AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She tips her head. “You called it a study?”
Her understanding makes me bolder. “A storybook strategy guide, so to speak. I tried to follow their model, and while the commanding part comes easily, I find it’s not in my nature to cause discomfort to a woman I desire as a mate.” The last hurts to admit. I’ll become whatever, whoever she needs if the Fates would deem me worthy of her.
“The other romance?” She traces her fingers over the man on the cover in the tailored suit. “What’d you learn from it?”
Jealousy burns through me. Jace and I can never be that man no matter how much we might want to become her ideal. We’re monsters—plain and simple.
I push aside the envy. “How modern women like to be spoiled with riches. Rightfully so.”
She flashes a grin. “It’s a billionaire romance?” The way she phrases the question makes it seem as though she’s guessing. She guessed right.
“How’d you know?” I ask, hoping for more clues. We have enough material goods to provide her with anything she could ever want.
“Lucky guess from the title.” She gives a tiny shrug. “Plus, the cover model’s cufflinks and watch are worth more than my car.”
“Hmm.” I leave the issues of her realm including the car that needs to be replaced with a safer, more reliable model to tackle another time.
She lifts the paperbacks. “These are the books you offered to read to me?”
The fact she remembered such a casual conversation between us seems promising. “I did.” I think of the explicit scenes I would read to her, and when a pretty blush steals across her face, I promise to make that happen as soon as she’ll allow.
“What?” Jace asks. “What is it?”
I let Rosemarie explain as she keeps her gaze pinned to her lap.
“Those books can get really, uh, sexy.” Her voice goes breathless.
Jace sneaks a hand across the bed to run from her knee to her thigh. His tail creeps higher. “Just how sexy are we talking?”
Her flush goes crimson, and the perfume of arousal becomes potent. “Very,” she whispers before clearing her throat. “Is that what you’re wearing for the runes ritual?”
I glance at the pants I’m wearing. They’re nearly identical to Jace’s. I have no idea how to answer her since I’m not sure of the reason behind her question.
My twin doesn’t share my need for understanding. “You want us to put on more clothes? Shirts? Or something else?” He sounds as clueless as I feel.
“No.” Her answer comes fast and clipped. She definitely likes us remaining shirtless with the way her gaze locks on his chest before jumping back to his face. We’ll need to work on getting rid of the guilt that flashes through her eyes. “Uh no, I’m a fan of the low-slung sweatpants, but aren’t magical rituals more of a cloaks and hoods dress code?”
“Not this one. The paints and oils can leave a mess which is why we need you wearing as little as possible.” I pass a set of brushes to Jace. His hand will be steadier than mine.
“Okay.” Her voice shakes the tiniest bit, and I wonder if it’s nerves or something else. “How do we start?”
“Roll onto your stomach and stretch out,” Jace tells her, reaching a claw forward as if she needs help turning over. She takes it, and I wish I’d thought of that. “Get comfy,” he adds. Maybe I should’ve watched his damn cartoons if the phrases he learned from them make her lips curve into a smile.
“What now?” she asks.
I pull her hair to the side, amazed at the softness and weight of her locks against my claws as I drape it across my pillow. “Now, we begin.”
Jace tugs the sheet away from her spine, baring her back to us down to the dimples above her ass. The tease of the curve against the fabric has me fighting the permanent erection I seem to struggle with around Rosemarie.
“We have to start up here,” I say softly as I stroke a light touch from her shoulder blades to the nape of her neck. The delicate skin there has me stealing a few extra moments to push aside the last strands of her hair. Her sigh and the way she sinks farther into the mattress makes me want to follow my claws with my mouth.
“You making the first mark or am I?” Jace asks, pulling my thoughts from picturing how sweet Rosemarie might taste.
The ritual. Right. I need to focus. “You go,” I tell him.
He pulls the brush along her neck in a bold stroke of purple paint. Chill bumps rise on her skin.
“Cold?” I ask her.
