Page 39 of Runaway Magic
As they drove away, Jack managed to stay silent in the truck for thirty seconds before he asked, “Abhorrent? You have a secret word-a-day calendar hidden somewhere in your bag, don’t you?”
Marshall gave him a wry smile through the rearview mirror. “It’s what people expect, okay? People don’t respect a guy who says things like, ‘You are in so much trouble, brah.’ Or high-fives his teammates.”
Marshall smoothed a hand over his hair and glanced back toward the house. Most of the Blaikes were still on the ground as the truck rolled back up the long driveway.
“I don’t know,” Jack drawled. “Remember the time I high-fived that nightmare in the face? He looked mighty respectful as I was unmaking him.”
Marshall laughed. Fuck, he loved his best friend so much it hurt sometimes. But instead of saying it out loud, he said, “As always, Jack, you are the exception.”
Chapter 11
Cym
Cym was roasting. The hard body beneath him was radiating more heat than seemed humanly possible. He opened his eyes to see Fourteen gazing intently at something. Cym followed his line of sight and realized what he was fixated on—Cym’s hand clasped around Fourteen’s exposed wrist.
Cym released him, but Fourteen caught his hand and trapped it neatly in his own. Then with slow deliberation, he pulled the glove off his other hand with his teeth and reached out to Cym’s face, stopping when less than an inch of air was between them.
The invitation was clear—he was giving Cym the chance to refuse if he wanted to.
As if.
Cym focused his attention on his magic—the pink inferno inside himself he was only beginning to get to know. As soon as Cym nuzzled his cheek into Fourteen’s hand, he noticed a tinyflame emerge from the source of his magic and travel up his spine to spill into Fourteen where their skin made contact.
It was such a subtle sensation that if he hadn’t been paying close attention, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight warmth that spread through his body into Fourteen’s.
Fourteen’s fingers trailed over Cym’s lips, and Cym’s eyes flew to his face. Fourteen’s pupils were blown out just like they had been in the dream they’d just shared.
Cym’s mouth went dry, and he bit his lip—right where Fourteen’s fingers had been. Fourteen’s eyes tracked the motion, and he growled. The sound sent bolts of electricity all the way to Cym’s toes.
“Thank god you’re an adult.” Fourteen said before covering Cym’s mouth with his.
Everything came into sharp focus, and time seemed to stop. Cym could feel the butter-soft fabric of Fourteen’s jacket against his arm, the delicious scrape of stubble against his cheek, and Fourteen’s mouth blazing hotly against his own. Cym’s insides were liquid lightning, and he felt like his body was melting away into nothing.
Into everything.
When Cym pulled back a fraction to catch his breath, the world rushed back in on him. “Wow,” he whispered and touched his lips.
The corners of Fourteen’s mouth quirked up slightly, and he growled again. Before Cym knew what was happening Fourteen had rolled him onto his back and was smirking at him, his eyes full of the devil as he dipped his head and kissed him again.
Cym’s hands went to Fourteen’s chest, trying to get through the complicated system of straps and buckles that held his jacket closed, but Cym’s capacity for thinking was overwhelmed by the incredible things Fourteen was doing to his mouth, and he soongave up. Instead, he allowed his hands to roam over Fourteen’s arms, appreciating the swell of his muscles under the leather.
Fourteen’s mouth moved from Cym’s, found a sensitive spot behind his ear, and nipped it, causing Cym to clutch his arms and whimper while mindlessly grinding against him. The more Fourteen’s skin touched his own, the stronger the magic in his chest flared. It was mind blowing.
Cym couldn’t think, could only feel, as Fourteen and his own magic drove him past all reason.
He had to stop, had to think. What if there was something he was missing because he was too busy getting lost in Fourteen? Cym pushed against him, needing to catch his breath and regain control of his mind. He wasn’t used to getting so carried away, and it scared him.
When Fourteen pulled back, his heavy-lidded eyes were dark and stormy like the ocean in their dream.
To distract himself from the wet dream of a man straddling him, Cym asked the first question that popped into his head. “What is this like for you now that you have your memories back? Touching me, I mean.”
Cym knew if he really wanted to get his shit together, he should stop touching Fourteen, but he couldn’t convince his body to obey that command. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the faint throbbing in his head from its unplanned contact with a wall earlier rather than the feeling of his magic as it eased into Fourteen’s body.
Fourteen blinked slowly as he processed the question. After running a gentle hand down the side of Cym’s face, he rolled off of Cym and sat up. Cym followed suit and allowed Fourteen to recapture his hand.
Fourteen played with Cym’s fingers as he responded. “I feel a little drunk, but my mind is my own, I think.”
“What is your mind like for you normally?” Cym knew he wasn’t going to like the answer but couldn’t stop himself from asking.
