by Bec McMaster
All of a sudden it was like staring directly at her. Thoughts swelled around him: her curiosity, her pleasure in having him reach out to her, and the simple state of happiness she relaxed within. She felt... sated.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
There was a pause. "I'm in the bath. What are you doing?"
Naked. Wet. All that glorious hair draped in a knot on top of her head. His mouth went dry. "I'm on my way home. Doing what in the bath?"
"Washing myself," she replied, with a wicked little laugh. "What do you generally get up to when you're in the bath?"
"You seem remarkably pleased with yourself," he pointed out. "One wonders what you've been up to."
After all, she was no longer quite so innocent.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
The husky sensation of her thoughts made his cock harden. "You've been fucking yourself with your fingers, haven't you?"
The flush of embarrassment returned through the link, and any hints of Cleo as a seductress vanished. "No! I was reading a book in the bath. I'm warm, relaxed, and it's an interesting book. Honestly, is that all you men think of?"
These days, yes. "What sort of book?"
"Geraldine Hibbert's Thoughts on Time."
More dry treatises on sorcery. He winced. "Sounds interesting."
"It is interesting," she replied, and he sensed her putting the book aside, where it wouldn't get wet. Water sloshed over her skin as she lay back, and he could almost feel the sensation on his own skin.
"Do you regret it?" he asked quietly, and her thoughts stilled as she followed the path of his own.
"Saying no to Quentin Farshaw? Of course not."
"You wouldn't have to resort to reading books by people with half your skills, or visiting with Madrigal Brown."
"And I wouldn't be happy either," she pointed out, "or trying to seduce my husband."
He smiled. "Are you trying to seduce your husband?"
"Well, I was, but he keeps distracting me."
"My apologies, my love. Are you using soap?" he sent, pressing his palm over his mouth, for the idea of her in the bath shook him. It was such a normal thing. A day-to-day thing.
"I have soap."
He pushed all the other overwhelming emotions out of the way. "Do you? Tell me about your soap... and what you plan to do with it...."
"Always giving me orders...." But it was not a complaint. He sensed her picking up the washcloth and lathering it. "But since you like to be in control, what would you like me to do with the soap?"
Her breasts obliterated his thoughts. "Touch yourself," he whispered through their link.
"Where?" If she was here, he'd have been able to see the blush on her cheeks.
"Touch yourself," he sent again. "Wash your breasts for me. Soap those pretty nipples."
There was something to be said for telepathy. For a soul-bond. He shifted uncomfortably on the carriage seat, his cock straining against his trousers as he closed his eyes, all the better to feel what she was feeling.
Cleo dragged the washcloth over her chest, leaving a wake of suds. He could almost see through her eyes, and the sight made his cock pulse. She caressed her swollen nipples. "They're clean. Where else would you like me to soap?"
"You know where."
"Do I?"
"Part your legs," he breathed, "and drag that cloth between them."
Cleo's knees slowly sank against the sides of the bath. Her breath caught as she did as instructed, and he felt the slither of the cloth echo over his belly and cock. An odd sensation. Her flesh imprinted on his.
He caught a flash of image: a pale hand sliding down a woman's smooth stomach, delving beneath a mess of bubbles.
"How far away are you?" Cleo panted.
He flipped the blind up, recognizing the streets around him. "A minute or two." A smile broke across his mouth. "Why?"
"Because I don't know how long I can wait."
"Then don't," he replied. "Come for me, Cleo. I want you to be wet and ready for when I get there."
* * *
She felt him moving through the house like a brewing storm. Hunger itched within his skin, and anticipation swam through her. Drake had deeded them the town house, suggesting Sebastian and Cleo enjoy their time together with a small wink, and she delighted in having her own home. Everything she might have inherited from her father was deeded away through the male line—a distant cousin she could barely recall—but here they had a place of their own.
Hurrying out of the water, Cleo reached for her robe, dragging it over her shoulders just as the door opened. Sebastian appeared, a hard man dressed all in black. His eyes glittered as they raked over her, and she was suddenly aware of how tightly the silk clung to her wet body as he shut the door with a loud, controlled click.
"I—"
He stepped forward, pressing a finger to her mouth. Need clenched between her thighs at the relentless look in his eyes. She'd thought she was done, but desire flared back to life like a wildfire at the stroke of his finger.
She was restless enough that she turned her face to and fro, her wet mouth rasping against the press of his fingers. Those bird-of-prey eyes locked on her, and Sebastian pressed her back, her bottom biting into the vanity, one hand resting on her hip.
Nothing needed to be said. Cleo shivered as Sebastian slowly dragged that finger down her sensitive mouth and chin, and lower, down her throat. His gaze dipped, tracking the press of silk as he circled her nipple. The ache of it speared through her. She bit her lip, trying not to moan. Trying not to yield to the touch, though her knees wobbled.
