Page 87 of By the Moonbeam and the Mist
“First thing to know about breaking into someone’s mind, Drey. Their consciousness is the key. Literally. Non-Mind Manipulators don’t even know how to lock their own gates, so you’d be able to slip inside without lifting a finger. Me, on the other hand…” He shrugged, such a nonchalant gesture in contrast to the determination settling on his face. “As long as I keep focusing on that gate, it will never break for you.”
I glanced at the elegant silver door handle and the lock on the top half of the plate. I had a sneaking suspicion Steeler thought I would try tugging on it or lockpicking it or even climbing that vast marble wall.
But none of those things would work, I was sure.
If Steeler was the key, and his focus kept it locked…
“How am I supposed to break your focus?” I asked, taking a slow, calculating step toward him.
Another shrug, this one less casual than before. “The Mind Manipulating instructors at the Institute would tell you to fight me. Overpower me. Get me to yield.”
I liked that thought—getting him to yield. But I didn’t have my knife in here, and a deep, humming part of me wanted to overpower him in a different way.
Removing my attention from the gate, I latched it onto Steeler instead. His predatory stance. His tunic. His pants.
What had he said all those weeks ago when I’d asked if I had to touch his hand in order for him to Walk me back to the Institute?You can touch other parts of me if you want, Drey. Any part you’d like.And then right outside Alderwick, he’d said,I hope you’re on your knees when you do.
I treaded toward him until I was close enough to do exactly that.
To touch.
But I didn’t yet. I cocked my head to the side again, finally letting my eyes devour the lower half of him, the half I’d been avoiding until this very moment. Even in here, in this internal space between stars, his pants strained with the outline of—
“What are you doing?” Steeler’s voice came out as a growl.
“I’m just wondering,” I mused, grudgingly looking back up, “what would happen if I put my hands on you in here? Would it be real?”
Suspicion hardened every line of Steeler’s face.
“What doyouthink, Drey? Does any of this feel real to you?”
I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t have an answer unless I actually touched him.
Feeling as if the world around us was simultaneously slowing down and speeding up, I reached out and let my hand land upon his chest.
It was hard. Solid. Warm. I could feel the drumming of his heart beneath my fingertips, just as I imagined my own heartwas pounding in the outside world. And when I brought my fingers down, cresting and falling over the ridges of his abs beneath his shirt, I felt his body tense as surely as if he was holding his breath.
“Yes,” I said, looking back up from his abdomen to meet his gaze that brewed with an undeniably hungry ache. “It feels very real to me.”
But it wasn’t. I’d learned by now that the mist of our minds didn’t form memories based on mental interactions. If I did what I burned to do, there would be no tangible record of it. It mightfeelreal, but any action in here was just a thought.
If I touched him in here, it would be nothing more than finally letting my imagination run wild.
Steeler’s eyes had drifted shut at my touch, but they flew open again when my hands closed around two fistfuls of his shirt. I shocked myself by pulling him a half-stagger closer—a display of confidence I hadn’t even realized I was capable of. As if in here, there weren’t any self-doubts to hold me back.
“Can I still touch any part of you I’d like to, Steeler?”
His mouth opened, caught in a surprised breath. He glanced over his shoulder, which told me he was still aware of the gate. Was aware of my scheming. And yet…
“I will never say no to a single touch from you, little hurricane.”
His gaze dipped to my lips, but I didn’t lean in to kiss him. I trailed a thumb against his neck, ran my fingers down the bulges of his arms, and swept my touch back to his pelvis. Then, unable to stop the direction of my filthy thoughts and the reality they were creating in Steeler’s mind, I lowered my hands to the buttons of his pants.
Where I took my time undoing them.
Maybe in another life, my fingers would have been trembling, my heart racing, my head spinning. In here, though,the richness of this universe alongside the mellow scent of black bamboo that seemed to spill from nowhere and everywhere all at once—it made my hands work steadily. My heart went still as I finally got the buttons undone and tugged down all the fabric in my way.
Coen Steeler’s cock sprang free, longer and thicker than my imagination had ever suspected beneath all my self-denial.
