Radiant Light: A Reverse Harem Romance (Tales From the Edge Book 2)

by Chloe Adler

Shit. I don’t want to lie to him. But withholding isn’t the same as lying. “I need a distraction, yes, but I also need you.” That’s the truth. I’ve never been one to turn to sex as a Band-Aid, but right now I can give myself to him as an apology, like a consolation prize for all the pain I’ve caused and the pain I have yet to cause. The lack of control I have over my “gift.” My curse. I want to feel close to someone who loves me. I don’t expect him to make me whole again, but in this moment I can pretend, can’t I?

  “Shhh, sweetie, don’t cry. I’m here.” Caspian kisses the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “I love you so much, Iphigenia. I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs between kisses.

  Anything? Even if you knew what I was?

  “Put your cock inside me,” I growl, clawing at his back with one hand.

  Caspian practically tears off his pants and T-shirt, then rummages in the nightstand next to Dom’s bed and pulls out a condom. My throat tightens. Why hadn’t I assumed Dominic got laid regularly and why does the thought irk me so damn much? I focus on Caspian, watching as he tears the package open. Placing my hand over his I transfer the furled condom to my palm and arch up to grasp his bottom lip with my teeth. Using the leverage and pain to pull him toward me, I reach between his legs and tug on his hard length. This is going to be challenging one-handed, but I’m up to the task. He helps by fisting his cock and I roll the silicone sheath over it.

  The way he tears at my clothing speaks of his own needs. He’s as desperate as I am but for other reasons, no doubt. I could take the time to look into his mind but I’m trying to shut that part of my mind off, not use it against him when he’s already so vulnerable. When I’m naked he reaches between my legs to stroke my heat. I’m wet and ready but he circles my clit with the pad of his thumb. Slow, delicious strokes. He drives a finger inside me and continues to stroke my clit, alternating between rubbing and pressing. I groan and push up into his hand.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Spill,” I practically shriek with need.

  He sits up and I groan, trying to pull him back down but he resists. It’s really no contest; it’s not like I have vampire strength.

  Caspian moves to the open side of the loft between the stairs and the back wall and throws his legs over the side. His butt is still on the bed and he reaches for me and hefts me on top of him so I’m straddling his lap.

  “This way you get to lead. You get to take what you want with as much force as you want.”

  I hold up my hurt wrist and he puts both of his hands under my arms.

  “I’ll be you leverage, your muscle. You be the guide.”

  I lick my lips and wrap my legs around his back, burying my face in his neck. We rock together, our sexes touching. His length pushes against my inner thigh, pulsing. I can’t tell him I don’t really know what I’m doing. That’s not sexy. So instead I follow my instincts and let my passion lead. I lean against him with my shoulder and he holds me up so that I can position my good hand between our legs. Rubbing his cock against my opening, I arch backward and my mouth falls open.

  The scent of Dominic is on my tongue, all around us, all-consuming. We are in his bed, in his home, after all. The thought of his brother brings a pang of guilt, a sour taste in my mouth, but in an instant Caspian’s toned body and velvet tongue bring me right back to him.

  He tosses his head to clear his blond mane from his eyes, which are as clear and bright as a piece of raw turquoise. Our gazes lock, a smile playing at the corners of his pouty, reddened lips. The pale yellow five-o’clock shadow suits him and I drop forward to rub my cheek against its grain.

  He almost drops me and I grapple with my good hand, trying to catch my balance. We clang foreheads and both start laughing. I fall onto him and he falls back onto the bed. I giggle and lose myself at the side of his face, hiding so he can’t see the color I’ve turned. When I finally push myself up with my good arm to look at him, he bites my nose.

  This sets us off again and we roll on the bed together, with our legs hanging off the side. Once, twice and I end up on top of him again. He pulls my ass up and onto his lap, situating me on top of his cock. I look down, surprised to see the condom still holding on like a candy-cane wrapper after our shenanigans. We sit up together and I guide him inside of me. He’s wider than Rhys and for a second I wonder if it’ll fit but then I open for him and the most intense shock of pleasure rockets up my spine. I press myself down on top of him as we rock back and forth, my arm wrapped around him, pulling at his hair and scratching down his back.