Sebastian swooped down, his teeth biting into her throat in a sensation that made her jump. She captured his wrist in surprise, but everything else in her arched back, surrendering to the moment. He wasn't going to be sweet or tender tonight. She knew it.
And a restless part of her craved it.
"Fuck me." She wound her hands through his hair as he ravished her throat. "Fill me."
He was no longer hesitant in her bed, and she was not as naïve as she'd been once.
Sebastian's hands slid down the backs of her thighs, and he lifted her onto the vanity. Their eyes met, his stark and silver, and then he was shoving her thighs apart, forcing himself into the vee of them.
Cleo cried out, catching at his wet coat lapels. "Please—"
He captured her mouth, a hard, demanding kiss with no respite. No words. No words. And his hands slid down her robe, skating over her breasts, her nipples, even as his lips bruised hers. He fisted his fingers in her robe, tearing it apart.
Cleo's head swirled as they broke apart, and she gasped in air. Candlelight etched shadows beneath his cheekbones, giving him a predatory look.
But this was her predator. And she wanted to be consumed by him.
Hooking her fingers in his mouth, she snagged the tip of them on his teeth and hauled him back to her. Another kiss made of pure desire. It bruised her lip, and their teeth met, but she wasn't done yet. Capturing his hands, she pressed them to her naked breasts, moaning at the sensation of his touch. Any of her earlier shyness vanished. He wanted her. He wanted forever. And the darkness within her stretched and awoke, though it obeyed her now. She wanted to own him. Heart and soul.
"You already do," he rasped.
And then he was kissing his way down her body, hauling her hips to the edge of the vanity as his mouth locked over her nipple.
Ecstasy lanced through her. Cleo cried out, arching into his mouth and clinging to his hair. Teeth scored her delicate nipple. Then he turned to the other. It was far too overwhelming. She slumped back against the mirror as his hands bit into her thighs, hauling her against him.
The rasp of his trousers was such a foreign sensation between her thighs that she opened her eyes in shock. Sebastian never looked away from her as he thrust against her, a delicate sort of torture. Then he put one hand on her chest, forcing her to wilt back.
Dragging her hips off the vanity left her in a p
recarious position. The only thing holding her there was his hands, cupped beneath each thigh. Sebastian pressed a kiss directly between her breasts. Then lower, and Cleo's fingers curled into a fist in his hair as he kissed his way lower....
The wet lash of his tongue was enough to undo her. He kissed her sex with blunt possession, his tongue stabbing into her. The sensation lashed along her spine, erupting in little bumps all over her body.
"Sebastian!" she blurted, but she pressed his face closer to her, grinding her hips up. Oh, merciful goddess. Cleo arched her head back, carelessly trapping his head between her thighs.
The press of his mouth was indescribable. Inescapable. He'd been kind before. But not now. This was fierce and unstoppable, a flash fire burning through her veins. He consumed her with lips, and teeth, and tongue. She came with a loud cry, the explosion wracking through her.
"No more! No more!" she begged, and she could finally breathe again when he lifted his head.
Every inch of her body felt molten. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, breathing hard. Moving seemed beyond her.
Ever again.
A soft kiss brushed against her hip. Then another a little higher, skating over her ribs. Cleo shivered. This wasn't done. Capturing his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it, and Sebastian glanced up from beneath those dangerous lashes, a faint, hawkish smile touching his swollen mouth, before he found her nipple. The hot clasp of his mouth was utterly sinful. She'd thought there was nothing left inside her, but a single touch and he fanned all the smoldering flames within her to life.
Cleo's heart nearly stopped as she cupped his face in her hands, lifting him to her mouth so she could claim another kiss. I love you. She knew he caught the edge of it, for a shudder went through his hard body.
A hand reached behind her, clutching at something. A towel. She caught a glimpse of it, as he folded it neatly beside her, over the edge of the timber.
"What are you—" Oh. The simple gesture—to protect her body from the hard edge of the vanity—touched her.
Flipping her over, he pressed her hips into the towel, his entire body molding to hers from behind. The fabric of his coat and trousers seemed rough against her sensitive skin, and there was something about the situation—about being practically naked, whilst he was still fully clothed—that made her inner muscles clench with need again. That wicked mouth scraped along her throat, his stubble sending a rasp of sensation through her. His hand covered her mouth, and she bit into his fingers as he slid the skirt of her robe up over her bottom, pressing a knee between her thighs.
"I love it when you scream my name," he whispered, reaching between them. He tugged at something, and then she felt the blunt edge of his cock brush up against her. The head of it dipped through the wet folds of her sex. "Scream it, Cleo. Scream it."
And she did as she was told as he thrust within her, sheathing his erection within her wetness, his hips slapping against her bottom.
"Sebastian!"
Another thrust. She bit his fingers, feeling like she was going to fracture. To fly apart into a million pieces.
"Scream it," he demanded, his hand delving down the front of her and cupping her firmly. Slow fingers moved through her wet folds, his index centering on that one particularly sensitive area, as if he knew exactly where it was. He pressed small circles there, pushing her inexorably toward the edge of another pleasure cliff.
