Page 93 of Grim Tidings

A fingertip glides along the back of my neck, and I flick my eyes up, watching Darcy over the rise of her bare tits. One of her hands is in my hair and the other is clinging to the edge of the desk. Neither are on my neck, but her eyes are pitch black, lashes fluttering against the tops of her cheeks. That prickly, tight sensation curls over my shoulder, slipping down my chest to brush against my hip where I’ve tugged down my jeans.

It’s her magic, I realize. Black, whispery shadows that coil around us both. They curl over her legs and slip around my fingers where I’m still gripping her tight.

“Stop teasing me,” she demands. Her voice seems to echo with the promise of her magic, each of her nine lives demanding I get to work.

I grin, abandoning my cock to roll my thumb against her instead. “No.”

She groans and rolls her head back. The shadows expand and contact, brushing against me like silk ribbon. Her underwear is so wet I can see the shape of her through it. I tap her clit, then slide my thumb down and put pressure right where she needs it.

Her hips wiggle.

“I’m going to—” she chokes out, and I keep my touch firm and steady, letting her work herself against me the way she needs. It only takes a few rolls of her hips before her long legs are hugging at my sides, her body trembling as she comes.

“Gabriel.”

She chokes on my name, and my magic flares hot, burning in the middle of my chest and out across my arms. My wings explode out of me in a rush, and then I’m standing. Scooping her off the edge of the desk, arranging her until her back is pressed to my chest and my hand is down the front of her underwear.

“I want to feel it,” I grind out. She’s so wet. So soft. I curl my other arm around her middle and hitch her tighter to me. “Can I—”

“Yes,” she interrupts. Her hands grip my forearms, her nails digging half-moons against my skin.

I nuzzle my nose under her ear. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

She laughs. “Gabriel, I can’t feel my legs. You can do whatever you want with me.”

She’s a mess beneath her underwear. I paint sloppy circles against her skin with it. Over and over until she wiggles and whines.

“God,” she breathes. “Why didn’t we do this from the start?”

I rock my hips against the curve of her ass. It’s not enough friction, not even close, but I can’t pull myself away from her. I drop a kiss against her bare shoulder. “Because one of us was trying to kill the other.”

“Oh, is that what happened?” She turns her head to the side, her nose grazing my neck, her hips rocking against my hand. “You were the one with the sword.”

But you’re the one that got me on my knees, I think hazily.

I pull her tighter against my body and bury my face in her shoulder. She smells so good. Like sweat and sex and cherries and the pineapple drink she’s been sipping on all night. I want to take a bite right out of her. I swear, no one has driven me half as crazy as Darcy does.

“Gabriel,” she whispers as she reaches for me, her knuckles brushing against my cock. My teeth snap together. “I told you to take what you need, and I meant it. I want that with you.”

I pull my hand away from her and press my knees to the back of hers, guiding her forward until she can put her palms on the desk. I keep my chest to her back. “Like this,” I tell her.

A breath shudders out of her. I trace the line of her underwear at her hip, down over the curve of her thigh.

“I just want to feel you,” I mumble, drunk off the feel of her.

It’s like I’m eight bottles of wine deep again. I press her thighs together, then nudge my cock between them, rocking against her slick, warm skin. Darcy gasps and tosses her head back against my shoulder.

“You could have more,” she whispers.

I shake my head and roll my body against hers, smooth easy strokes that nudge against her with each thrust. “Want to feel you like this,” I rumble. “Love knowing that I made a mess out of you.”

“Or maybe you just love torturing yourself. It’s that—ah”—her breath hiccups—“Guardian complex of yours.”

I slide my palm up her chest and cup her breast. “We’re not talking about that right now.”

“Yeah, okay,” she laughs. “Sounds good.”

We dissolve into frantic touches and muffled sounds. I bury my face in her hair and groan, abandoning finesse for what feels good, chasing down my pleasure and hers with every rough thrust of my hips. The desk rattles and the metal legs screech across the floor. Darcy grinds herself back on me, and it’s unbearable, how good it feels. To have her like this. To hold her and feel her and fuck myself against her. She’s more divine than any magic I’ve ever had.