Page 40 of Wicked Deeds

“Stick to the task at hand,” I said. “I want my shower.”

“More than this?” He kissed my thigh again.

“Yes. I love you, but the eau de afrit is killing the vibe.”

He laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”

He stopped with the kisses, which made me regret my life choices. But I held firm while he flicked each fastener open in turn before rolling the stockings down my legs and shoving them into the pocket of his tux jacket.

Damon in a tux. My favorite thing. Other than naked Damon. “Why don’t you go turn on the shower. Get rid of your own clothes.”

Tuxedos were faster to remove than ball gowns. I’d barely peeled off what remained of my underwear when naked Damon gestured at the shower.

“Ready when you are,” he said with an inviting grin.

I scanned him from head to toe. One of my favorite parts of him was definitely ready. But it would have to be patient until we were both clean.

The warmth of the water pounding down on me was so good, I wanted to cry. I stood there, letting it soak me, unable to move.

“You’re tired,” Damon said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“Frying afrit is hard work.” It hadn’t been that much magic, but it had been a long day.

“Let me wash your hair.”

I wasn’t going to say no. He had magic fingers when it came to head massages. And other things. But right now I was interested in the head massage. And the clean-hair part. “Thank you, that sounds divine.”

For a moment, he pulled me back against him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. His erection pressed against me but he didn’t try to do anything about it. He didn’t even try to kiss me. We breathed together, both of us needing the reassurance that everything was fine. That, once again, we’d survived.

We stood for several minutes before Damon reached for the shampoo and set to work. I tipped my head back, letting his touch ease the tension out of my body, then handed him the conditioner for the second round.

Once my hair was clean, I reached for the shower gel and let the spice-scented suds get rid of the last lingering smells of afrit before washing my makeup off as well.

Then I turned back to Damon, who was still too quiet as he stood watching me, water cascading down every gorgeous muscle and plane of his body. I knew what he was thinking.

“I’m okay,” I said, “We’reokay.”

His blue eyes watched me, the expression in them turning soft. Almost wondering. “Always,” he said, and lifted me out of the shower.

He wrapped me in soft warm towels and carried me into the bedroom. And then he pulled me close again, one hand stroking my cheek, before he kissed me so softly that at first it felt like I was imagining it. We kissed for a long time, making out like teenagers. I wanted nothing more than the taste of his lips on mine, his breath, his hands in my damp hair. We were trying to find each other, lost in each other, telling each other the things we sometimes couldn’t bring ourselves to say out loud. That we were both still there and what we had was more important than any heat-of-the-moment arguments about who should be doing what in dangerous situations.

Our lives were never going to be simple. But this—the love and the need and the undeniable something that drew us back together every time—this could be simple.

As simple as breaking our kiss and pushing his head down. As letting my legs fall open as he kissed his way down my body. As giving in to the swooping rush as his tongue touched my clit and he did his best to set me alight and the world closed in to the sensation of his mouth on me, of the sounds he drew from me with his tongue and fingers, driving me higher and higher, the weight of him keeping me anchored as I twisted and arched and begged him for more and more and more.

I never knew what I said. Incoherent and needy. Wanting this burning, consuming pleasure only he could give me. He pushed me up and up and then over the edge, but tonight he was hungry, too. I had no time to catch my breath, to come back to myself. He pushed my legs wider and then drove himself home, the feel of him so hard and strong inside me, while I was still half-coming, nearly pushing me immediately over the edge again.

“Wait for me,” he growled. “This time. Wait for me.”

My head was spinning, my heart pounding as the need clawed through me, but his words were their own brand of magic. I wanted only to do as he said, to give him the same fierce satisfaction he gave me. I wrapped my legs around his hips as he thrust and growled heated praise against my neck and my lips and whichever parts of me he was kissing, until his words broke into pieces that stopped making much sense until he rumbled ‘now’ as his blue eyes burned into mine and I arched and broke beneath him as he cried out my name.

I woke when something landed with a thump on my bed. I almost screamed before I realized it was Lianith, not an afrit or worse.

“Madge, lights,” I croaked, mouth gone dry from fright. The lights blinked on. The nixling was perched on the space between me and the edge of the bed, golden eyes wide, one paw raised as though she had been about to tap my face if I hadn’t woken up. Damon was nowhere in sight. I’d crashed early, before he’d come home. Two days had passed since we’d killed the afrit and he’d been burning the midnight oil. He might still be at the office. I gave myself a few seconds to calm down.

“What is it?” I asked, stomach sinking. Lianith had so far proven to be an excellent house guest. She spent her nights since chasing off the first nixling patrolling the grounds and most of the days sleeping inside. According to Callum, nixlings leaned nocturnal anyway.

I kept practicing talking to her, but the process was slow and the conversation so far had to be simple. But she said she was happy. When she wasn’t sleeping or stalking through the garden, she usually came and sat somewhere near Damon or me, watching us curiously.

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