Jaded

by Anya Bast

  Byron closed eyes and his hands fisted at his sides. He wanted to turn and punch Alek in the face right now. He didn’t want to imagine Lilya and Alek alone in her bed tonight. But he needed some distance. Needed to pull back away from Lilya to protect himself. He needed to let this happen however much it might hurt. “Go then,” he said hoarsely.

  Alek didn’t move for a full ten seconds. Then he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

  “Ouch!” Lilya dropped the book she’d been reading into her lap and held her hand. She given herself a paper cut while turning the page.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  She held her hand, blood welling, and closed her eyes. She’d didn’t want to see either of the men tonight. She wanted her pajamas, her bed, a warm fire, and a good book. Sighing, she relented. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Alek came in. “Lilya?” His gaze dropped to her hand. “What happened?”

  She laughed. “It’s nothing, really.”

  He went to the water basin, found a towel, and wet it. Then he walked over to her and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Let me see.”

  Hesitating for a moment, she gave him her hand. “See? It’s just a dumb paper cut.”

  “Yes, well,” he murmured as he wiped the blood away, “dumb paper cuts hurt like a son of a bitch.”

  She drew an unsteady breath as his hands held hers. His touch was becoming like Byron’s, something irresistible to her. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone for the night? Every time he touched her, she felt more for him. “Yes, they do.”

  “Byron went to bed. I just came in to check on you. You seem disturbed this evening.” His head was down, examining the cut.

  She didn’t want to talk about this, so she changed the subject. “When you look at a wound, do you feel the impulse to heal it?”

  He looked up at her, surprise in his dark eyes, making them seem a shade lighter. “Sometimes.”

  She placed her other hand over his. “Try it. Try it now. I know it’s just a paper cut, but—”

  He looked down and away. For a moment she thought he might bolt. Anything reminding him of Evianna made him want to run, she suspected.

  Her unwounded hand closed over his. “Alek, please?” She only had a week to do the impossible thing that Byron had brought her here to accomplish. That meant she needed to push him a little.

  He looked back at her, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I care about you, Lilya.”

  She tried to smile. “I know you do. I can feel it.” She held his gaze for a long moment, then leaned in and pressed her lips to his. “And,” she murmured against his lips, “I have come to care very much about you.”

  He increased the pressure of his lips on hers and pushed her back into the pillows. Alek was like a gathering storm, quiet, intense . . . then explosive. From the moment she’d leaned in toward him, she’d known what she was inviting.

  Joshui help her, she knew she should push him away, demand that he leave—but she couldn’t. She wanted his hands on her, wanted the sensation of his warm breath on her skin.

  “Stay with me tonight, Alek,” she whispered against his mouth.

  In reply, he pulled his shirt over his head and she ran her hands down his chest and up his arms, over warm skin and bunching muscles. Dropping to his pants, she undid the button and zipper, urging him to be free of them. Her fingers closed around his cock and found all his sensitive places, making him groan her name.

  He slid bare into her bed, his warm body against her silky nightgown. He grabbed fistfuls of the soft material and yanked it upward, working it over her head and off so that they were soon skin against skin.

  He rolled her under his body, his mouth on hers, lips kissing and teeth softly nipping. She explored his powerful torso as his hands slipped over her breasts, between her legs, stroking, petting, making her wet with need. Her fingers curled around his cock and she caressed him until he gave a low groan of arousal, a sound that went right through her, making her shiver.

  His head dropped to her breast as he speared two fingers deep inside her and thrust. Her back arched and she moaned his name, her fingers curling in his hair. Alek touched her the way Byron did—made her melt, made her senseless with want. Alek was rougher, more demanding, but he found all the places that made her purr, including the very sensitive one deep within her.

  His tongue swirled around each nipple, making them wet with his saliva and hard as pink pebbles while he thumbed her clit, making her moan as he coaxed it into plump need.

  When he’d made her mindless with the desire to come, he kneed her thighs wide and slipped between her legs, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. He stayed that way, hovering over her, his gaze intense and hot on hers. Then he slid inside inch by mind-numbing inch as he stared into her face.

  She gasped at the stretch of her inner muscles, her lips parting and her eyes going wide. Then he was seated as deeply inside her body as he could get. She licked her lips, her eyes fluttering shut.

  He took her wrists and gently pinned them to the mattress as he began to move in and out of her. He stared down into her face the whole time, a strangely intimate act that heightened her pleasure. Keeping his pace slow, he thrust in and out of her body, letting her feel every single inch of his cock as it moved inside her. His body rocked against her clit, sending spasms of pleasure through her, making the world seem far away—as if only he existed, the play of his body on hers and the pleasure they gave each other.

  “You feel so fucking good to me,” he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment. “Like hot silk.”

  She pushed at him, urging him up. He rolled and she went with him so she was on top, taking control from him. She sat on him, rolling her hips and taking him even deeper into her body. Flipping her head back, her hair cascaded down her spine as she sighed out his name.

