“So optimistic?”
“Not at all, actually. Look, I was a contractor for a long time. I can’t really shut off that part of my brain. I look at situations and figure out - what do we need? Who’s the best person for that? What tools do we have?”
“A general surveying his troops?”
“Nothing so martial. But you’re set up pretty well. You have two covens,” he started.
She cut him off. “My coven doesn’t know.”
“Why not?”
She squirmed in her chair and fiddled with a napkin. What was she supposed to say? ‘Heyho, Ian, after years of distance I find I’m somewhat socially stunted?’ ‘My years of solitude have made me into the quintessential scary swamp witch living alone near the edge of the woods?’
Cleo settled with, “Out of practice sharing with the class, I guess.” There. That sounded casual. Not like an emotional quagmire at all.
Ian didn’t look like he bought it entirely, but was kind enough to let it go. “You’ve got more books you can look through.”
“What happens when your family discovers you were helping me?”
Ian rolled his eyes. Who was cute when they rolled their eyes? It was an inherently annoying face, and yet he made it look good.
“They’ll come around,” he promised. “I think it was… politically sensitive, with your grandmother and her history. They won’t stay mad forever. Trust me, I know.”
She shot him an inquisitive glance. He gave her a rakish grin. This was just ridiculous.
Cleo suddenly realized how close they’d gotten. They were bent over the table, their heads close together. His hand was millimeters away from hers. What would it be like, she wondered, if she just looped her pinkie finger around his?
Ian’s breathing changed, and he cleared his throat. He was waiting for her, she realized. He wasn’t going to make the first move. But he wanted her.
It was that reassurance that propelled her forward. Her lips met his clumsily, and their teeth clacked behind their lips. Ian smiled a little, tilted his head, and kissed her properly.
His hand wound behind her head, keeping her in place. She liked that. She liked being where he wanted her to be. Her hand reached for his shoulder and she marveled at it. It was as solid as she’d thought it would be. Better, though, because her imagination hadn’t included its warmth or the hot male scent of him. Or the silky slip of the old cotton under her fingertips, erotic in its own simple way.
Her head was blissfully quiet.
It was slightly awkward, kissing over the kitchen table, its edge digging into her stomach. She hated being distracted from him, so she pulled back slightly.
He opened his eyes, looking slightly dazed. That was her favorite expression of his, she decided. Ian opened his mouth as if to speak and she shook her head. Cleo stood up, and Ian’s eyes traced her body. It felt like a touch, and she half-stood, half-stumbled to her feet. Her knees were a little weak.
It seemed like the most natural thing to swing her legs and sit on his lap. His hands went to her hips, and they both groaned when his hardness met the apex of her thighs. It felt incredible. Ian leaned forward and caught her lips in his. Her hands caressed the breadth of his shoulders, down the strength of his chest. He traced the shape of her with a heavy, grounding swipe from the sides of her breasts, into the curve of her waist, over the hills of her hips.
Cleo was full of want. She’d wanted this for so long. To feel connected and desired with someone she actually liked and knew. To her embarrassment, the feelings overwhelmed her, tears rising in the corners of her eyes.
Ian noticed. Of course he did. “Hey now,” he said between kisses. His lips brushed the corners of her eyes and she could’ve wept. Instead, she ground down, causing a thrill of electricity to shoot from the center of her, race up her spine and down her arms and legs.
He grabbed her hips and moved her on his hardened cock. She loved the strength in his arms, that he could position her where he liked easily. If he moved just slightly differently, that electricity could fuel an orgasm for her. She just needed to adjust the angle of her hips slightly.
He stopped her before she could find the precise angle she sought. Ian’s lips brushed her ear and he growled, “Pretty Cleo, you keep that up, and I’m going to blow embarrassingly early.” She leaned back, her lips swollen. She couldn’t think why that was a bad thing. Cleo could barely think of anything except for the delicious heat between them, and the slide of his fingers over her curves.
He laughed a little, low and in the back of his throat, at her expression.
Her hips stopped moving, and he made a long, slow lick up her throat. She shivered and he nipped her ear. This man. He was going to kill her, she was sure of it. It would be an amazing death, she decided as he traced around her ear lightly. Her hands stroked down the long planes of his back and he growled again. It was lower than a human’s should be, and Ian froze. Cleo nipped a little at the side of his neck with her teeth.
“I like that,” she whispered.
Ian paused in stroking the sides of her breasts. “You do, don’t you?” he said wonderingly. She gave a little shimmy, laughing a little. She wondered if all people had this. Most of her education of human interaction came from movies and television, and while she’d seen how people connect physically, she had never understood how it felt. It felt like hope.
Then Ian caught her lips again, and her head went quiet again. Somewhat quiet. Parts of her were so noisy, seeking attention from Ian’s hands and lips and hardness that