  I can’t get enough of him. I pull him toward me even harder, as if he can fill me up even further. One of his hands rises from my arm to the back of my head and he tugs at the base of my hair, angling my mouth to his. Our lips connect. Our tongues leap and play. Our bodies move in a perfect rhythm and I rock my hips to match it. The base of his cock rubs my clit, grinding against me, and then sliding softly, a slick rapture. As we match our rhythms, the pleasure builds.

  His hand drops from the back of my head to between our bodies, to my breasts. There’s no room for a light touch here and he pinches one nipple and then the other, rolling and thumbing them like he did my clit.

  He pulls back from my mouth, his eyes locked on mine. “Oh Iphi, you’re so beautiful when you come. Come for me, baby, let me watch you.”

  His words, the motion of our bodies, the way he’s touching my nipples, it all pushes me over the edge and I fling my head back, but he catches me, holding me upright. I moan with the release of my pleasure and keep my eyes trained on his. A second later he pumps harder and faster, coming with me. Our mouths fly open but the only sound is a roaring whimper. My muscles contract and pulse around him. Waves of ecstasy rocket through me, chasing the heat of white light through my core and down through both my legs.

  “Fuck, baby,” Caspian groans and collapses backward onto the bed.

  I fall with him, on top of him. We’re still connected. Our bodies, our hearts. We both pant, covered in a thin layer of sweat, tangled together like licorice vines. I drift off to sleep with a grin.

  Chapter Four

  Iphigenia

  A knock on the door startles both of us awake. Sunlight streams through the windows and I’m shocked into the realization that we slept here all night, in someone else’s bed.

  “Who is it?” Caspian calls from my side.

  I roll over to peer at the clock. We slept past noon?

  “It’s me.” Dom’s voice bleeds through the front door into his house.

  Crap, I had sex in his bed with his brother. How utterly selfish of me.

  Before I can stop this train wreck, Caspian says, “Come in.”

  The door opens a crack. “I’m not alone.”

  Thorn pushes his way inside and flies to the counter in the kitchen, looking up into the loft, eyeing me. In the doorway, next to Dom, stands Rhys. He obviously drank from someone. His face is no longer burned. Even his perpetually hollow cheeks are filled out, plumped up with blood. My chest aches and I want to look away but I can’t. My mind speeds and circles, filling with visions of him attached to a beautiful woman’s neck. One of his hands cradling the back of her head, which has fallen back in rapture, mouth open. When? Last night, perhaps? I want to mark him as mine, a ludicrous thought. I wend my arms around Caspian instead, almost digging my nails into his flesh, trying to contain my anger and jealousy.

  “Rhys?” Caspian tilts his head, looking between his cousin and me. I make a show of holding Caspian, but not from fear. I know Rhys won’t hurt me again. It’s obvious he’s regained control. The cavewoman part of my brain wants to show him that I don’t need him, I have Caspian. Oh but what a lie.

  “I’m so sorry.” Rhys’s voice is whisper soft.

  “He’s himself again and he can help Iphi heal quickly.” Dom moves his gaze to my face. “If you’ll allow it.”

  The moment hangs, thick and uncomfortable in the air like a sweat-soaked costume after a sold-out performance. W
hat the hell is Dom thinking? I reach out and gently nudge his prefrontal cortex. Guilt. Of course. I don’t have to be an empath to figure that out.

  Poor Dominic. He blames himself for hurting me even though it was an accident. And jealousy? No, that’s not it. He wants to be happy for his brother. And there it is, the guilt pouring over him because he’s not. He also suspects that Rhys’s attack and his own failure to protect me drove me into bed with his brother. He’s not wrong.

  We’re so alike, Dom and I. I’ve never known another empath, never known anyone who could walk a mile in my shoes. But Dom uses his psychoanalytical training to read people the way I use my gift—and the sudden connection is an unexpected gift. I’m not so alone anymore.

