Page 62 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“Sure, why not?” He hesitated at the top of the landing, looking down at me.

“Fine, you cook,” I agreed. “I’ll do dishes after.”

He hummed. His expression made me think he was going to argue. But he surprised me by shrugging. “Deal. Go get ready.”

He took a step to walk away toward the kitchen, but I reached for him, lifting on my tiptoes. I planted a chaste kiss on his lips. I wasn’t sure what possessed me to do it. Closure, for what we’d just been through together, maybe?

For a moment, he held still, then his arm snaked around my waist and he deepened the kiss, until his tongue was stroking mine. I stifled a groan, trying to ignore the tightening muscles in my core. When we pulled away, I was treated to a genuine Bastian smile, dimple and all, before he disappeared down the hall to the kitchen.

21

Iwalked into the kitchen and Bastian’s low whistle greeted me.

“You like?” I asked, stopping to twirl in place. I’d gone for something simpler this time. A pair of light washed denim cutoffs that were frayed at the bottom, black boots, and a cropped rocker T-shirt that skimmed my waistband. Everything was paired with a black studded rocker belt. The T-shirt was mostly for Bastian’s sake. I’d curled my hair and left it down.

“No fucking way. You’re a fan of Maroon Rage?” He chuckled, shaking his head, his eyes dancing.

“Yup. Got this at their concert last year.”

“Shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes devouring me as they turned heated. “Come here, sugar.”

I strutted over to him. His hands snaked around my waist, settling low as he dipped his head and kissed me, softly this time. I deepened our kiss, swiping through his mouth with my tongue, trying to memorize the feel of it, the taste of it. What might it be like when he removed the glamor? Would his teeth sharpen? Prick me? Draw blood?

Heat built in my gut. I wanted that—wanted it badly. The idea of exploring him without his glamor left my fingers aching.

His hands crept lower, to the frayed hem of my shorts. Fingers swept beneath, feather light over my skin. I groaned, pressing my hips against him. With swift movements, he scooped me up and planted me on the countertop. My knees spread and he pressed into me, pulling me flush to him. My head was a little taller from this position. I used it to my advantage, wrapping my fingers around his neck, angling his chin where I wanted him. He growled, the sound vibrating against my mouth. I claimed him, licking his tongue ring, biting on his lower lip, my movements hungry.

I pulled away and said, “You don’t have any lip piercings?”

“I do. Just hidden by the glamor.”

“Right.” I often didn’t notice the extra details beyond his pointed ears, teeth, and skin color whenever the transparent overlay appeared.

He tilted my head and began planting kisses along my jaw, down the column of my throat. “I have the rest of the night off,” he managed between open mouthed pecks. “After we get back from the club, it should be warm enough for a swim. I haven’t forgotten the way you were eyeing the pool earlier.”

My breath quickened. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

He scoffed. “Who said anything about swim suits? This is my pool, sugar. No one comes on my property. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

A shiver raced down my spine at the picture he painted.

His tongue darted out at the base of my throat, licking the divot and sweeping upward in a claiming gesture. I groaned. The brush of his piercing made my thigh muscles go tight, flexing against his hips.

His fingers slipped beneath my T-shirt, palms warm against my skin. “I bet you got a whole collection of these cute little tops, don’t you?”

“I…” I couldn’t breathe.

“Maybe you can model them for me sometime?” I chuckled.

His kisses stopped just below my ear lobe⁠—

A timer beeped. He pulled away and grinned. “Stay right there,” he warned, his voice a growl I didn’t dare disobey.

Then he busied himself around the kitchen, finishing up our dinner. I watched him, tucking my hands beneath my thighs as he began plating food.

“Meatloaf? You made meatloaf?”

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?”