by May Dawson
He might have had a good reason to betray my trust. I don’t doubt it. But it still hurts like he pressed his fingers into an old wound and broke through, even though he didn’t mean to. I need time.
And for once, I need a good night’s sleep.
“After your casting test tomorrow?” he asks, and I groan out loud. He grins. “You’re going to be fine, Tera. Just tuck that pinkie finger in.”
“Take me somewhere nice,” I tell him.
“I’ll plan something to look forward to after Casting,” he promises.
I don’t know if I can look forward to any heavy conversation, no matter what else we do, but I nod anyway.
I think at first that Airren is going to be annoyed at me for keeping secrets from him, and when he closes the door behind us in his room and leans against it, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Let’s get the lecture over with.”
Airren crosses his arms and levels me with those ocean-blue eyes. “You really think I’m bossy, don’t you?”
“Is this a trick question? I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that you’re bossy.”
He kneels in front of me, his eyes intent on my face, and rests his hands on my knees. He’s so intimately close that I look away, embarrassed.
“Are you hurt?” he asks. “Sometimes you don’t feel things when your adrenaline is up. Any aches and pains now?”
“Why are you babying me?”
“I’d ask Mycroft or Cax too,” he says drily, “Although I wouldn’t be quite this close to them.”
I lean forward, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Aren’t you mad at me?”
That familiar vertical line crinkles between his brows, as if I’m a puzzle. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“You were furious when you didn’t know where I was…”
“I was scared,” he corrects. “I didn’t know if you were all right. You’re going to have to wear the necklace Cax made for you forever for my peace of mind.”
I hesitate, because I don’t want to say that I lied to him. By omission.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Because you didn’t tell me everything? That’s on us, sweetheart. I want you to trust me, but that’s…earned.”
When I meet his frank gaze, his fingers sweep gently up my jaw. “Give me a chance to earn your trust. Don’t give up on us.”
“Don’t give up on me.”
“There’s not a chance.”
My lips part in a smile even as my heart lurches, even as my brain says that’s an impossible promise. I want to be loved that way, without reservation, without any chance of my brokenness breaking the bond between us.
Airren looks at me with sadness, as if he sees the doubt in my eyes, and then he leans forward and kisses me.
This kiss is small and tender, tentative. His palm is warm against my cheek.
“I’m so tired,” I murmur into the small space between us when our lips part. “But I don’t know how I could ever sleep tonight.”
“It’s just adrenaline,” he says.
I nod. I want to kiss him again. I want to trust more easily. I want to trust my own instincts, the instincts that tell me is a good man, that it’s fine to drink in the comfort he offers and lose myself in his arms.
Instead I blurt out, “I wish I could be a different person.”
“I understand that,” he says.
I bite down on my lower lip, my heart aching. Of course he can understand how screwed up I am and how much I’d want to be someone else. He’s stuck with me, mess that I am. Radner’s made me his job now.
“But I am glad you’re in my life, just the way you are,” he tells me, his voice soft.
I stare back at him, not knowing how to answer that.
Not until he kisses me. His mouth is sure, and so is his hand on my cheek.
I hope the way I kiss him back tells him everything he needs to know.
His lips nuzzle mine apart. The heat of his mouth sends a pulse of warmth washing through my body, straight between my thighs, and my core throbs in response.
We’ve made out like this more than once since I started sleeping in his room. I just never know how to go any further. I push his shoulders teasingly, and he yields, letting me push him down onto the bed. When I straddle him, his hard cock brushes against my thighs through his trousers. I’m on top, pinning him down, but I know he could easily roll over and take control if he chose to.
Instead, he runs his fingers through my hair, sending gentle tugs across my scalp that set every nerve ending alive. When I lean over him, my hair falls around the two of us like a veil between us and the real world.
“Is this going to be like every night?” I ask, nuzzling his jaw with my lips. He’s normally clean-shaven, so meticulous in how he presents himself to the world, but after our hectic day, his five o’clock shadow is rough.
