these things frequently.”

  I’m clenching my mug now.

  The cardboard flaps of the box pop open.

  I lean forward and slam a hand down on them, closing the box back up. “Let’s not.”

  “Come now, love. I want to see Callie’s Naughty Chest.”

  I almost fight him on it. Even though he’s seen my worst, this is not a collection I’m proud of.

  But then, this is what our relationship is built on: we share our dirty little secrets with one another, things that no one else might accept us for.

  So eventually I lift my hand. “Fine.”

  The flaps pop open once more. My heart’s pounding a little faster, and my fingers are a little twitchy. No one else has seen what’s in this container.

  The first thing that levitates out is a gold necklace. A man’s gold necklace. It pools in Des’s waiting hand.

  “What’s the story behind this?” he asks.

  If I close my eyes, I can still see the man clearly. Wiry, lean frame; mean, squinty eyes. Not all my targets look like bad people, but this one did.

  “Keith Sampson. His ex wanted sole custody of their children, so she had me dig up dirt on him. Among the long list of very fucked up shit he did in his life, he beat his wife, sold drugs to minors, and he got his daughter hooked on heroin so that ‘the cow could lose some fucking weight.’”

  Just remembering Keith has my siren stirring with agitation.

  “What did you do to him?” Des asks, curious.

  Grovel. Cry. Demean himself.

  “I made him turn himself in.”

  “Hmm,” Des says, staring at the necklace.

  I get the distinct impression he’s listening to the shadows right now. That theory only solidifies when he smirks, then sets the piece of jewelry aside.

  The next thing that comes out is a hand drawn map.

  “Arnold Mattis,” I say.