  He found her clit and petted it as she rode him. His hands roamed her breasts and stomach, explored the place where her sex and his cock met. Then it was back to the relentless pressure on her clit until she exploded in orgasm, bucking on him and moaning as her sex spasmed around his length.

  Before she knew what was happening, she was on her stomach, hips high in the air. She clawed at the bedclothes for a moment, empty. Then he was there, thrusting into her from behind with a feral sound growling out from his throat. He held her hips in place and took her fast and hard. Their bodies slammed together, making pleasure race through her with every inward thrust. He moved a hand down past her abdomen, between her thighs, finding her orgasm-sensitive clit and stimulating it.

  So much for taking control. Alek had all of it now.

  She gasped, her fingers finding purchase in the comforter and holding on for dear life. He pushed her past the postclimax sensitivity in her body and straight back to teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

  “Come again for me, Lilya,” he growled.

  She complied. It burst over her like a bomb, making her cry out. She shuddered and moaned, her internal muscles milking his thrusting cock. Behind her, he shouted her name and his cock jumped deep inside her as he spilled.

  “Sweet Joshui,” he groaned as he collapsed. He pulled her toward him, kissing the top of her head. “You kill me every time, Lilya. It’s always so good with you.”

  She snuggled against him, her body humming in the aftermath. Her muscles would hurt in the morning, but it would be worth it. “We go well together, you and I.”

  “Like you and Byron.”

  She took a moment to answer. “Like me and Byron.”

  “We all go well together, don’t we?”

  She nodded. “I have never been with men who were your equals. Never.”

  He turned her to face him and kissed her lips slowly. “I know you’re not lying when you say that.”

  She smiled, looking anywhere but at his eyes. “Are you really so sure of yourself?”

  He tipped her chin up, forcing her to hold his gaze. “No. It’s because you can’t lie wor
th a damn, Lilya.”

  “Ah.” Her smile slipped. “That’s true enough. Never could. It’s what made me a beggar on the streets instead of a thief. I’m honest by nature.”

  His fingers skimmed the shape of her cheek. “I can see almost everything on your face.”

  She returned his gaze steadily, silently daring him. “Can you?” Could he tell she was falling in love with him?

  He kissed her forehead, tucking her head against his chest. The fight went out of her, postcoital satisfaction ringing the last bit of awareness from her body. She closed her eyes and slept.

  When she woke, the sheets and blankets tangled and still warm from Alek’s body, she caught a glimpse of her hand.

  He’d healed her paper cut.

  Twenty-one

  She came downstairs and into the kitchen, wrapping her robe around her midsection, her hair still damp from her morning bath. Byron sat at the table with a book and a cup of coffee.

  Her stomach in a knot, she poured herself a cup and sat down beside him. “Alek used his magick last night.”

  He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her. “You thought it was magickal, did you?” He murmured it and it sounded a little antagonistic, though his voice lacked heat.

  She dipped her head and blushed—it wasn’t from embarrassment; it was from anger. “I meant his magick to heal.”

  He set his book down and looked at her. “Really. Well, I’m not surprised. Like I said, I thought you’d eventually draw it out of him.” He paused. “He cares about you a lot.”

  “As . . . I care about him.” You too. But she didn’t feel comfortable saying that out loud right now.

  He returned to his book. “He’s gone for the day. Gone to the university.”

  She nodded and sipped her coffee in silence for several moments. Setting her cup down, she asked, “Are you upset with me for some reason?” When he looked up at her, she knew she had a glitter of anger in her eyes. “What is it you want from me, Byron? You brought me here to supposedly do the impossible task of getting Alek back in touch with his magick. Yet when I say he’s beginning to show signs of doing just that you act like you’re unhappy with me.” Riled by her own words, she stood. “Perhaps it’s time I left. I’ve done what you wanted. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

  Whirling she went for the door. She could pack and be on a transport back to the city by late morning. It was better this way. She wasn’t certain she could take another week under these circumstances.

  Byron grabbed her arm before she reached the door. She figured he would, but his touch didn’t make her melt or soften her resolve. Not today. It was time to stop this craziness and get back to her life—no matter how drastically changed that life would be after these men.

  Apparently she’d received the same treatment from them that she’d given her clients for so many years. She thought again about the drawer full of rings. A part of her had always enjoyed rejecting men. It was hard to admit that to herself, but it was true. Since the attack, way deep inside, a part of her had hated men.

  But not Byron, not Alek. Not even now.

  She stood, her body leaning toward the door, his hand firmly on her upper arm. Her jaw set, she refused to look at him or give him an inch. She wanted him to let go of her so she could flee.

  “Lilya, please stop.”

  “Release my arm.”

  “Lilya—”

  “Let me go.”

  He released her and she went straight for the door.

  “I care about you too.”

  She stopped, her hand on the doorjamb. She hated herself for pausing there. All she wanted was to push her way over this threshold, up the stairs and to her bags, but Byron had such a strong hold over her. It was magick the way a few loving words from him seemed to enslave her. In this moment, she hated the power he held.

  “It’s better if I go.” Her voice sounded shaky to her own ears. “Better for all of us.” Especially me.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Her body sagged as if she’d been waging a physical fight and had lost. She leaned her forehead against the back of her hand that was braced on the door frame. “What do you want from me, Byron?”