  Dominic

  My heart contracts at the sight of Iphi in bed with Caspian, like the constriction of the universe before the big bang. My entire house reeks of sex and I should be furious, yet the expression she wears lifts me up.

  “Iphigenia.” I taste her name on my tongue, hot and sweet. “Please let Rhys do this. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. I need to make it right and this is the only way I know how.”

  She leans down from my loft, her soft curls loose around her face. Her nostrils flare when she looks at Rhys, and then the anger is gone, almost with an audible pop, when she turns back to me.

  I approach my own loft, and without waiting for an invite, I climb the stairs until I’m face-to-face with our angel.

  “Hey,” I keep my voice light and low, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She blinks those fathomless crystalline eyes at me. They’re bluer than I’ve ever seen them. Is it from the light that rushes through the balcony door next to my bed? Or from the satisfaction my brother gave her, maybe moments ago? My throat tightens at the thought. She pats the side of the bed, indicating for me to crawl into the loft and join her. Them. I do, but with my throat swollen shut, there’s nothing I can say. Unable to meet her eyes I stare up, out the doorway and into the jacaranda tree stretching up over the house. Its violet flowers have fallen now but it’s still a majestic tree. I picked this house in particular because the lofted bed feels like a tree house, the way the branches practically hug the outside balcony.

  “Hey, man.” Caspian rolls toward me. He’s not wearing a shirt, just another reminder of what he had that I didn’t. Don’t. Won’t.

  “Hey,” I respond without looking at him.

  “Can you give us a minute, sweetheart?” Iphi’s voice is breathy. Dammit. I want to be happy for my brother but the further tightening of my throat indicates that I’m not. Great, a therapist who can’t talk. Perhaps I’ll even die from lack of oxygen up here, trying not to breathe in that sweet post-coitus aroma. It’s cloying in its intensity in my own bed, with the girl of my dreams, who just made love to my brother.

  “Sure, no problem.” He leans in and kisses her forehead. “Careful of her wrist,” he says to me as though I’m unaware that I fell on her and maimed her myself last night. I want to scream, “Fuck you asshole, don’t you think I feel bad enough?” But I don’t, nor would I. Self-modulation has left me with significantly more emotional control than that.

  I shift over so Caspian can climb down, leaving Iphi and I alone. Kind of. Caspian goes to the kitchen and holds his arm out to Thorn, who climbs on. “Let’s wait outside,” he says to Rhys, who is still standing in the open doorway. Caspian puts a hand on his shoulder, turns him around gently as though he’s a small child and leads him out. Rhys glances back at me, pinning me with those darkening eyes. I offer him a slight nod in return and turn to Iphi once the door closes.

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “You’re sorry? For what? I’m the one who hurt you.” I point to her bandaged wrist.

  She blows a curl out of her eye and shakes her head. “I just slept with your brother, in your bed.”

  I wince. She reaches out to touch my cheek.

  “See? I’m the one who hurt you.”

  “Well . . .” I make a noise in the back of my constricted throat. “The jerk could have at least changed the sheets.” I want to say more, so much more, but I bite my tongue.

  She puts her finger to my lips and the moment she touches them, the loft whirls and swirls as if I’m caught in some kind of spinning vortex. I shake my head free of her touch. I rub the bridge of my nose and then remove my glasses, blinking rapidly to clear the twisting in the room. The twisting in my gut. The twisting of my thoughts. I pinch my eyes closed.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Are you a mind reader?” I ask with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. My eyes are still closed, which is why I catch her sucking in a breath. It’s barely audible but I’m trained to catch nonverbal cues. I open my eyes. She’s gone as pale as moonlight, all color drained from her face. Holy shit. I guess Rhys is right, she is some kind of empath. “Iphi?”

  She shakes her head like she’s trying to forget a horrifying image, wipe it clean from her mind or pull herself out of a trance. “No, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  Whatever she is, it’s not important right now. I unclench my hand, palm up and place it on the bed between us. She looks at it for a second and then places her good hand on top of it. I clasp her tiny, perfect hand in my larger one. “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Of course.” She blinks up at me.

