Page 69 of Tempt

And so does he.

All at once, this ambitiousness catches up with them, turning their bodies into the universe. A meteor shower of release sprints through Wonder, swarming from her core to the tips of her being. It’s the onslaught of a shooting star, the magic of flapping pages.

Malice freezes, going still inside her. His mouth searches and finds hers—and then with a violent jerk, he shatters like glass, his holler splintering into a hundred fragments that cut through her moans, piercing her heart.

Because now she knows what making love feels like.

If only once.

18

They slump against the bookcase. Malice’s head lands on her shoulder, and her cheek lands on his temple, and his palms cup her backside, and her digits glide through his mussed hair. She wants to touch him everywhere, wants to be touched everywhere.

The shelves refract lunar lights, akin to lambent strands from a pool of water. It turns the room into someplace fluid, as though Wonder and Malice are floating in a sea of stars. While she’d relish having him atop a bed of flowers, she likes consummating while surrounded by books.

Consummating. Malice would hardly call it that. He’d used a rowdier word.

Not Wonder, which creates a lovely balance between them. She appreciates that.

She’s also boneless. Though unlike the last time she did this, it’s hardly satiating. Like a bunny in heat, she wants him again.

Time is fleeting, so she seeks out his rear, savoring its rounded shape and firm texture, the dimples caving into the sides.

Malice’s shoulders ripple with humor, and he speaks breathlessly against her collarbone. “Did I say…you could…fondle my ass?”

Her sole travels down the column of his calf. Her voice is just as winded as his, heaving through a reply. “I’m in…the mood…to be a goddess.”

“Keep it up and I’ll be in the mood to fuck one.”

She feels a blush sneak up her throat. “You’ve just done that.”

“Hmm, that’s true.” He heaves, drawing in air. “Was it nice?”

“It was eternally nice.”

“I like being nice to you. Tell me more, be specific about your siren needs. I want to know everything.”

“I’m not that experienced, remember?”

“I’m planning to change that. I’ll negotiate more noise, more anarchy, out of that plush mouth.”

Wonder cannot help the bittersweet lump in her throat. He still hasthatface, but he no longer hasthatsoul, yet slices of the past linger when she considers his adoration for all things scripted across pages. There’s still that.

And that one day in the forest, when she’d glimpsed him playing with the adolescent dragonflies, teasing them as they capered around his head. Yes, he hasn’t lost his affection for animals, his respect for nature, or his singing voice.

Notwithstanding his mercurial flaws, this reborn outcast lives in the moment, acts boldly without being foolish, and never assumes he’s wiser than anyone else. He licks his lips after chewing on berries, doesn’t make excuses for his behavior, doesn’t engage in self-pity, and wants to belong. She had noticed the latter, from the times when he’d observed the camaraderie among her peers.

He’s a mosaic, a portrait made of chipped pieces, distorted up close but beautiful as a whole, once you step back and give him space.

Wonder’s muscles ache in a profound way. How extravagant to be wrapped in joy and melancholy. She may as well have deflowered two people at once, giving them her heart with one moan, cheating on them with one gasp.

All the same, she giggles as the pads of Malice’s fingers locate a ticklish spot beneath her triceps. He gets sneakier, nipping her shoulder while prodding the creases and folds of her body, hunting for the areas that make her yelp. This is new, learning that he’s playful after mating, even while they’re slick with perspiration.

Also, he remains firm, the length of him fixed within her. In the aftermath, she had anticipated his departure from her body. She had foreseen her own panic and withdrawal, expecting them to come to their senses.

Hearing that he craves a second romp provokes a traitorous thrill. She traces his tattoo, skimming the fletching and the quill’s inky tip.

Malice lifts his unruly head and leans in for a kiss. She veers back, happy to tease but likewise curious. “When did you get this marking?”

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