“Like how? Seems you’re doing quite a great deal already.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. These guys spend too long in pens, waiting to be loved. It makes me sad.” Her voice took on a wistful lilt, which tugged at me to make it better.
“My,” I said in wonder, “what a great big heart you have, Isadora Savoie.”
Her shy gaze slid to mine, our faces close. Intimately so. She blushed and looked away. The fact that she was possibly the most selfless woman I’d ever met amplified my obsession. She hid from the world, doing her good deeds without the need for notice or praise. I wanted her more with each passing minute.
Archie licked my hand, pulling my attention to him. “This guy is awfully friendly.”
She smiled brighter, her face still flushed a pretty pink, then swept a hand over the scraggly reddish hair on his head. He looked like he had bushy eyebrows and a bad comb-over.
“Yeah. Archie is the sweetest. I told you so.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, if you’re to two-time me with an overly attentive redhead like this guy, I suppose I’m okay with it.”
She made that soft throaty chuckle I loved, glancing at me while we both showered Archie in affection, our fingers brushing together. Then she was studying me a little too closely.
“You thought I really was going on another date, didn’t you?”
I tried to shrug nonchalantly, but my body tensed anyway. “Maybe.”
“Devraj, as long as we’re doing this thing we’re doing, I won’t see anyone else.”
“Good.” I wanted to pass out with relief.
“And I expect the same from you.”
My gaze sharpened, first on her electric eyes pooled with magic and then on her pink lips. I leaned forward, unable to control myself, needing to taste her sweet mouth like I needed my next breath. I brushed my lips against hers, then slowly coaxed them apart. After a slow, melting kiss, I pulled back and cupped the sides of her neck, my thumbs brushing along the line of her delicate jaw.
“There is no other woman I want. No other will share my bed as long as we’re doing this thing,” I teased.
“I still haven’t shared your bed,” she teased back with a quirk of her lips then a bite of my bottom lip.
Growling, I gripped the back of her head and crushed my mouth to hers, angling for a deep, devouring kiss. She whimpered as I stroked over her tongue, then sucked on it before breaking apart. What I felt for her was fierce and unrelenting, demanding all of her.
“You’re lucky we have so many innocent eyes on us in here. Otherwise, I’d take you against that wall.”
She laughed again, but it dissolved quickly when she caught the fire in my eyes. I was sure my heady desire was written all over my face. I simply couldn’t control myself when it came to this woman.
Archie barked and stood against the pen, both paws up, trying to give us puppy licks between the bars.
“Down, Archie,” she said, reaching into her bag for one more treat to give him.
She stood afterward. So did I.
“Hold out your hand,” she said, producing a bottle of hand sanitizer.
“Always so prepared.” I rubbed in the sanitizer while she did the same.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she said with a smile. We were back outside, sauntering toward our homes. “Do you want to grab some lunch?”
I glanced at my watch. “I actually have an appointment as well.”
“Oh, what for?”
I spun her to face me and combed my fingers into her hair, pulled her body into mine. Before she could fully gasp, I had my mouth on her again, tasting all of her sweetness.
Well, not all. But soon enough. Right now, I just wanted to feel the rightness of her body against mine, in my arms where she belonged.
It hadn’t escaped me that my thoughts were becoming exponentially proprietary where Isadora was concerned. The thought of this ending and me leaving New Orleans sent a panicky, sharp feeling into the pit of my stomach. So I kissed her hard, delving into the softness of her mouth, wanting to dive into the softness of her body.
But there was something I needed to do first. Pulling my lips away, I kept her pressed against my body, needing it for a moment longer.
“I’ll see you soon,” I assured her.
“Okay,” she replied softly, her eyes glazed with lust.
I loved that look, but I wanted even more than that.
“Are you on the pill?” I asked.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Um. Yes.”
“Good.” With another soft kiss, I stepped away. “I’ll see you soon,” I repeated with a smile. Then I went to take care of my next order of business.
Chapter 26
~ISADORA~
* * *
I sat at my vintage writing desk against the wall, which doubled as a vanity with a narrow ornately-framed, oval mirror just above it. I wore my knee-length nightie, my favorite camphor-scented candle was burning, and I was writing to Mom with my blue quill pen. The night was pleasantly cool, so I’d opened the French doors that led out onto our second-floor balcony.
I kept starting and stopping because my thoughts continually strayed to the paper unfolded and sitting at the upper corner of my desk.
I hadn’t seen or spoken to Devraj since yesterday when he’d left me in a hurry outside of Angel Paws. I didn’t understand why he needed to know if I was on the pill since we’d been protecting with condoms. Not until that piece of paper had arrived with a personal note inside.
I set the quill pen back in the inkwell and picked up the note, rereading for the hundredth time.
Dearest Isadora,
Since I’m aware of your affinity for charts and graphs and everything spelled out in black and white, I’m sending you the results of my testing as of today. Though I knew already, I wanted you to have all the chartly and grapherly evidence that I’m one hundred percent clean. (Yes, I made up those two words especially for you.) That being said, with you on the pill and with your assurance that you’re also in the clear, I formally ask if we can dispense with the condoms from here on out while we explore this “thing.”