  When he spoke again he was so close she could feel his body heat. “I want to spend the day with you. I want to walk outside with you. Talk with you. I want to have lunch with you. I want enjoy your presence in my life.” His chest pressed against her back and his arms came around her.

  She leaned back against him and closed her eyes.

  “You have done nothing wrong, Lilya. I’m not upset with you. Upset with myself, but never you.”

  “Why?”

  He took a long moment to answer. “Because I want impossible things.”

  “What impossible thing do you want?”

  He turned her to face him. She studied him in the shadowed light of the doorway, trying to read his expression and failing. For a moment it seemed like he was going to say something, but instead he leaned in and kissed her.

  She frowned, pulling away from him and studying his face. “Byron?”

  “Come,” he said, turning and taking her hand. “We have a whole kitchen full of ingredients. Will you teach me how to make a decent breakfast?”

  She watched him for a moment, wanting to press him. In the end she followed him behind the counter and tried to relax, torn between wanting to bolt and find somewhere quiet to wallow in her pain and wanting to stay and enjoy as much of Byron and Alek as she could.

  Surveying the fresh eggs, tomatoes, cheese, and spices and she drew a steadying breath and gave him a shaky smile that she didn’t quite feel. “All right, let’s get busy, then.”

  Together they made one of the best omelets she’d ever tasted.

  As they finished up their plates of hot, perfectly seasoned eggs, Lilya wondered why she didn’t have the sense to run from him. Now she was trapped here for another day with a man she could never have.

  Damned expectations.

  Lilya looked outside at the piles of snow and the cold, gusting wind. “Doesn’t look like a very good day for a walk.”

  “You’re right.” He leaned back in his chair, plate scraped clean. “How about skating instead?”

  She laughed. “Skating? You mean on ice?”

  He lifted a brow and grinned. “Do you know another kind?”

  Shaking her head, she looked down at the remnants of her eggs. “I’ve never ice skated in my life. I have no skates and even if I did—”

  “I have skates that I’m sure will fit you and you should try it at least once in your life. We have a pond on the property. I’m told it’s been cleared of snow and its frozen clean through. What do you think?”

  She gazed out the window. A day spent with Byron sounded good, no matter what they did. She looked at him and smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Byron slipped the skates onto Lilya’s feet while she sat on a bench near the frozen pond. He’d had it cleared of snow in the winter so the children nearby could skate and play games on it.

  “You call this a pond?” Lilya asked, gazing out at the huge expanse of ice.

  He stopped lacing her skates, to follow her gaze, his breath showing white in the cold air. “It’s a really big pond.”

  “It’s an ocean.”

  She shivered and he looked up at her. “Do you need a heavier coat?”

  Letting out a burst of laughter, she cupped his cheek with one gloved hand. The action made his heart ache. “You’ve got me so bundled up that if I fall out there on the ice, I won’t feel a thing. I’m fine. I was just shivering at the thought of using these tiny knives to move on the ice.” She picked up one booted foot and examined the skate blade. “Who thought inventing these was a good idea?”

  His breath huffed out of him as he finished lacing her skate. “According to Alek, the inventor of the ice skate was a people who lived in the far nor—”

  She held up a hand. “I get it. All right, I’m ready. Can you help me up?�
�

  He grasped her hands and helped her to stand. Taking baby steps, she walked to the ice and ventured a careful step onto it. Then she put her other foot on and immediately lost her balance. Shrieking, she fought for control, arms whirling, then went down on her rear.

  “Lilya! Are you all right?”

  She stared straight ahead for a moment, as if in shock, then started to laugh.

  “Lilya?” He skated over in front of her. She was still just sitting there and laughing. “Are you all right?” he asked again. He laughed too. That’s what happened when one heard Lilya laugh. Surprisingly for a woman who’d had such hardship in her life, she did it wholeheartedly and with her entire beautiful body.

  She wiped tears from her eyes from the laughter. “Yes, I’m fine.” Then she reached for him to help her up.

  “Try to keep your weight directly above your skates. Don’t lean back or forward too far.”

  Coming to a standing position, she looked up into his eyes. “I think I’ve got it now.”

  He smiled down at her, his chest filling with that familiar warm feeling he had whenever she was close. He leaned down and kissed her. “All right. Skate forward.”

  Slowly she skated out into the pond and turned in a slow circle. “Hey! I think I’ve—whoa!” She went down and was laughing again.

  It went on that way, Lilya making a little progress, falling, laughing, then getting up and trying again. Even when he thought they’d had enough and should go in, she wanted to stay and try to master the ice skates.

  Finally she was able to stay on her feet and keep her balance. She skated around the pond with him with a huge smile on her face, her cheeks pink from the cold and her dark hair coming free around her face.

  She was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

  His heart swelled with emotion, joy mixed with the knowledge that he’d soon lose her. He wanted to savor this day, tuck it away in his pocket forever. They spent the afternoon on the ice and only went in when he insisted they needed to get warm.