I try—and fail—to stifle a whimper. “What ifIneed you to fuck me to get some sleep, then?”
Harrisford’s eyes darken, and this time it’shiships that flex against mine. For a moment, he does nothing. Says nothing. But then in one swift movement he stands—lifting me as though I’m a feather and not a full-grown adult woman—and throws me over one shoulder.
“Briggs,” I gasp out. “What the fuck!”
“Where is your bedroom, Gwendolynne?”
I shudder, because I’m still not used to hearing him actually say my name. When I don’t answer, he continues, louder this time. “Gwendolynne.There are only four doors leading out of here. Which one is it?”
“Why?” I snap. I’m humiliated—and also massively turned on—that he’s carrying me like a sack of meat. “Why should I tell you when nothing’s going to happen?”
He says, very deliberately, enunciating each word, “I said I wasn’t going to fuck you, Chan.Notthat nothing would happen. Now tell me, my little miscreant…” I hear the wicked grin behind his words. “Which one is your fucking room?”
36
Gwendolynne
He throws me on the bed—actuallythrowsme onto the bed—and stands over me, looking like some sort of shirtless Greek god. His hair is all mussed up from where my fingers have tangled through it, his pupils are dilated, the defined ridges of his abs bracketed by the sharp edges of his narrow hips. Molten heat pools deep in my core; at the same time, my heart is hammering, beating against my ribs.
I lick my lips, suddenly nervous. Yes, I wanted this—I mean, I’d practicallybeggedhim for it. But now we’re in my room, with the Hello Kitty bedspread that I’ve had since I was eight, and this all feels too risky. I can’t afford to lose my head, to forget that only days ago Harrisford had been chatting up some nurse from the London General Magical Hospital. And whilehemight find it easy to change his lovers as often as he changes his sheets, I know from past experience that it’s not at all howIfunction. I’m strictly a one-boyfriend-at-a-time type girl, and I tend to fall too hard, too fast.
And I’m pretty sure that if I let Harrisford Briggs get too far inside my head, then I’m in very real danger of losing my heart.
“Are you sure you want this?” I’m embarrassed by how breathy I sound. “Don’t you want to go back to Lucy?”
He frowns, confused. “Who’s Lucy?” Before I can answer, he’s already crawling up the bed, caging me in with his warmth and his weight, the full length of his body pressing me down into the bed. Grabbing my face again, he pulls me to him, and we’re kissing again—frantically, frenetically—all muffled moans and jagged breaths.
He breaks contact for a second, then starts to kiss down my neck and chest, stopping briefly to close his mouth around my nipple, right through my thin cotton T-shirt. I cry out, my body bowing off the bed, as he continues to make his way farther down.
I’m already panting, writhing under the overwhelming intensity of his touch. “Do you want me to…take off my shirt?”
He raises himself up on an elbow for a moment, staring at the cheesyTwilightcast photo emblazoned across my rapidly rising and falling chest. Then he shoots me a small half grin. “No. Keep it on. I think judgy Carlisle will help keep me in check.”
I scramble up onto my elbows and glare at him indignantly. “You said you didn’t knowTwilight!”
His grin only spreads wider, andgood godhis smile is perfect. “I never said that, Gwendolynne.”
I shiver. Whenever he says my name, it almost rolls across his tongue, as though he’s savoring an exceptionally fine whiskey. Dropping back onto the pillow, I try to get out of my head. To let the whirlwind of sensations—Harrisford’s hands on my hips, his lips on my skin, the tongue he’s now running up one of my bare legs—take over. He kisses up my calf, my knee, pushing up my T-shirt until it bunches at my waist, and then I remember, too late, what he’s going to find when he reaches my thigh—
“Gwendolynne.” This time, my name doesn’t sound sensual. It sounds…choked. He skims his thumb across the labyrinth of old scars marring my inner thighs. “What is this?”
I scrunch my eyes shut, wishing I’d never come in here. Wishing I’d never allowed him in my bedroom, in my bed…Wishing I’d never allowed him to come into my parents’ flat at all. I’m sure he’s slept with dozens of women who aren’t permanently disfigured between their legs.
Everything inside me seizes up, and I snap at him. “You’re so fucking ignorant, Briggs.” But the words lack bite. I sound almost…fatalistic.
My eyes are still closed, so I don’t see him move, but I feel him shift a little so that he’s looking at my face. “What do you mean?” His tone is unexpectedly gentle.
“How do you think I’ve survived all these years?” Tears are starting to prick at my inner eyelids, and I clench my jaw, willing them to go away. “How do you think I’ve managed to…afford…all the fucking magic I needed to get through vet school?”
“I—I don’t understand.”
My eyelids spring open, andfuck, now there reallyaretears, and I really don’t want to cry while Harrisford Briggs is lying between my ugly, spread-eagled legs. I try to wriggle out from under him and clamp my thighs shut, but he’s got one of my knees secured against the bed, his thumb still caressing circles across my skin.
“It’s a rationing spell.” I don’t even know why I’m bothering to explain. “It’s the only way I can make the little bits of magic I can afford to buy last the entire year. It takesblood, Briggs. Without a familiar, I can’t channel magic from the Void, so unless I ration it with the spell, it runs out too quickly. And performing the spell means I have to sacrifice some of my qì—my life force—just to have enough.” I release a deep, tremulous sob, and shake my head. “It’s okay. I understand. You can leave if you want.”You don’t need to stay with a mess like me, I want to add.You can go back to pretty, perfect, scarless Lucy.
But he makes no move to leave. Instead, he runs the tip of hisindex finger—gently, so gently—along the fresh cut I’d made right before he’d arrived. And when I finally realize what he’s doing, why there’s a sensation of warmth spreading languidly along the wound, more tears spill from my eyes and run down my face onto the pillow.
He’s…He’shealingme. He’s fucking healing me. In a way I never bother to do myself because I can never spare the magic.
