She wanted to tell him to take her. To get her out of here, to put his hands on her, to finish what had been brewing between them for so long. But then—
Deyric.The name sliced through the haze like a whisper in the dark.
She stiffened and tried to step back, steady herself, but Caelith didn’t falter. His grip on her face flexed, while his other hand—the one that had been rubbing slow, deliberate circles in her palm—slid up to her face.
“You want me to take you home.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Air stuttered in her lungs as he pressed forward, his thumb slipping past the seam of her lips, parting them with the faintest pressure. Something syrupy-sweet bloomed on her tongue, then, too sweet, thick and cloying, coating her mouth in a way that made her head spin.
Her eyelids fluttered, and a delicious pressure unfurled inside her, insistent and undeniable. Her mind clawed at the edges of the moment, desperate to grasp something real, something solid. But the thought slid away, lost in the tide of his voice, his scent, his thumb against her lips. He was everywhere, flooding her senses, filling her lungs, wrapping around her in a way that made it impossible to think, impossible to want to think.
Her free hand clenched at the front of his coat. She needed him. Needed… her mate.
Her inhale wavered against his wrist as her lips parted further, tongue just barely grazing the pad of his thumb, desperate for the taste of him.
And the world outside of Caelith ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was him.
Chapter eighteen
Emmalineglancedbacktowardthe club, the flashing fae-lights casting shifting patterns against the darkened glass.
She wanted to find Ursula. And Margo.
She wasn’t sure why she was looking for them. Maybe she wanted them to stop her. Maybe she wanted them to see that she had been right all along, that Caelith had chosen her. Before she could make sense of it, though, a warm hand settled at the small of her back, guiding her forward.
She barely registered the movement as she stepped into his waiting glider, and the door shut behind them.
Caelith sat close. So close. His fingers wove through her hair, brushing it back, exposing the length of her throat. Then—a kiss. His lips pressed against her pulse point, his breath hot against her skin.
Someone else had kissed her neck like that, but the memory was slippery, drifting away before she could grasp it.
She exhaled slowly, lids heavy, her limbs loose and pliant as her hands found him. His chest, broad and solid beneath his fine tunic, was hers to touch.
Tonight, she would finally have him. The thought sent a new kind of heat licking through her veins. She pressed against him, arms winding around his neck as she climbed into his lap. Caelith let out apleased sound, hands settling on her hips, guiding her into the cradle of his body.
She wanted to feel him. All of him. Her fingers trembled as she pulled open his shirt, baring smooth, golden skin. The fae-light from the carriage lanterns cast a low glow across the ridges of muscle, tempting her lips forward. Beneath her, his body responded, hard and eager.
“Goddess,” he murmured, voice thick with hunger. “You’re an eager thing, aren’t you?”
She tilted her hips forward, chasing the feel of him, then frowned as something hazy creeped at the edges of her mind.
She wanted this. Didn’t she?
“You want me?” she asked, voice slurred at the edges.
“I need you, petal.”
Then there was only blackness.
She blinked. Her head swayed, vision swarming with shadows, and then she felt Caelith’s hands low, fumbling, undoing the seams of his pants.
Another blink—and darkness, again.
She was on her back.
The carriage swayed, bouncing beneath her, the weight of him above her, pressing down, trapping her. Her body—wrong, sluggish—didn’t respond the way she expected, the pleasure laced with something dull. Her mind clawed for clarity, for focus, but everything was fractured. Too slow. Too thick.
She tried to turn her head, tried to make sense of what was happening, but then—
