“Energy magic,” I whisper, trailing kisses along his sharp jaw now. “I learned how to harness my lightning and compress it into a contained sphere of raw energy.”
“Contained?” His tone holds an edge of humor, and I realize this is the first time I’ve heard it. He’s always so cold and stoic. “Is that what you’re calling it?”
My lips drift to his throat, and when I brush my lips across the soft spot just below his jaw, I feel his rapid pulse. “It’s awork in progress,” I whisper. Then I kiss his neck, and his body stiffens against me.
Both his hands are around my hips now, and he hoists me up with ease, as if I weigh no more than a piece of parchment. He pins me to the wall with a barely contained growl. My legs wrap around his waist, and now it’s his turn to explore me with his mouth. His kisses are rough, demanding, and when he makes it to my neck, I freeze.
Severin draws a long breath, his nose tickling my skin.
Between my legs, heat builds, and I know that if he asked, I’d let him feed on meandfuck me right in this stairwell.
Instead, he says, “You smell like a storm.” He draws another breath, his grip tightening around my hips until I gasp. “It’s maddening, Maeve Vandermere.”
His use of my full name makes a tremble go through me, and my magic flares, hot and bright. Without meaning to, I cause a warm current of air to wrap around us, rustling our hair and clothes.
If he keeps whispering to me like that, I might bring the storm from outsidein.
Slowly, Severin leans in to press a single kiss to the pulse point pounding in my throat. The danger it presents is deliciously intoxicating.
Then, with what feels likemuchrestraint, he lowers me to my feet.
But I don’t let go of him. Not yet. My hands are still wrapped around his neck, and I tug him close. He presses his forehead to mine as our rapid breathing starts to slow. I close my eyes, trying to memorize this moment: the heat being generated from our bodies, the taste of his whiskey on my lips, the scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to our skin.
“Severin,” I whisper.
He groans.
My fingers trail from his neck down across his collarbone. I press my palm firmly into his chest, finding his heartbeat thrumming beneath his rib cage. It matches the speed of mine.
“Maeve,” he says in response.
I rise up onto my toes, finding his lips again, kissing him one last time before slumping back against the cool stone wall. Hand still on his chest, I push him back, putting space between us, or else I’m not going to be able to stop kissing him.
“Now what?” I ask, arching a brow at him.
He takes another step back from me, as if he just realized what we were doing.
With some strain, he says, “Nothing. This never happened.”
A flare of anger goes through me. “You can’t kiss me like that and then say nothing happened.”
“I’m your professor. You’re my student. This is in no way appropriate.”
“I don’t care.” My words come out sharp, harsh. But that’s exactly how I meant them. And I reallydon’tcare. As long as we don’t get caught, it doesn’t matter to me that this is against the rules. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.” I push off the wall, drawing myself up to my full height. “I’ve dreamt of you. I’ve imagined what kissing you would feel like.”
He lets out a labored breath. “Maeve—”
Now I’m crossing the narrow stairwell landing, pushinghimup against the wall. My fingers clutch his tunic, and his impossibly dark eyes stare down at me.
“This happened,” I whisper, and slowly, I allow one of my hands to drift—down his chest, across his firm stomach, along the waistband of his cotton trousers. And when my fingerscreep lower, I find what I was hoping to: his cock, hard and ready, straining against the fabric. He winces when my fingers brush him through the thin material, muscles going taut in his neck and jaw. “And we’re not going to pretend it didn’t.”
His hips shift forward, begging for my touch.
I smile. I’ve got him exactly where I want him.
Then I step away and push my now-damp hair over my shoulder. “So, I suppose I’ll see you in class, Professor.” I take another step back. “Or maybe I’ll come to your office hours. We can continue our discussion on blood magic.”
He remains slumped against the wall, fingers clenched into fists at his sides. If I could better see his eyes in the dark, I have a feeling they’d hold a mixture of anger and hunger. And I’m just fine with that.