“That’s your call, T.” He palms my face in one big hand, his fingertips resting along my cheekbone. “I’m in no rush.”
I push back, rubbing my inner thighs across the rough fabric between us, and he makes the smallest moaning sound. I raise my eyebrows teasingly.
“Devil,” he accuses me, catching my wrists in his hand and drawing me up to him, so he can kiss me properly. When our lips part, he says, “You know that I want you. Today, next week, next month—whenever you’re ready.”
“You’re a patient man.” I break free, just to reach down and take his bulk in my hand, massaging him through his pants.
He lets his head fall back into the pillow, groaning slightly. “No. I’m not patient at all.”
I sink back over his knees, running my fingertips down his perfectly-starched shirt; it’s still immaculate after the fight. I don’t know how he stayed pressed through all that.
“Then I don’t understand.” I pull his shirt from his waistband to reveal hard-muscled abs. I run my nails over his silver belt buckle, then ease the leather out of the buckle.
He sits up on his elbows, his gaze on me. Its only when I look up from my attempts to undress him and meet his deep blue eyes that he tells me, “You’re worth waiting for. Don’t rush this for me, T.”
“Believe me,” I say. “This is a pretty selfish act right now.”
His fingers skate down the back of my arm, raising sparks that fly to my aching core. One corner of his mouth ticks up. “Good.”
“You’re driving me crazy.” There’s a warmth in my chest at his patience, his concern for me, and I want him to know that I’m ready.
Also, he really is driving me crazy, laying back on his elbows, watching me, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. I always thought men would be desperate for it, hurried. He’s as in-control as ever.
“I’m glad it’s mutual.” He catches me around the waist, pulling me beside him. I throw my leg over his lean waist, trading quick, passionate kisses as I press close to him. The hard swell of him against my thighs teases me, and I run my fingertips over his lower abs, feeling each chiseled ridge of muscle. But I don’t know what I’m doing, not really, and so I hesitate when my fingers touch the cold metal of his belt buckle.
He kisses the corner of my mouth as his hand overlaps mine. He takes my hand in his and kisses it, then rises to his knees on the bed. My leg slides away from his as he sits up, and he begins to unbutton his shirt. I’ve watched him unbutton his shirt before—every time he’s gotten ready for bed, pretending that I wasn’t watching—although the spy usually catches me—but this time is different. His deft fingers work through each button quickly, revealing the hard-planed lines of his chest and abs, which are tanned and toned. I push his shirt down his shoulders as I lean in to kiss him.
His mouth parts against mine, and I slip the tip of my tongue across the inside of his upper lip. When I run my hands down his shoulders, they’re satisfyingly thick under my palms, reminding me of how safe I feel when he’s around. He withdraws slightly—delivering a few last chaste, close-mouthed kisses—and I pull back.
Airren tries to draw his shirt off,
but the fitted sleeve hangs up around his bicep. I duck my head to hide my grin. It must be hard being so buff.
“Something funny?” he asks, finally flinging the shirt across the room, and when I lift my head again to answer him, he kisses me. His big hands cup my face, as hot as his searing kisses. My fingers curl into the powerful muscle of his shoulders as the world around us blurs.
Everything fades but Airren—piercing blue eyes, fever-hot skin over hard muscles, that damnable, adorable cocky grin whenever our lips part—and my own throbbing lust for him. His hand slides across my hip and cups my ass, and my hips rock back, wanting more of him. I might not be sure of what to do, but my body knows what it wants. His hand strokes over the back pocket of my jeans, then palms my ass again, harder.
Someone’s got to move this thing along. Airren is too busy being a gentleman to throw me down on the bed—and bless him for that because it would terrify me—but I pull my shirt over my head and toss it in the same general direction as his. His hands settle on my hips again, and he kisses my shoulder, his lips moving in toward my neck. Each firm, sure kiss sends another throb of longing through my body.
As he hooks his finger under the lacy strap of my bra, his gaze falls to the curve of my breasts. “Your best friend has excellent taste.”
