raised gooseflesh as he worked his way to her shoulder blade. She moved, separating her legs a little. But still he made no effort to realign his shaft between her thighs, and his fingers stayed away from the wetness slicking her sex. She’d been waiting hours for this and now he was drawing it out.
He cupped her breast, teasing as if he enjoyed driving her to distraction and knew she was enjoying it. Her belly was a tight knot of nerves waiting to unravel. One touch. She bit her lip, not wanting to make a sound in case it broke the moment somehow.
She reached her hand behind her, felt the curve of his waist and the bone of his hip before letting her finger dip lower, seeking him out. He caught her hand before she reached his hardened flesh and laid it across her belly, trapped beneath his. This time she didn’t care; she pressed her hips against him and rocked. She thought she felt him pause mid-kiss to smile, then he rolled her onto her stomach. The length of his body was along hers for one glorious moment before he pulled away.
The tearing of foil made her lift her head, but he was just out of view, kneeling between her legs. His thumbs brushed the crease of her butt as his hands slid over her hips. She lifted up, wanting to feel his fingers between her thighs and delving into her core. He leaned over her and she held her breath. But all he did was run his tongue between her shoulder blades.
In response she arched her back, curving her butt into the air. He was there, the heat and hardness against her for a moment.
“Caspian.” Was that her voice? All breathy and strung out when he hadn’t done anything to her yet?
“Mmm.” His hands swept along the sides of her breasts.
“Please.”
She gasped as his hand moved under her hip; his fingers were so close that another inch and they’d be on her clit. Her teeth ground together, but she couldn’t get him to give her the touch she wanted.
He moved and then he was between her legs. The length of him stroking her slick folds, but never sliding in. His hand on her hip keeping her still. She couldn’t take it. Her hand moved to try and find her own release. Again he stopped her, catching her and pressing it to the mattress beneath his.
“Trust me.”
“Love me.” She ground out the words.
“I do.” It was barely a whisper, and the words were almost lost as he thrust into her with one smooth stroke.
Then he remained motionless inside her. That was just as maddening. She whimpered and tried to bow her body to entice more from him. His hand released her hip, his finger lightly brushing the curls at the apex of her thighs. Teasing, never quite touching, but getting closer. She stopped moving and waited. Her breath coming in small pants as expectation consumed her.
His finger circled her clit and the drought was broken. The wave rolled down her spine before crashing into her belly. She clenched around him, unable to do anything but give in to the pleasure washing through her body. He groaned and began to thrust slowly. With every nerve ending awakened she felt every inch. He leaned over her, his strokes becoming less controlled. She tumbled over the edge again, dragging him with her.
Caspian rested over her. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her heart was still bouncing around, unable to settle. He placed a kiss on the back of her neck, much like the one that had started this, and pulled away.
She moaned at the loss. She hadn’t been ready for it to be over, but he came back to bed and eased in next to her. She turned into his arms and kissed his lips. He returned the kiss, but his eyes were already closed. Within minutes he was asleep. For a few moments she watched him. His dark lashes against fair skin. Whatever worries he had left him while he slept.
It was daylight when Caspian woke. This time there was none of the disorientation of being lost in the impressions left by other people. He knew where he was, and where he wanted to be, and he could almost forget that he hadn’t been forced to relinquish his soul. He closed his eyes again. The sliver of mirror rested against his skin. That something so small and delicate could hold so much power over him… he huffed out a breath.
Best he get moving and stop wasting time.
His jeans and shirt were on the end of the bed along with a note.
He touched the piece of paper and a shimmer of concern ran through his fingertips. Her worry about him. She’d been here wondering what was going on while he’d struggled to hold on to her. Last night he couldn’t help himself. He’d needed her—even though the iron in her bra had been disconcerting. He still needed her. She had the Window. He couldn’t let himself think of anything but finding it, and it had to be here somewhere.
He dressed—thoroughly sick of these clothes, made himself coffee, and took a slow walk through every room. The Counter-Window hanging around his neck revealed nothing, only blackness, so he opened drawers and cupboards, feeling like a thief. His coffee grew cold.
“Damn it. Where is it?” He shut the drawer in old oak dresser too hard. He was having to rein in his magic because every time he used it, it would take a little from him, slowly killing him like any banished fairy.
“Damn the lot of you.” A futile curse given they couldn’t hear him and even if they could he doubted very much they’d care. He scrubbed his hand over his face. He needed to shave and get clean clothes. His cell phone was dead and needed charging.
Three days in Annwyn had cost him everything. If he didn’t find the Window and return it to his father he was going to have to walk away from Lydia. He didn’t want her watching him waste away by a disease human doctors couldn’t identify or fix.
What was he missing?
He closed his eyes, thinking about what he’d seen; one glimpse of Lydia in the Counter-Window. It had to be somewhere for her to use it. Around him the house seemed hollow for the first time as if all of its past had fled at his intrusion. The ghost was gone. The Window had been here all along. The Grey that lived here hadn’t been aware of what it was attracted to because of the magic of the Window. But if the Grey was gone, so was the mirror.
Lydia had taken it.
Which meant it was either at her place or at her work. How was he going to find it without arousing suspicion? Then he caught himself. Was he really thinking of stealing from her? He had to. The Window for his soul.
No. He shook his head. There was another way. He wouldn’t raid her house and take what he needed. He had to tell her his father had his soul and that she had the Window. And if she refused to save him? He wanted to believe that she wouldn’t, that they had something special… but he’d been wrong before. Been burned.
It was better to go out honestly than like a thief. However, even as he thought that, part of him disagreed. Stealing and living was better than dying honorably.
The loss of his soul had changed the way he felt inside; he couldn’t tell something was missing until he did something that didn’t seem quite right. Even last night, there’d been more fairy in his touch than he’d have liked. Sweeping her into his spell like any fairy after a human conquest. And he’d been unable to stop because he’d wanted her so badly; he’d needed her to make him feel alive. It had, he’d never felt closer to anyone, as if her thoughts were pressing into him. He’d meant what he said, he’d fallen for her, but it had taken him too long to remember how to love again after being wounded. Now it was too late, and the moment they’d shared reminded him how un-alive he really was.
Caspian looked at his hands. He couldn’t do that again. Glamouring someone into bed drained power and since he now had a finite amount he had to be careful. Very careful. Again he stopped himself. Glamouring someone into bed was wrong because it interfered with free will, not because it would drain power from him. He tried to recall every touch, and while he’d commanded her to bed, she’d been a willing participant with what followed. Did that make it okay?
“Fuck.” He dragged his hands through his hair. He was becoming more fairy by the second, willing to split hairs so fine most humans couldn’t even see them.
