“Not yet,” he groaned.
I gripped his shoulders, wanting everything. Wanting it all. Wanting it now.
“Now,” I demanded, out of my mind with the self-enforced deprivation. He had my line energy, he had my fulfillment. His mouth found mine, and I begged. Not with my words, but with my body. I writhed for it, I pressed into him for it, I did everything but take it, finding the exquisite ache of unfulfilled need chiming through me, driving me to a fevered pitch.
And then he groaned, unable to deny it anymore. I moaned in release as the energy from his chi filled mine as we both climaxed. A rush of endorphins cascaded through us, bringing me to a back-arched, gasping halt. Marshal’s grip on me shook, and I trembled as wave after wave smothered me, pulling me into a hyperalert state where nothing was real.
I heard a panting moan, then realized, embarrassed, that it was me. Slumping into him, I felt my senses return. Marshal was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling under me as his hand lay on my back, still at last. I exhaled, feeling the flow of energy between us sift back and forth without hindrance, leaving little tingles that faded to nothing as the forces balanced perfectly.
I lay against him with my head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat and deciding there were probably not too many more enjoyable ways to mess up your life than this. And fully clothed, too. Feeling the icy cold of the afternoon against me, I stirred. “You okay?” I asked, smiling as I felt him nod.
“How about you?” he asked, his voice more of a rumble than a real sound.
I listened for a moment, hearing nothing. No pixy wings, no roommate stomping around downstairs. “Never better,” I said, feeling more at peace than I had in a long time. Marshal’s chest began to bounce, and I pushed myself up when I realized he was laughing. “What?” I said, feeling like I was the butt of the joke.
“Marshal, I don’t know if I remember how,” he said in a falsetto. “It’s been so long.”
Relieved, I sat up and mock-punched his shoulder. “Shut up,” I said, not minding that he was laughing at me. “I didn’t.”
Marshal eased me off his lap, and I snuggled up to him, both of us slouched with our heads on the back of the couch and our feet intertwined on the floor.
“You sure your aura is okay?” Marshal asked, almost too soft to hear. He turned to look in my eyes, and I smiled.
“Yeah. That was…Yeah.” Marshal’s arms wrapped around me as I made a move to get up, and giggling, I fell back into him.
“Good,” he whispered in my ear, holding me all the closer.
I wasn’t going to worry about what happened next. It truly wasn’t worth it.
Nineteen
The sun was arching toward the horizon, painting the buildings at Cincinnati’s waterfront in red and gold as I headed for Carew Tower for a quick bite and that interview with Edden. If it had been a normal Sunday, I’d be just about ready to head home from the ever-after and Al’s and my weekly push-and-shove contest, and though I was glad to have gotten out of it, I was worried about Pierce. Pierce, Al, Ivy, Skimmer, Kisten’s killer, and Mia. They all swirled in the back of my head, problems demanding to be solved. Most days, the overload would have had me tense and snappish, but right now? Smiling, I gazed at the sun reflecting on the buildings and fiddled with the radio as I followed the guy ahead of me over the bridge. All in due course, I thought, wondering if my calm was from Marshal, or Marshal’s massage therapist.
Edden’s meeting was in about half an hour, then the I.S. lockup was at six, followed by an early dinner with Robbie and my mom at ten-I’d heard Robbie complaining in the background when I’d called to say I’d have to miss lunch, and he could just suck dishwater. Eventually Mia would surface, and then I’d nail her ass, but until then, I could enjoy a snack at Carew Tower. The massage I’d indulged in earlier had been fantastic, and I felt twinges of guilt all afternoon that I’d been enjoying myself under the excuse that it might help my aura. The feeling of relaxation was still with me, making it easy to tell Marshal that he’d been right, yada, yada, yada…He was going to call later. It felt good, and I wasn’t going to think any more about it than that.
I was feeling dressy in the silk-lined pants and shiny top I had put on for Ms. Walker. I hadn’t gotten a chance before to wear the long felt coat my mom had given me last winter, and I felt elegant, driving over the bridge into Cincinnati, aiming for Carew Tower and a business meeting at the top of the city. Jenks, too, had dressed up, wearing a black top and pants that flowed, hiding the insulating layers of fabric under it. Matalina was improving at making winter wear he could fly in, and the pixy was perched comfortably on the rearview mirror, fussing with the black fisherman cap she’d concocted out of a scrap of felt from the inside lining of my coat. His blond hair was peeking out rather charmingly, and I wondered why he didn’t wear a hat all the time.
“Rache,” he said, looking suddenly nervous.
“What?” I fiddled again with the radio as we came off the bridge, cutting in front of a semi to get onto the exit ramp at a fast forty-five miles an hour. There was a guy on my tail in a black Firebird, and he followed, riding my bumper. Really safe in the snow, bud-dy.
“Rache,” he repeated, wings fanning.
“I see him.” We were both headed for the exit ramp, and giving me the one-fingered salute, the guy accelerated, trying to get ahead of me before the lane disappeared.
“Rachel, just let him in.”
But he ticked me off, so I maintained my speed. The semi behind us blew his horn as the off-ramp approached. The guy wasn’t going to make it, and the weenie shoved me into the curb.
Gravel and rock salt hit the undercarriage of my car. The wall slid close, and I caught my breath, hands clenching as the lane narrowed to one. I thunked the brakes, jerking the wheel at the last moment to slip in behind him. The guy roared ahead and ran the yellow light at the end of the exit ramp. Face flaming, I waved to the irate semi driver behind me who had seen the whole thing from a sort-of-safe distance. Jenks was shedding a sickly yellow dust as he stood on the rearview mirror and held the stem as if it were his life. I slowed to a halt at the red light and glared at the Firebird, a block ahead of me, stopped at the next light. Ass.
“You okay, Rache?” Jenks asked, and I turned down the heater.
“Fine. Why?”
“’Cause you don’t usually careen into other cars unless you’re going more than sixty,” he said, dropping to land on my arm and walk up it to sniff me. “You on some human medicine? Did that massage therapist slip you an aspirin or something?”
Not as upset as I thought I’d be, I glanced at him and then back to the street. “No.” Marshal was right. I should get a massage more often. It was really relaxing.
Jenks made a face and sat down in the crook of my elbow, wings fanning to keep his balance. The massage had been wonderful, and I hadn’t realized how tense I’d been until the stress was gone. God, I felt good.
“Green light, Rache.”
I pushed the accelerator, noticing that the Firebird was still at the red light. A smile curved over my face. I checked my speed, the sign, and the street. I was legal.
“It’s red,” Jenks said as I barreled down the street to the next light.
“I see it.” Glancing behind me, I shifted lanes so Mr. Ass was parked in the lane next to me. No one was in front of me, and I maintained my speed.
“It’s red!” Jenks exclaimed as I didn’t slow down.
My fingers gripped the wheel casually, and I watched the crossing light start to blink. “It’ll be green when I get there.”
“Rachel!” Jenks shouted, and as smooth as white icing, I blew past Mr. Firebird two seconds after the light changed, going a nice forty miles per hour. I made the next light while he raced his engine and tried to catch up. Making a sedate left on an early yellow, I turned to go downtown. Mr. Firebird had to stop, and I couldn’t help my feeling of satisfaction. Dumb ass.
“Holy crap, Rachel,” Jenks muttered. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing,” I said as I turned up the radio. I felt really good. Everything was A-OK.