  I grasp her hand tighter, hoping she won’t pull away. “I need you to drink from Rhys.”

  She yanks her hand free, moving it to cradle her hurt wrist. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because his blood can heal you. Because he feels horrible for losing control and he wants to help. Because I feel horrible for hurting you and I need to make it better.” There it is. The real reason.

  “I’ll get Burgundy to come over, if that’s the case. Her blood can heal just as quickly as Rhys’s.”

  “I know you well enough to know you don’t hold grudges.”

  “No.” She looks down at her hands, brows creasing, and sucks in her bottom lip. “I’m upset. I don’t hate him and I can even understand why he lost control, but if I just acquiesce like nothing happened . . .” She sighs, pushing the air out through her nose. “If I take him back this easily, it’s as though his indiscretion is acceptable.” Her eyes flutter shut, the long blond lashes resting like a feather on her cheek. So soft. So perfect. So weightless.

  It takes all my self-control not to reach out and touch one, the way I meant to touch a butterfly so long ago. It was one of my earliest memories. Mom taking me to Central Park, holding my hand. I tugged and tugged until she let me run around and play. A blue butterfly caught my attention, so delicate and painfully bright. How was I to know? I had no prior experience with tiny living creatures, and when I reached out to touch it, it just . . . crumbled. Wringing my hands, I dropped to the ground next to it, tears sprouting from my eyes. I grabbed a stick and prodded it gently but its bright, mangled body tumbled across the spring-green grass. My hands were killers. They brought death to tiny creatures. I sat on them for a long time, rocking back and forth, sobbing.

  It was the first time I remember feeling an emotion that brought physical pain. It was also the first time I ever hurt anything, let alone killed something.

  “I’ll be here. We all will. Rhys won’t hurt you again. He wants to make it up to you, to prove he’s worthy of your forgiveness and your trust. He feels awful. I know this would help both of you move past his mistake, in order to move forward together.”

  “If I say yes,” her voice is tiny and soft, just like her lashes, “I’d be saying yes for you.”

  Chapter Five

  Thorn

  If I were in my human form right now, I’d be lecturing Rhys big time—and then standing him in a corner to face the wall and think about what he’s done. He may feel bad for hurting Iphi but how can I make sure it never happens again? I’ve always known Rhys can be volatile. When we were kids, even though he was the weakest of us, he never shied away from a fight. E
specially when he should have. Caspian spent years patching him up after one squabble or another. It was part of the reason he started his martial arts training, for discipline and, I always suspected, so he wouldn’t keep breaking things, like his arms and legs.

  Since he began training in earnest, back when he was sixteen, I’ve never seen him lose his shit, until today. Seven years without a blowup, I guess it was time, but he couldn’t have picked a worse moment.

  Unlike him, I did hold back. Singeing his face and arm was a love tap compared to what I can really unleash. After all, Rhys is still alive. My first month at the police academy, before I learned true control of my fire? It didn’t always turn out that way.

  I’m sitting on Caspian’s shoulder when the front door opens, Iphi’s small, pale face protected by Dominic’s body. I’m glad he’s embracing that part of himself, the one he’s been hiding for so many years behind the endless letters after his name. He was my backup, my right-hand man on the streets, only two years younger than me. Even then, he was never needlessly violent. He only gave into the rage when it was necessary to protect someone—other than himself, of course. The self-martyring dumbass.

  “You can all come in.” Dom holds the front door open and steps to the side, motioning for us to enter. Caspian files in first with me and Rhys taking up the rear, his head lolling on his neck and his eyes cast down. “I’d offer you guys water but I’d rather you didn’t stay long.”

  Dom being rude? That’s a first. I fly to the coffee table and perch there, pacing back and forth. My thick talons tap and scrape against the glass.

  Caspian sits down on the smaller couch next to Iphi, who’s perched on the edge looking up at him with a look so warm she could melt an Alaskan glacier faster than a dragon army.

  Dominic turns to Rhys. “Iphigenia will let you heal her but she has a condition.”