Page 17 of Hexbound
Sweet. Soft. Tasting faintly of lemon tarts. It wasn't a gentle kiss, but she seemed to know what she was doing, and so he followed her actions, darting his tongue against hers and earning a soft gasp.
Somehow her back hit the wall, and then he was sliding his mouth down her throat, his hands catching her up beneath the thighs as he shoved his hips into the vee of her legs. Good God. It felt amazing. He thrust against her, feeling the curse overwhelm him.
"Bishop!" She dragged his face up with a fistful of hair.
He caught a glimpse of green eyes, then his mouth was on hers again. He just wanted to kiss her. Forever. All over. To taste every inch of her skin.
"Bishop," she gasped again, and this time he heard the protest.
No. She was saying no. And if he were in his right mind, he'd be saying it too.
It took everything he had in him to let go of her wrists. He couldn't even remember grabbing them. His cock ached, and somehow he let her slide down between his body and the building.
He shoved away from her, breathing furiously. The curse had counteracted the crushing weight of his killing addiction, but he wasn't certain that was any better, for now he had the raging desire to slam her up against the wall and have his way with her. He could barely think of anything else.
"Private rooms. Now," he growled. "Then fetch me some bloody ice, or cold water, or something."
Before he lost his virginity in a back alley in the slums.
An hour later, Bishop still soaked in the small copper bath in Verity's spare set of rooms, gritting his teeth against the chill of the ice she kept dumping into the water. He didn't know where she was getting it from, but as she reappeared in the room again and again, he realized that not much could stop a sorcerer who didn't consider walls to be much of a hindrance.
As the curse wore off, he finally began to realize something.
He was naked.
Oh, he'd been aware of that in a peripheral way—get her in the bath, against his wet, naked flesh, kiss her, drive her beneath him—but until now, he hadn't had the ability to consider the implications of that.
She hadn't said a thing about the burn scars.
Or the fact that his cock was trying to resemble the mainmast of a ship, despite his best attempts not to. Bishop pressed his hand to his temple. He still wanted to kill Zachariah. He also wanted to sink under the water and pretend she wasn't there to see this humiliation.
"I'm sorry," Verity said, sitting on the edge of the bath and biting her lip. "I–I'm not used to working with another person, and I think I assumed you'd deflect the curse.... It all happened so quickly."
Bishop dragged his knees up, trying to shield his nakedness. Heat flushed through his cheeks. What the hell kind of woman just sat there, as if they were talking about the weather over tea and scones, whilst he was naught but skin?
"It's fine. I'm not used to people being able to teleport. You were between us, so it didn't occur to me that I'd be the one hit by the curse." No, he'd been about to fling a ward in front of her, trying to angle it correctly, to deflect the bloody curse.
Unfortunately for him, Verity hadn't needed protection.
"I just didn't want you to think that I tried to save my own skin at the expense of yours," she replied, and trailed her fingertips through the water, brushing them against a half-melted chunk of ice. Green eyes locked on his. "I'm not that kind of girl."
And what kind of girl was she? Nostrils flaring, he leaned his head back against the bath. That way lay trouble. A muscle in his jaw throbbed. He was attracted to her. He couldn't deny that. But he had to keep his mind focused. The Order depended upon him. Drake depended on him.
And with his father half-lost to the grief of losing a son last month, Bishop couldn't afford to think of his own needs. One more blow might shatter the man, though this morning had been the first time he'd seen his father halfway back to normal.
"You wield an impressive weapon, Mr. Bishop."
Good God, was she referring to— She was. He swallowed. "Miss Hawkins—"
"Verity," she reminded him, looking all lazy and relaxed, like a cat. As though she weren't trailing her fingertips through the water of his bath.
One last burst of the curse sank its hooks within him. He blinked and realized that he was holding on to her wrist, and couldn't remember when he'd moved. Their stares met. Verity seemed to be considering something, biting that lip again. That bloody lip. His vision glazed as it filled his vision until it was all he could see.
"Please," he begged. "Please leave me alone, at least until this wears off."
"I'm not going to take advantage of you," she said.
"That's not what I'm afraid of." It was difficult to admit. And shameful.
