CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gods. Lucius’s blood drained from his head to his lap and he went hard at the spot where they were pressed together, where she rode him unexpectedly. He didn’t answer her with words, didn’t think he could form a coherent sentence as a roar of heat came close to obliterating the train of thought he’d been locked into for too long. Intellectually, he knew that the question wasn’t whether he had mageblood a few generations back; it was whether he would give in again to the weakness that had given the makol its toehold. But as Jade’s taste exploded across his senses and heat roared within him, he knew the answer wasn’t as simple as the instinctive hell, no inside him, because if he didn’t know what the chink in his armor looked or felt like, how could he be sure of staying strong? That was what had kept him studying the paintings and prophecies long into the night, looking for an answer. That and struggling with thoughts of Jade, and the knowledge that he couldn’t go to her until he had his fucking head screwed on right. Except he hadn’t gone to her; she’d come to him, propositioned him with the glitter of solstice magic in her eyes. And what the hell was he supposed to do about that?
She broke the kiss to whisper against his lips, “Stop brooding. It’s a cardinal day.”
Wry amusement had his mouth curving despite his mood. “That doesn’t exactly equate to party time around here. In fact, it seems like the perfect time to brood. We’re pinning everything on a damned ball game. If this doesn’t work, we’re screwed.”
“And your sitting out here alone is going to change that?” When he didn’t respond, she nodded as though he’d answered. “Exactly.” She took his hand in hers; their scars rubbed together in an inciting echo of being blood-linked. “This doesn’t have to be complicated. Right now, for today, it can just be about the solstice.”
Deep inside, he knew he shouldn’t let it be that easy. But at the same time, there was nothing easy about the electricity that crackled between them, nothing simple about the roar of heat and need that pounded through him, or the frustration that had ridden him for the past three days. But then, unbidden, his hand rose to cup her cheek. He felt the softness of her skin, saw the wary heat in her eye, and he was lost. “Fuck it. Happy summer to me.”
Throwing thought and caution aside with almost giddy relief, he kissed her, deep and dark, and he filled his palms with her curves. Her hands fisted in his hair and she whimpered at the back of her throat, her body molding to his, her breasts pressing against his chest. On a surge, he swung around and rose to his feet with her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.
“Lucius!” She grabbed on convulsively.
“I’ve got you.” He carried her down the steep stairs like that, their mouths fused. The man he’d been wouldn’t have dared try it. The man he’d become reveled in how easy the move was for him now, just like the ball game had been. Whereas in the past he’d struggled with his own body, now he was in total control.
When they reached his cottage, he carried her across the TV room to the bedroom, this time cradled close to his heart. In some atavistic corner of himself, he was aware of the danger, but just then he didn’t care. It was the solstice, a time for sex and magic. He set her on her feet just inside the bedroom door, sliding her against him inch by torturous inch. In unspoken agreement they shed their clothing with glorious abandon, not stopping until they were both naked. The earth-toned light reflected from the ball game scene on the TV screen limned the dip of her waist, the curve of her breast, and the long lines of her arms and legs. He reached for her, thinking to carry her Rhett- like to the bed, but she held him off with an upraised hand. “Wait. Let me.”
Before the ridiculous image of her carrying him to the bed could form, she knelt down and closed her mouth over him almost in a single move. His vision grayed and he forgot what the hell he’d been thinking, damn near forgot his own name. All he could do was lock his knees, bury his hands in her hair, and hang on for the ride.
She drained him, left him weak legged and shuddering, wholly at her mercy. At some point they collapsed together on the bed with her astride him, driving him up again as he filled his hands, his mouth, with her breasts, her lips, her tongue. He talked to her, slipping from English to Yucatec and back, saying her name, lacing it with praise and pleas, urging her up and over, saying more perhaps than he’d said to anyone since he’d nearly lost the option to say anything ever again. She shuddered against him, small climaxes building to the whole, as she rode him, drove him onward, controlled him, until finally she clenched around him, shuddering, his name seeming ripped from her throat as she came.
He followed her over, kept her going, grinding against her, pulsing into her as she said his name again, this time on a moan. Then on a whisper. Until, finally, she sagged against him, pressed her cheek to his, and went still. In fact, he was pretty sure the whole world went still for a long, drawn-out moment that laid him bare, stripped him raw. And in that moment, he thought that he would do anything to keep her with him, anything for her.
He lay there drained, reveling in the languor of an orgasm that had devastated him, seeming akin to an apocalypse in its own right. Unable to move, he lay sprawled and satiated while his senses spun and a faint breeze seemed to come from nowhere to tug at him.
It took him a few precious heartbeats to recognize the sensation through the postcoital haze. Then exultation slammed through him. Magic! It was there; he was there. He reached for it, grabbed on to it, opened himself to it—
And the world hazed luminous green around him.
“No!” He lunged upright, pawing at the night. “Godsdamn it, no!”
He saw Jade’s face swim into his vision, saw her mouth moving but couldn’t hear the words; he couldn’t hear anything over the hammer of his heartbeat. His vision flickered back to normal and the world lurched, or maybe he was the one moving. Jade’s voice cut in, soothing: “It’s okay, it’s—”
“It is godsdamned well not okay,” he snarled, then froze when the words came out instead of being trapped inside his skull, and he snapped back to awareness of his own body. The world solidified around him. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” He doubled over, leaning against her. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Up,” she ordered. “Into the shower.”
“Yeah.” His voice was thick; his mouth tasted like shit. He staggered to the bathroom, got the shower on, and stuck his head under the fiery spray. Nauseated and shaking, he stayed under the stream, heat on max, until his skin was red and he was back under control.
Then he stayed another couple of minutes as his brain came back online and things started making sense, and not in a good way. He toweled off, found clean jeans and a tee waiting for him, and dragged them on, his heart pinching at the expectation of things to come.