If that’s not clear enough, Isadora, know this. I want you, to be inside you, skin to skin. I want you all the time. You invade my thoughts every minute of the day. I crave you like I’ve never craved another woman. So yes, this is my plea, a vampire on his knees, begging you to let him come inside you with nothing between us. No boundaries.
Think on it.
Yours, Devraj
The chart that came with the note was dated yesterday afternoon, two pages long, and completely thorough with the doctor’s stamp of approval on each page. As if I’d think him a liar without it. He’d also added a handwritten smiley-face on the bottom of the chart on the second page, which had made me smile like a Cheshire Cat.
He’d gone to extraordinary lengths to get the testing completed so quickly. He’d hand-delivered the note to Clara to pass to me last night. Then he’d made himself scarce all day today. I’d expected a text, a call, a visit. Anything after that note that had set my thighs on fire. I was eager to give him my answer, even if the thought of condomless sex seemed so intimate. Too personal. Especially if this thing was just a temporary fling.
I mean, in theory, the sex could be better without a condom, the sensations more intense. Yet again, I squeezed my thighs together, heat pooling between my legs at the thought. I’d been like this all day, a complete mess of hormones and flaming, unrequited desire. How could he send me that note and then just leave me totally alone all day? And afternoon. And night.
It was the longest, most torturous day I could remember. Not only had I been considering his proposition, I’d been thinking of other things I wanted to do with him. I was rather shocked at how wild my sexual appetite had gotten. I’d never been shy in the bedroom, even though I’d had less than enthusiastic partners in the past. But Devraj had set something free, finding the sensual woman I’d buried beneath hours of g
ardening and bookkeeping and healing.
As someone who always cared for others, expending magic to heal and nurture other people, it was shocking to discover I’d been ignoring my own needs. And that Devraj was the one who could satisfy them, tend to me with unwavering care and passion. He’d delved inside and called to that carnal creature I kept tucked away. And I wanted more of him. So much more. I ached. I burned.
Prickly awareness tingled along the bare nape of my neck since my hair was tied in a messy bun. I spun halfway around on my stool to find Devraj standing in my open doorway to the balcony, leaning against the jamb, hands in his pockets and the devil in his eyes.
Wow. Did he look delicious. Faded jeans low on his hips, white T-shirt form-fitted to his muscular chest, wavy black hair around his shoulders, and lust cloaking him from head to toe. I wasn’t sure if he was putting it off or if it was coming from me or both, but I was suddenly aware I was in a sheer spaghetti-strap nightie with nothing but lace panties underneath.
“You got my note?” he asked casually. Like he wasn’t ready to eat me alive.
“I got it.”
His gaze strayed from the note on my desk to the letter I’d been writing to Mom. Trying to write, anyway.
“What’s that?”
Glancing at my desk, I lifted the thick fibrous paper I used for writing and opened my desk drawer. “Just writing a letter to my mom.”
He chuckled. “You know you can text or email her, and it would be much more efficient, right?”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I said, “I prefer handwritten letters. They’re more personal.”
He walked slowly to the edge of my bed behind me, and sat. It was strange. Usually, there was a lightness between Devraj and I. His charismatic nature causing a buoyancy that inflated the air around him. But tonight, there was a distinct heaviness between us. A density that weighed the air with serious thoughts. Serious desires.
“I should’ve known,” he said with a hint of wonder, voice a low rumble. “You can infuse your magic into writing, can’t you?”
As a witch who was weak in telekinesis and psychic abilities, the basic magic every witch wielded without even blinking, I cherished this second gift as a side effect of being a powerful Conduit.
I was still sitting sideways to him, feeling quite shy all of a sudden. I’d thought I’d gotten past this feeling with him, but the note, coupled with my near-nakedness and him being in my bedroom, my personal haven, had me speaking soft and low.
“I can,” I answered.
I picked at a frayed thread on the green cushion of my stool, but I could feel his stare burning with intensity.
“I’ve heard of Conduits who could do this, but it’s a rare gift, Isadora.”
It was true. Magic-infused onto paper could make spells more powerful, could render the bearer of such a spell formidable just from possessing it. I’d given all of my sisters, my parents, and my grandmother incantations of protection the Christmas after I figured out I held this power. If they recited the incantation on a regular basis, they inhaled my magic from the pages, my energy. It was a unique way of transference of magic. One I didn’t advertise because I didn’t want any extra attention from the witch community. I preferred to remain in the background.
“I’ll bet you keep this all to yourself, don’t you?” he asked, as if reading my thoughts. “Except for family.”
“I don’t want the attention,” I defended.
“I know you don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t want the world to see too much of you.” His voice was a whispering caress, searing along my skin. “But I see you.”
I glanced at him sharply. “What do you see?”
“A lovely woman who knows the meaning of humility and kindness and true beauty.”
I swallowed hard, unable to look away.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, holding my gaze as he asked softly, “Can I hold the letter you’re sending to your mother?”
With a stiff nod, I picked it up and set in his hand.
He made a soft sound in his throat, something like surprise. “Incredible.”
“What?” I asked, glancing at him in the mirror. “What do you feel?”
