“Stella?”
“My ex.”
Ah,I think, sinking back into the cushions.
Well. That explainsa lotabout this morning.
“We were never serious,” he says quickly. “On and off for the past two years. But I ended it for good last year. We were completely over before I even met you last summer.”
He tries to grab my wrist to pull me closer, but I move away, just out of reach.
“Is she going to be a problem for me?” I ask, eyebrows drawn as I fix a sharp glare in his direction.
He drags a hand through his hair—that nervous tell I’ve already memorized. “No,” he says. Too fast. “I’ll talk to her. She won’t be a problem.”
He successfully snags me by my waist this time and pulls me close.And I let him.
“Cross my heart,” he says in earnest as he brushes a kiss against the tip of my nose. “I’m sorry she gave you trouble,” he adds, voice dipping lower as his hand starts a slow path up my thigh. “But I can think of a few ways to make it up to you…”
I know this game. Ilovethis game. And I’m more than ready after his week of utter torture and grounding lessons.
But we are sitting in the living room. I start to rise, intending to take things somewhere more private, but he catches my hand and tugs me back down. He shifts, pressing his body over mine, making sure I feel every deliberate inch of contact as he settles against me.
I glance toward Finn and Ryan’s rooms, both doors firmly closed.
“Relax,” he says against my jaw, lips grazing skin. “They’re not coming out again tonight.”
He leans down to kiss me, taking his time to make sure he tastes every bit of me as he nips softly at the corner of my mouth.
My blood starts to heat, and it has nothing to do with the fire burning beside us in the hearth—or the magick I can sense dancing just under Noa’s fingertips. His golden touch is never far, just in case I lose control.
“Have you been practicing your grounding?” he whispers into the hollow of my throat, pausing to kiss me there as he starts to trail lower.
I nod, biting my bottom lip. Inside, I clamp down on my magick like it’s a wild animal straining at the leash—secretlythreatening it if it so much as tries to move a tendril of water against me.
“I’ll stop if it starts to be too much,” he says, eyes darkening as his gaze meets mine again.
His hands slide along my waist, circling my stomach, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt. He finds my breast through the fabric of my bra and cups it, thumb brushing over the curve with a possessive tenderness that makes me shiver.
Then he uses his teeth to tug the neckline of my shirt lower, easing down the lace on my bra and exposing me to the cool air and his warm mouth. His tongue flicks my nipple, slow and teasing, while his other hand slips my bra strap from my shoulder, giving him full access.
The push and pull of his mouth, the contrast of heat and pressure—it’s intoxicating. I arch into him, breathless, the warmth pooling as I feel a dampness start to gather between my legs.
His hands now move down to my waist and slip under the waistband of the boxer shorts I’ve taken to borrowing. When his fingers reach the wet heat between my thighs, he lets out a low, satisfied growl that sends a shiver straight through me.
I’ve had enough of barriers.
I wriggle free of the shorts and my panties, kicking them aside without ceremony. He sheds his shirt in one fluid motion, tossing it to the floor, before climbing back over me with a hunger that makes my breath hitch. His hand finds me again, working slow, deliberate circles against my center that make my spine arch against the cushions. He watches me—watches every shift in my face, every gasp—and when he feels me trembling beneath him, he pauses as if waiting. He glances subtly toward the bar sink, then looks at the mug on the console table behind us. Nothing. Not even a twitch of water magick.
The grin that curves his mouth nearly undoes me.
“I told you,” I pant, lips trembling against his jaw. “I’ve been practicing.”
I reach for him, freeing him from his pants, wrapping my hand around the hard length of him. The sheer weight, impossible to ignore. His breath hisses between his teeth as I stroke, slow and steady, marveling at how soft his skin is against my palm.
His thumb presses into that delicate center—just right,justenough—while his fingers slide into me, again and again, the intensity building until I’m trembling on the edge. I don’twantto fall alone. I want to drag him with me.
I reach for him again to guide him toward me. Into me.
