Page 66 of City of the Lost
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’m perfectly capable of making myself some cereal and ordering a takeaway.”
But we were back in my pink haven and Azren was lowering me onto the mattress as if I were made of cut glass. He hovered over me for a second, lips pressed together, and then he sank onto the bed beside me. His bare arm brushed mine, and his familiar scent seeped into my head.
Gilbert’s presence retreated and the door closed softly, leaving us alone.
He studied me, his intense gaze tracking my features like tiny caresses. “You’re not fully healed. You need to stay in bed.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sore. But I’d be a lot worse if Noir hadn’t done his mojo thing. I can’t stand being cooped up.”
“You healed some of the wounds on your own.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
Our gazes locked and my pulse skipped as the connection between us zinged.
The expression that crossed his features was part pain, part pleasure. “Can you feel it?” His voice was a low, rumbling caress.
I could feel something—liquid heat low in my belly, a gentle throb at the apex of my thighs, and a delicious knot of anticipation in my chest. I could feel tendrils of ether emanating from his skin and skimming over mine in an ethereal caress. I could feel a tug in my solar plexus every time our gazes tangled.
“What ... What is it?” I leaned into him instinctively, and he laced his fingers with mine, squeezing gently. “What happened in that chamber? What happened between us?” There was a part of me that knew, and that understood clearly what we’d done, but the other part, grounded in reality, needed to hear him say it.
He ran the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, his breath ragged. “Remember I told you that every Shedim had another half, a Kindred, born on the same day as them.”
“Yes.” My voice was a breathless whisper.
“I think ... I think you’re mine.” He cupped my face, the calluses on his palms sending delicious signals to my brain, and tilted it so our lips were a hairbreadth apart. “I don’t understand how, you’re barely over two decades old, while I’m closer to seventy, but the connection is there.” He frowned slightly. “Although this kindred bond isn’t how others described it to be. The connection is muted. It makes no sense. You aren’t Shedim, and yet, somehow you feel like you belong to me.”
Muted? This tugging, yearning, constant need wasmuted? What would an unmuted connection feel like?
His lips hovered over mine before dipping to brush across my mouth, feather-light. This was it, this inexorable need to be in his orbit, this sudden innate understanding of his desires. He’d barely touched my mouth with his and my lips were throbbing, begging for more as if intoxicated by his attentions. I needed his tongue in my mouth, needed his weight pressing down on me, grinding against me until I unraveled.
His gasp was a ragged sound as he released me and tucked in his chin. “You need to stop.”
“What?”
He closed his eyes and cracked his neck, breathing through his nose. His hands were fists on the duvet. He flexed his fingers and slowly opened his eyes. “Your thoughts ... The things you want me to do to you ...”
Oh, shit. “You can read me? I thought you said you wouldn’t do that.” My cheeks heated with indignation.
“I wasn’t reading you. You were speaking to me, pushing your needs into my mind, and dammit, Wila, if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to resist giving you what you want.”
He kept his gaze averted and desire rose like a wicked wave inside me. “Look at me.”
He made a strangled sound. “Fuck no.”
I placed a hand on his thigh, moving it upward, slowly, inch by inch. “Look at me.” The muscles of his thigh contracted sharply beneath my fingers. And, yeah, I was playing with fire, but the ache between my thighs begged me to continue, to tell him how I needed him to touch me in my most intimate places.
His chest rumbled in warning a split second before he turned toward me. His hand grasped the nape of my neck and his mouth came down on mine, crushing, desperate, and hungry. I opened for him, ready for the sting and lap of his teeth and tongue and the coppery taste of my blood. But this time, the sting didn’t come; his teeth clashed harmlessly with mine, and it was me that claimed his tongue, sucking on it and drawing it into my mouth, swallowing his moan.
His hand slid down over my breasts, cupping and kneading as I swelled against him, and then he reached my stomach and flames raced across my torso. My body tensed around a wince.
“Wila, fuck.” He tore himself away. “You’re still healing.”
“I’m fine. I can take it.”
He swung his legs off the bed so his back was to me. I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders as he got himself under control.