My lips quirk to one side. “That’s why she’s my best friend.”
He tugs gently on the strap, and I lean into his kiss. His palm slides across my back, and there’s a sudden lightness around my breasts as the cups fall away slightly. When he cups my breast with his hand, his thumb brushing over my nipple, desire runs up and down my spine. My back arches, pushing my breast further into his hand. He ducks his head, his eyes intent on my face, as he tweaks my nipple between his thumb and finger. When I bite down on my lower lip—I never imagined a man could make me feel so much desire with two fingers—his tongue darts out and flicks my nipple.
As his mouth settles on my breast, his tongue swirling around my nipple, I gasp. Liquid heat throbs between my thighs. His hand finds my other breast, pressing his palm against my nipple and massaging firmly. The sensation of his warm mouth on my breast is so overwhelming that I take his head in my hands, his dark hair tickling my palms as my fingers tangle in his hair. But then I don’t know what to do. I don’t really want to push him away—I want more of this and at the same time, it’s too much.
As his mouth leaves my breast and moves up to nuzzle my ear, cool air brushes over my nipple. “Still here with me, T?”
The low, kind words remind me of how he folded me into his arms the first time we were in Raila’s armory, anchoring me in reality when dark magic—and dark memories—swirled around me again.
“Oh yes,” I breathe into his ear.
Tension in his shoulders releases, and his lips part in satisfaction at my eagerness. His big arm circles my waist, and he tugs me with him as he falls onto the bed. He twists beneath me so I land on top of him, my breasts pressing against his pecs. His arm is a hard bar across my back, holding me against him, and his eyes check that I’ve caught my balance before his hand skates across my naked skin to rest once more on my ass.
I press my lips to his naked shoulder; there are faint freckles across his shoulders, almost lost to his deep tan, and faint white scars. Claw marks. He’s been closer to a Ravenger than any normal man who lives. My lips linger on them, and he pulls his head back so he can see my face, but his expression is relaxed. For once, the walls are down.
“Sometimes I forget who you are,” I say, kissing him one last time before I scramble up onto my knees. I wonder if he ever forgets who I am, and if he forgets what other people will think of him for bedding the dark lord’s daughter.
“I never forget who you are,” he tells me, tucking my hair behind my ear. “And I like every bit of who you are, Tera.”
I crinkle my nose at him. “Even when I’m socially awkward?”
“It’s adorable.”
“Like when I’m too inexperienced to know how to get your pants off?”
He laughs out loud at that, a quick, surprised laugh that delights me in response. He pushes me gently off his lap, patting my hip. When he rolls off the bed, the movement is quick and athletic, and then he’s on his feet.
“All you have to do is ask,” he promises, already unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his hips. “I’ll always take my pants off for you, T. Believe me.”
I watch his abs and biceps work as he bends forward. His trousers and boxers slide together down long, muscular legs. His thighs and calves are as sculpted as if he were a statue of a god. Or maybe the god himself. When he straightens, a long, straight cock bobs in front of his chiseled lower abs.
He spreads his hands out. “Worth it?”
He’s teasing me because it’s my first time, and so I purse my lips and mime a twirling motion. “Maybe. Spin.”
He laughs again and turns his back to me, taking two steps away—his ass is firm and perfect below that perfect narrow taper of his waist, his broad shoulders marked with tattoos. I would never expect his tattoos from his buttoned-up exterior, and it feels like a secret between the two of us, the way the lines of those elaborate black runes spread across his shoulders, halfway down his back.
When he turns back, there’s mischief in his eyes. “Do I pass inspection?”
“You know you’re beautiful.”
“Nah.” He tosses himself onto the bed alongside me again, the movement making the mattress dip toward him so that I almost sink into him, and props himself up on his elbow. “There’s only one perfect face in this room.”
It reminds me of when he teased me on the train that no freshman should have a face like mine. I arch my eyebrows, pursing my lips. “The off-limits freshman?
He groans. “Don’t remind me.”