“Magic. Your love for her.” His gaze softened, holding me with reverence. With awe. “You’re so amazing.”
“Me?” I huffed, trying not to let his beauty steal my breath. But it was so, so hard. My God, he was gorgeous.
“Yes, you.” He licked his lips. “So quiet. So unassuming. Lingering behind the bold front of your sisters when you hold such power in that pretty body of yours. That pretty mind. That pretty heart.”
My pulse throbbed in my veins, adrenaline spiking at his description of me. I couldn’t speak.
“Write my name,” he commanded softly.
My gaze sharpened on his in the mirror. I shook my head. The thing about this type of magic was that it didn’t always obey your will. It wasn’t just energy that poured onto the page, but emotions. A Conduit was most closely related to Auras, the magic wanting to escape and heal with power and heart and soul. Sometimes, my magic cut loose from me, spilling more than I intended.
“Please, Isadora,” he begged, his brow furrowing in a pained expression. “Write my name.”
I couldn’t deny him, no matter how afraid I was of what he might discover. I pulled a blank piece of the thick parchment from the drawer and tore off a strip at the top. Sitting up straight and leaning closer to the desk, I lifted my quill pen from the inkwell and tapped it on the edge to release any loose drops from the nib.
After a concentrated inhale and exhale, I put the nib to paper and looped a flourishing D with an extravagant tail, my heart pounding hard, my magic pulsing harder. I didn’t think of any one thing at all as I scrawled the rest of his first name with purposeful loops and curves, not daring to write the second, my hand already shaking. I set the quill pen in the inkwell and picked up the paper, blowing to dry the ink, noticing the pale glow of my skin, my magic pumping hard enough to shine.
Sweat broke out on the nape of my neck. I was afraid of what he’d pull from the parchment. He was a Stygorn after all. What could his senses read? But it was just his name. Not much to go on. I hoped.
“Here you go,” I tried to say lightly, passing him the paper, then turned back to the mirror.
Pressing my hands between my bare knees to keep them still, I watched his reflection as he held the torn piece of paper. I couldn’t see his eyes, his head bent as he stared down, his long hair hiding his face, but his shoulders started to rise and fall. His chest heaved deep breaths, and he was so quiet as he swept his index finger over his inked name. Almost with reverence.
With his head still down, he stood, folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he moved behind me, one hand sweeping lightly to my throat, his fingers curling gently, the other hand cupping the round edge of my shoulder. When he finally looked at me in the reflection, I gasped. His eyes were pure silver, vibrant and flickering eerily by the candlelight. When he spoke, I saw the distinct flash of fangs.
“Isadora. Have you thought of my request?” His voice was husky silk.
I glanced down at the note and his charts, my body singing with every touch and brush of his fingers along my collarbone. “Yes.”
He slid his hands to my spaghetti straps and pulled them down off my shoulders, baring my breasts.
“What’s your answer?”
I held his gaze, not looking at my naked torso. This was almost unbearably bold for me. Vulnerable. Still, I sat with my back straight, my chin high. “My answer is yes.”
A scintillating wave of heat crossed his expression. Pure male and feral and predatory.
“Stand up, Isadora,” he commanded softly.
When I did, he knocked the stool out of the way onto its side, his hands gliding over my hips, pushing my nightie down. It dropped to the floor. He stood inches behind me, his body heat soaking into my back and thighs. He hooked his
thumbs into the sides of my black lace panties and shoved them down, letting them fall to the floor as well.
By now, I was breathing fast, but remained perfectly still, wound so tight my body thrummed with need. He dipped his mouth to the curve of my shoulder and throat, keeping his gaze on me in the mirror.
“Look at you,” he whispered against my skin, licking then placing a sucking bite hard enough to leave a mark.
I moaned then reached back and curled my fingers into the sides of his jeans, needing something to hold onto, to sink my nails into.
“So goddamn beautiful.”
Then his focus was on the line of my neck. He cupped my breast, rolling his thumb over the tight tip. His other hand slid across my stomach, the sight of his brown skin against my pale torso so stark and lovely I bit back another moan. He dipped lower, gliding his middle finger along my cleft. I tried not to be too embarrassed by how wet I was. His strangled groan told me he was pleased with the discovery as he dipped inside me. He pulled out again to slide between my folds, driving me utterly insane.
He was so masculine but gentle, fierce but careful, intense but attentive, sure and purposeful with every brush of his hands, mouth, and tongue. I was melting into a pool of lust and need and willing female.
“Devraj,” I begged, body trembling.
Still, he moved with such concentrated focus, brushing his nose up my throat to my ear where he growled, “I’m going to fuck you right here, love.”
I nodded, totally done with words.
“Put your hands on the wall.”
I must not have moved quickly enough. He reached down and circled my wrists with his long-fingered hands then placed my palms on either side of the oval mirror.
“Keep them there,” he breathed heavily into my hair above my ear.
The distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants tore through the silence, only muffled by my labored breathing. I felt so exposed, so open, so raw, and he wasn’t even inside me yet.
Anchoring me with one hand wrapped on my hip, he slid his cock through my wet folds, teasing twice before thrusting in deep.
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