“Tired?” he asks.
“Not that tired,” I mumble.
It’s the wrong thing to say, because he stops massaging the tight knot of muscle at the base of my neck. “Baby girl, you need to be very clear. What exactly do you mean by that?”
Butterflies erupt as I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Thanks to the contract, I know he’s on the potion, and there’s not a single sexual disease in existence that alchemy hasn’t cured. All of the practical matters are seen to, and he agreed, in principle, to the idea. Maybe…
“You read the contract.” And he adjusted it in ways that made my knees weak. “I agree with Lambert's idea. I’ll give the others their copies tomorrow, but whatever they decide, I?—”
I cut myself off, a seed of doubt making the butterflies stutter, but Dakari won’t let me look away.
“Whatever they decide…?” he echoes.
“Can I have one night of selfishness?” I ask quietly. “If they don’t sign, or they disagree, then we can pretend it never happened. But… Please, Dakari. Just…please.”
The plea is torn from my soul, from a chasm of loneliness and starvation that yawns wider and more painful the deeper into his black gaze I fall.
There’s an instant where I believe he’ll deny me. Where the idea of one night that might one day become a dirty secret never to be mentioned seems foolish. That would only be fair, after all. What I’m suggesting is greedy and thoughtless and?—
He groans. “Fuck it.”
Strong hands wrap around my outer thighs, lifting me as his mouth descends on mine. I moan into his kiss, heady relief and electricity arcing through the places where we connect, until I want to weep with the rightness of it.
He takes one step forward, then another, until my back is pressed against a shelf and his hips are settled inside my spread legs, providing pressure against my sex in the most delicious way.
His need is written in the urgency of his kiss and the hard length that grinds against my clit.
It’s been so long, and yet a hundred buried instincts shake themselves off and claw their way to the forefront. My handsfist the lapels of his jacket, holding him to me like someone might snatch him away at any moment as I devour him like I’ve been starving for centuries.
Because I have.
I shove at the fabric, wordlessly demanding fewer barriers between us. Dakari chuckles into our kiss as he shrugs it away so it pools at his elbows, leaving only his t-shirt between me and the warmth of his chest. My fingers eagerly shove that away too, wanting skin, heat, life.
His breath shudders out of him at the contact, hips flexing in a way that drives his erection harder against my pussy. Surely the thin fabric of my skirt can’t hide the fact that my arousal is already dripping down my thighs.
If he finds fault with my enthusiasm, he has the good sense not to say anything as our mouths break apart. Those black eyes trail over my expression, reading the heat in my cheeks, then travel down to where my off-the-shoulder top exposes the heaving swells of my breasts.
Those full lips return, this time buried in the crook of my neck, nuzzling his way down the curve of my shoulder. His hands tighten, lifting me higher, giving him better access, and I gasp as he sucks at a sensitive spot I’d forgotten I even had.
I yank at his top, then grab power from the Arcanaeum and just disintegrate it.
“I’ll conjure you a new one,” I promise before he can say anything.
My hands return, this time petting warm, scarred brown skin. He’s so strong, so safe, and my heart thuds a little harder in my chest as my palms smooth over his pecs, up to his deltoids and then pause as he resumes his kisses, distracting me.
“Take us somewhere with a bed,” he murmurs against the upper slope of my breast. “I want you to be comfortable for what I’m about to do to you.”
Without even thinking about it, I drag him with me into the clock tower. The Arcanaeum—meddling building—has remade my bed with clean sheets, and there are wisplights and rose petals littering the floor around it. I don’t really have time to appreciate the effect because Dakari carries me three easy steps forward and carefully deposits me on the mattress. He takes a step back, toeing off his boots and dropping his jacket to the floor. That leaves him in just a pair of well-worn jeans, and I eat up the sight of him.
He raises that scarred brow as his thumbs hook into his waistband, gesturing with his head to my own clothes. Taking his unspoken hint, I grab the hem of my blouse and pull it over my head.
“Is that a corset?” he chokes.
Eddy told me this would be an issue, but I foolishly hoped he wouldn't remark on it. I was raised with stiff kirtles and stomachers, but those are no longer in fashion. Maybe one day I’ll get used to the newfangled undergarments, but until then this was the best compromise. Of course, I know modern men struggle with unfastening the simplest brassieres, and corset lacing might be beyond them, but…
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good quality, supportive undergarments in this century? This is made precisely to my measurements, spelled to be self-cleaning, supportive,andsofter than silk. In contrast, bras have no posture support, and why are they all so uniform? No one seems to understand the sizing. And don’t get me started on the burst blood vessels in my shoulders…” I trail off as a wicked grin eclipses his face, turning him from handsome to positively predatory in the space of a heartbeat.
Dakari places one knee on the bed, almost like he can’t help himself. “I am never, ever, going to look at your prim little outfits the same way again.”