The orgasm slammed through her, making her cry out. Her whole body shook, even as he thrust, hammering her against the vanity. Only the press of the towel he'd laid there cushioned her hips.
He hauled her close, turning her face to the side so he could kiss her again, frantic and furious. "Cleo. Cleo." The words tumbled from his lips in time to the thrust of his hips.
She reached out to him through the bond, desperate to share this moment. It bloomed to life within her heart, her mind.... Suddenly there was no Cleo. No Sebastian. They were one and whole, heartbeats locking into the same shocking rhythm. Pleasure surged up through him, and she wasn't certain which one of them cried out....
He came, thrusting hard within her, and suddenly she was back in her body again, feeling the wetness of his seed flood her within.
"I love you," he whispered, caressing her spine.
* * *
Afterwards, they lay entwined in the bed, snatching moments of sleep between movement. Sebastian woke sometime during the early evening, the stars gleaming through the window. His hand slid down Cleo's spine, and she stirred. Just enough to see the light from the grate reflect back off her dark eyes.
He rolled onto his side, sliding a hand over her faintly curved stomach. Cleo blinked sleepily at him. "What are you doing?"
"Can I feel the babe?" he whispered.
"Of course." She pressed his hand to the right area. Her body was barely beginning to show the signs of the child within her, but he could feel that little spark within, whispering against his psychic senses.
They hadn't told anyone yet. It was just their little secret, though he suspected Bishop knew. He was going through the same thing himself, and their children would play together in the future.
"Do you want to see her?" Cleo whispered.
Her? He met her dark eyes in shock. "It's going to be a daughter?"
Cleo rubbed her hand lazily over his. "Oh, yes. I predict many arguments in your future. She's going to be a hellion."
"Just like her mother."
"She's stubborn too, like her father." Cleo drew his hand to where the baby nestled. "Close your eyes."
He did, letting the soul-bond strengthen as Cleo opened herself up to her Visions. They'd returned slowly, as her belief in herself grew. And sometimes she let him see them.
Suddenly he was standing in his father's house, holding a child in his arms. The baby blinked up at him with enormous eyes, barely heavy enough to weigh him down, her tiny fingers reaching for him.
And then he blinked, and there was a little girl of about six running through the house, chasing a puppy. A little girl with hair just like her mother's, and Cleo's devastating smile.
But her eyes were pure gray, with thick smoky lashes, and there was a faint cleft in her chin, just like his.
Tears wet his eyes as he drew back from the Vision. "She's perfect," he said hoarsely. "And she will never know what it feels like to be without her parents’ affections."
Cleo kissed him, dragging his body over hers. "No," she breathed. "All she will know is love."
* * *
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BEFORE YOU LEAVE THE DARK ARTS WORLD
Dear Reader,
And so ends the Dark Arts trilogy. Thank you so much for reading Soulbound! I hope you enjoyed the journey with Lucien, Bishop and Sebastian. While their story is done, as you’ve probably guessed, you might be seeing more of them in the future. Read on for a glimpse of what’s in store for the start of the spin-off trilogy, Dark Curse.
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If you want to share your thoughts with other readers, please consider leaving a review online (it doesn’t have to be very long). Click here to leave a review for Soulbound
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Want to know more about the Dark Curse trilogy? Make sure you sign up to my newsletter to be the first to know its release date, read exclusive excerpts, and see cover reveals.
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Here are some other ways to stay updated:
* Like me on Facebook
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I hope we meet again between the pages of another book!
Cheers,
Bec McMaster
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P.S Not ready to leave the Dark Arts world? Read on for a preview of what’s next in Cursebound…
CURSEBOUND
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DARK CURSE TRILOGY
2018
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A dark curse. A twisted tale of revenge.
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<
br /> Nobody knows the real Remington Cross. The stage magician is the perfect Master of Illusions; a charismatic sorcerer who hides a deep, dark secret. And when he finds the body of his magician's assistant—the first of many ritual deaths—he wonders if an ancient curse has returned to haunt him. With Scotland Yard hounding his every step, the only alibi Remy has is a young woman whose affections he once spurned.
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Enter... Stage Right....
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If it wasn't for murder, Thea Davies might enjoy holding the upper hand over the man who once broke her heart. Posing as Remy's stage assistant is the perfect cover to find out who—or what—is slaughtering her fellow sorcerers, and it's also an opportunity to get a taste of the passion that lingers between them.
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The last thing Remy wants is to draw the innocent beauty into the twisted games his nemesis plays, but headstrong Thea is determined to uncover all his secrets. With a shadow looming over London, Remington must find the strength to break the curse... or risk losing Thea forever.
Also by Bec McMaster
DARK ARTS SERIES
Three estranged brothers are the only ones who stand between a demon hell-bent on unleashing itself on this plane, and a Victorian-era London blissfully unaware of the danger.
Shadowbound
