The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(32)

She attempted conversation. “How much time do you think it’ll take? To get ready for Mab, I mean.”

This was not a subject Arthur wished to pursue. “Don’t know.”

The cloth paused. “We should talk about it.”

“No,” he said. “We shouldn’t.”

“Arthur—”

“Are you quite done?”

“Almost.” She sounded as agitated as he felt. She dunked the cloth and wrung it out, and then came around his left side. When she stroked up over his shoulder and swiped the cloth down his chest, he snatched the rag from her hand.

“Enough.”

“Not hardly.”

He threw the wet rag onto the washstand. “It’s early yet. Go back to sleep.”

“With you?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Well, neither am I.” Her gaze traveled across his chest. He felt its touch more distinctly than he’d felt the cloth. “You’re clean now. If we’re not going to sleep, there are other things we can do.”

He swallowed. “No.”

She tilted her head and met his gaze. A smile tugged at her lips. “I say yes. You’re in a crappy mood. You know what’s good for crappy moods? Sex.” Her lashes swept downward.

“Cybele, I—”

He cut off as her forefinger touched the center of his chest. Sucked in air as she dragged it slowly downward. She paused at his navel. His stomach muscles went rock-hard. He wanted that finger lower. In his mind, it was already there.

She withdrew her hand and smiled. “You don’t want to talk, and you don’t want to sleep. Not much else to do but make love.”

Not true. There was plenty to do. He could explore the focusing power of his mother’s touchstone. He could go out on the moor and attempt to throw hellfire without incinerating himself. He could fashion illusions that didn’t fall apart with a sneeze. He could try to take those illusions one step further, into reality. He could reach into the morass inside his skull and pluck out an ancestral memory that would lead him to magic powerful enough to destroy Mab.

He should be doing any or all of those things. And he would be doing them, right this moment, if his magic didn’t scare the piss out of him. It was just too strong. Or he was too weak. Either way, he wouldn’t risk calling it in front of Cybele. What if his lusts caused another blackout? The thought of losing control of his mind and his power while she was nearby terrified him.

He had to get out—out of the room, at least. Arguing with Cybele, once she got an idea fixed in her head, was an exercise in futility. He’d seen that mischievous light in her eyes before. Often. It never failed to get him hard, and right now was no exception. Bugger it all, if he got any harder, his cock would snap off.

Leave. Turn around and walk down the stair.

He couldn’t make his feet move the requisite number of steps toward the door. Cybele tugged her hair out of its elastic band and shook her head. He couldn’t look away. She combed her fingers through the blond curls, separating the strands, and then let it drop into a wild riot about her head.

She bent forward from the waist, the heavy mass of her hair falling forward over one shoulder. Before his dazed mind registered her intent, she yanked her blouse over her head and dropped it on the floor.

She straightened. Once again, a sensation of newness washed over him. He felt as though he was seeing her bare breasts for the first time. High and proud, tipped with dusky nipples. Beautiful. Inviting. His nostrils flared; his palms itched. He wanted to stroke, to smell, to suck. Wanted to feel her life’s blood coursing beneath her skin. Wanted to see it spill...

Fuck. “Cybele—” He gave his head a violent shake. “No.”

“What’s wrong?” The flash of hurt in her eyes was quickly masked. “Not interested in a dormant, now that you’re an adept?”

He licked his dry lips. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Her palms went to the small of her back.

He tried to ignore what the motion did to her breasts. “Yes. It is. If you only knew how much I want you right now—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

She came a step closer. Like a fool, he couldn’t back away. Of course, being Cybele, she didn’t stop until the tips of her nipples brushed his chest. She tilted her head up—not far, since she was almost as tall as he. He searched her eyes, and felt himself tumble into a turbulent jade sea.

He gripped her shoulders. Did he have some half-baked notion that he was strong enough to push her away? Impossible. Her skin was smooth and warm, and slightly damp. Her scent enveloped him.

He was on fire with lust. His palms slid down her shoulders, stroked around to her upper back. He brought her flush against his body. She melted into him, fitting her body to his in that way she had that never failed to drive him wild. Her lips brushed his neck, kissing, then softly nipping.

He groaned. He felt her smile. Her arms encircled his torso, hugging him close. Her thighs cradled his rampant cock. She circled her hips and a shudder ran through him. Her strength, her scent, her need—it all wove in and out through his body. He couldn’t—didn’t want to—resist her.

“That’s it,” she murmured against the hollow of his throat. “Relax. Let me do everything.”