Page 44 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“I can do a little magic on my own. Not entirely helpless, sugar. Got my mother’s fae magic. Like the healing.” His eyes darted to my wrist. It hadn’t bothered me since that first night. “But transporting us just now? That took a quarter of what I had stored in the jewelry.”

His gaze swept over me, a slow perusal that had heat dropping low in my belly. I licked my lips and his eyes darted down at the movement.

“So…” I said, feeling the need to continue, if only to distract us from the inferno rising between us. “If someone were to remove everything, you’d be severely disadvantaged? We would have been stuck in the club?”

“I’ve got other back-ups.” His words were almost distant, like he was focused entirely on something else and merely going through the motions of answering. Focused entirely on me.

“Oh?”

“My tattoos.”

My eyes darted to his arms. Realization dawned. “The ink?”

“Mmm-hmm.” The low sound he made had me squeezing my thighs together, desperate to ease the growing ache there.

Bastian inhaled, nostrils flaring, then glanced down, a small smile tugging at his lips.

My eyes widened. Was he smelling me?

“They aren’t just for show,” he explained. “Metal powder mixed into the ink. That’s why they look silvery when they catch the light.”

“Oh,” I said, breathless. My chest was rising and falling faster. Thinking was becoming difficult.

“Now are you impressed, sugar?” His purring voice was pitched low.

Yes. So freaking impressed. Wait—no. What the fuck? Since when did I care? What the hell was going on here? I inched to the side, sliding along the wall. He took two steps with me, keeping me caged.

A flicker of predator filled his gaze, there and gone. “Where do you think you’re going, little female?” A glint of silver flashed between his teeth, bringing my gaze to his lips. He noticed. That arrogant smile returned in full force, turning wicked.

“You…you have a tongue piercing?” I managed, stalling.

“Wanna find out?”

Shivers raced over my skin. I made a desperate noise, a needy noise. Neither yes nor no. He moved closer, bending slowly, until the fabric of his clothes brushed mine. His head dipped, but he held his face an inch from mine. When he exhaled, minty breath brushed my skin.

I whimpered, knees weakening. My palms were flush to the wall, fingers splayed wide, anchoring me to reality.

His gaze burrowed into mine and time froze. I didn’t stop him, even though he gave me ample opportunity. His soft lips brushed mine, the barest of caresses. A request. My eyes fluttered closed. Desire drenched with promise spread through me. Everything else vanished⁠—

Then it was gone, taken, just as quickly as it had come.

His lips disappeared.

A mewing protest broke the quiet. I realized it was me as I lifted my head from the wall, chasing after his lips. Lips I wanted so badly.

There was the barest of hesitation, and then his mouth crashed against mine, this time hungry, claiming. Roaring filled my head—my blood rushing past my ears. I met his kiss, eager in my own way, as if I could devour everything about him. He groaned, pressing his body against mine, his hard length making his arousal clear.

Heat exploded between us.

I gasped, opening my mouth to suck in a breath. His tongue swept in. A press of metal, almost invasive against me, and I moaned. He kissed the same way he handled his motorcycle, with an expert, focused ease. A zing of eager pleasure shot straight down my spine, right to my core, curling my toes. I was caged, sandwiched between the wall and a powerful goblin-fae body.

Our kiss intensified. His fingers twisted into my hair at the nape of my neck. My hands lifted from the wall, tangling in the fabric of Bastian’s shirt. His hips ground against mine. The feel of his hard length against the apex of my thighs brought a sound to my throat, a keening, needy noise. I should have been embarrassed, but I couldn’t think.

He ripped his mouth away. “I thought you didn’t do fuck boys,” he bit out, chest heaving. He looked frenzied. Unhinged. “But your scent says otherwise.”

Well. That answered that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, pathetically. “And—I don’t.”