“Don’t quit on me now.” My voice is light, but I mean it.
His hands span my waist, drawing me down onto the bed beside him. “Oh, I think I’m too far gone now, T.”
There’s a fervency in his voice that sounds true. His fingers skate across my lower abs, working the button on my jeans open. His fingers slip down further, massaging a steady pressure through the rough fabric, a beat that just makes me long for more.
I pop my hips up, starting to slide my jeans down my hips. His hand slides between my thighs, his thumb brushing over my clit, and I gasp at the feeling of finally having him touch me there when my clit has been throbbing for him.
As his fingers work steadily between my thighs, each circle of his fingers sending waves of heat sweeping through me, I give up on my jeans. Airren Penn is a force of distraction that leaves me hopelessly tangled in denim.
I take his biceps in my hands, feeling the hard egg of his bicep muscle under my thumbs, gripping him tightly because I can barely take the sensations ricocheting through my body. I nuzzle my face against his neck. “Are you ever going to—”
He pulls back, his face innocent, surprised. “Oh, did you want to have sex tonight?”
When my lips part in surprise—how could I have so completely misunderstood—a lightning flash of mischievous satisfaction crosses his face.
I smack his shoulder with my palm. “You are impossible.”
“And you love me for it.” He rolls onto his back and crooks a finger at me, beckoning me to climb on top.
I kick off my jeans and straddle him. The tip of his cock teases against my clit as I hesitate.
His big hands circle my hips. “You decide how fast, deep. I don’t want to hurt you.”
When I hesitate, his fingers sink deeper into my ass, firm and possessive. “At least, not tonight. I’ll wait til you ask nicely.”
I shake my head at him, lips pursed—arrogant spies and cocky Marines and handsome rogues, I certainly have a type—and he takes his cock in his hand, brushing it between my thighs, slowly and purposefully. His tip trails through liquid heat, making me realize how slick I am. I’m certainly ready for him.
“Maybe I’ll wail til yo
u ask nicely,” I say archly.
“That works for me too.” His lips quirk. “I’m an egalitarian. But let’s get through tonight first.”
He moves his hand to my hip, and I miss the feeling of his tip pushing against my throbbing clit. I take his cock firmly in my hand.
“You mean we’re going to do this again?”
“Until you get sick of me.”
I don’t see that happening. I press his tip against me and slowly let my knees slide across the sheet, letting myself open to him. When the tip of his cock pushes inside, I sigh, grateful for the first release of the desperate ache I’ve had for him.
“You all right?” His palm strokes over my hair, his gaze intent on my face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been better,” I say, and the earnestness in my voice makes him smile. His hands wrap around my thighs, gently drawing me down his cock. As he fills me up, there’s a stretching sensation that’s strange, but not unpleasant. He feels too big, and then he’s all the way inside, my inner thighs pressed against his hard-edged lower abs.
Those big hands gently urge me up, and I move up and down his shaft, letting him fill me—and wrapping around him— over and over again, Each time I rise til his cock brushes against my clit, my core tightens, longing to have him inside me again. As I slowly travel down his cock, the tip hit my g-spot and there’s a bright burst of sensation that weakens my knees, and I slide down further until he’s all the way deep inside.
His hands still span my hips, helping me up and down. But his head falls back on the pillow, his teeth making small indentations on his lower lip, as if he’s holding himself back. Seeing Airren—who is always so cool and self-possessed—soften like that causes a flair of pride. I lean forward, his cock buried deep inside me, to press my lips to the scruff along his jaw.
His arm closes around my waist, still rocking into me, and I wrap my arm around his shoulders. The two of us move together as my world blurs. Heat flushes over my skin, as if I’m on fire for him, and the throbbing between my thighs intensifies. When it becomes so much sensation that I can’t take it—no matter how pleasant it is—I moan out loud. I bite down on his shoulder, my teeth scraping over his skin, to hold back the sound that rises in my throat in answer to the intense waves of pleasure rolling through my body.
