Page 52 of Death Will Follow

Nova stroked his hair. “All is well,” she crooned. “You’re here. With me.”

“This godsdamned place,” he murmured against her soft skin. “It brings out the worst in me. I’m a monster. I’m—”

“You’re not,” she insisted, her words brimming with such conviction he nearly believed her.

He tipped his head to meet her gaze. “I wanted to harm him—would have harmed him—if you hadn’t stopped me.”

She cupped his face, her thumb gently tracing the swell of his bottom lip.

“In your arms is the only place in this world I know for certain I’m safe.”

Callan’s heart swelled, and his cock stirred. He wanted so badly to see himself as she did. He dipped his head and planted a trail of kisses along the tops of her breasts. Interrupting his attentions, Nova rose out of the water to stand in the tub, bringing his face level with her abdomen. He gripped her hips and ran his tongue along the surface of her skin, capturing a taste of the water rushing in rivulets down her torso before pressing a kiss above her navel.

Nova tangled her fingers in his hair close to his scalp. With a gentle tug, she tipped his face up to look at her.

“Stand up.” Her voice was soft but faintly commanding.

He was on his feet at once. She held her hand out in front of her, and he took it, steadying her as she stepped over the side. Unsure what she intended to do, Callan waited expectantly, eyes gliding over her naked body, his arousal tenting the front of his breeches. Nova inhaled a shaky breath, her nipples tightening, from her own desire or the breeze snaking its way through the window, he couldn’t be sure. Nova lowered her eyes to the wooden stool to his side, and she gestured with her chin.

“I’d like you to dry me off now, love,” she said.

Callan twisted and took up the towel folded neatly on the stool. Shaking out the fabric, he stepped in close to her and wrung the excess water from the ends of her dark hair. He moved on to her shoulders and chest next, his movements gentle and unhurried as he made his way down the length of her body. Crouching before her, he carefully dried her stomach, thighs, and calves, fighting to tamp down his desire with every appreciative hum and word of praise that passed her lips as he completed his task.

Satisfied he’d dried her thoroughly, Callan stood once more, wrapping the towel around Nova’s torso.

She rose onto the balls of her feet and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth before lowering herself. Her stomach grazing his cock as it strained against his breeches. Her lips curled in a coy smile; she knew exactly what she was doing to him. Gods, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted her to stop or to keep going.

Brushing past him, she sat on the stool and took up a comb from the table. She shook her head as she held it out to him, damp waves falling in a dark waterfall between her shoulder blades. Taking her meaning, Callan accepted the comb and set to work. Starting at the ends, he carefully combed the strands until they were smooth and no snags remained.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “You’re very good at that.” She leaned back against him, once again putting pressure on his erection.

Callan clenched his jaw and forced a shaky breath through his nose. He was practically leaking for her. If he completed all his tasks to her satisfaction, he thought, perhaps she’d finally let him come.

Preferably deep inside her pretty cunt.

Nova rose from the stool and turned to face him. She stripped off the towel and let it fall, pooling on the floor at her feet.

Starting at his shoulder, she trailed her fingers down his bicep and forearm to his wrist.

“Is our bed ready?” she asked.

Callan whirled around. He’d smoothed out the lumps earlier, but stray bits of straw still poked through the burlap. He shook out a thick quilt and laid it over top before adding a second blanket and two down pillows. He faced Nova once again and held a hand out in invitation.

She approached him slowly, laid her palms on his bare chest, and shoved him down on the edge of the bed. Callan leaned back on his hands as she turned around, offering him a tempting view of her round ass before she settled herself in his lap.

The weight of her pressing against his swollen cock was almost too much to bear. In a desperate bid to maintain control of his body, he willed himself to think of land disputes, games of strategy—anything. He hadn’t felt this way since he was a young male, sharing someone’s bed for the first time.

Nova hooked her legs so they hung on either side of his own. Nudging at his knees, she coaxed his legs apart, the movement spreading her thighs wide as well. Nova leaned back against his chest. and Callan shuddered at the divine sensation of her skin pressed to his.

“Look at me, Callan.”

The soft command in her voice ignited something within him. He was all too eager to oblige her, lowering his chin to gaze at her beautiful body, his beard rasping against her cheek.

Nova reached back over her shoulder and gripped his chin firmly, tilting his head back up. At first, he thought it might be part of the game she was playing—instructing him to look at her, but not letting him see.

“Look at me, Callan,” she repeated.

It was then that Callan saw it: a mirror propped against the far wall. The thing was ancient, fogged with age at the edges and coated in a thin layer of dust. Careful not to tip Nova off his lap, he adjusted his position on the bed, sitting up straighter, desperate to get a better view. There she was, reflected in the glass. Legs splayed wide, her sex on display, wet and shining in the flicker of the candlelight. His breath sped up, knuckles burning as he gripped the blanket at his sides.