The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(33)

“Cybele.” He framed her face with his hands, urging her to look at him. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You think so, but...you have no idea...what I’m like now. My magic...it’s too strong for this.”

“Why should it be? Adept males have sex with human witches all the time.”

That was true enough. But most adepts didn’t experience blackouts. Gaps in their memories that involved blood and magic and death.

She mistook his silence for acceptance. “Don’t worry so much.” Her head slipped from his fingers, her hair slid over his chest. The tip of her tongue drew a line from his throat to his left nipple. She scraped the puckered point with her teeth. Sizzling lust shot straight to his groin.

She dropped to her knees. Her fingers worked his belt buckle. His zipper. He moaned as his erection sprang into her hand. When her cool fingers closed around him, his mind blanked.

He speared his fingers through her hair, gripping hard. She pressed a kiss to the underside of his penis and looked up at him through her lashes. Their eyes locked.

“Should I stop?” she asked.

“No,” he rasped.

Holding his gaze, she licked. A slow, smooth sweep of her tongue, from the base of his cock to the head. All the while, her fingers teased his balls. He groaned. His knees threatened to buckle.

He was completely off balance, and yet, for the first time since exiting his Ordeal, he also felt centered. Grounded. With her. He needed this, he realized. Needed Cybele more than he needed breath or sanity. Maybe he could keep his magic under control long enough to make love to her.

No. He would keep it under control.

She parted her lips. His cock slid, wetly, into her mouth. Hot. So hot. His head fell back. A sound halfway between pain and bliss escaped from his throat.

She withdrew, but kept the tip of her tongue in contact. “Feels that good?”

“Fuck.” Air hissed through his teeth. “There are...no words.”

She gave a little hum of approval as she returned to her task. Bit by bit, the darkness inside him receded. Her tongue, her lips, the gentle scrape of her teeth—it felt like a benediction. He held on to the feeling as long as he could. Which was hardly any time at all.

Then he was hooking his hands under her armpits, dragging her up to her feet. He took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. He filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing, pinching. She gasped. She slipped her hands into his jeans and grabbed his arse. He dipped his head, licking and sucking.

With shaking hands, he unfastened her jeans. He urged her across the room, backing her toward the bed. Sunlight streamed through the window. For one arrested second, he was mesmerized by the play of it on her hair. Until a slight movement at the corner of his eye snagged his attention. He turned his head sharply to peer through the glass.

“What?” Cybele leaned around him and looked out the window. “Is something out there?”

His eyes raked the branches of the oak. “Must’ve been a breeze,” he said at last. “Moving the branches.”

“Oh.” She leaned against him, her back pressed to his chest, reaching behind to run her hands up his flanks.

He spun her around and tumbled her onto the bed. She laughed as they fell, grabbing his shoulders to pull him down on top of her. He all but tore off her jeans and underwear. She returned the favor. While he struggled out of his boots, she leaned over the side of the bed and fumbled in the front pocket of her backpack.

“Condom,” she said, pressing the packet into his hand.

“Right.” It was another testament to his fried brain that he hadn’t thought of it himself. Nephil females didn’t conceive easily, but there was always a chance it could happen. They’d taken precautions from the start. Mab would’ve gone ballistic if Cybele had fallen pregnant. And now, with everything so precarious? The last thing he wanted to worry about was fathering a child he wasn’t in a position to protect.

He quickly rolled the condom on. Finally, they lay on the bed, naked and gasping, limbs entwined, his cock probing between her thighs. She was wet there, slick and welcoming.

“Can’t wait,” he gasped.

“Don’t.” Her fingernails dug into his buttocks.

He thrust inside her with a single deep plunge. Her inner muscles contracted like a fist. His breath deserted him. By all the forsaken ancestors in Oblivion. Her hips followed his as he withdrew. One of her knees hooked around his waist, opening her body even more. He slid back in.

She felt so damn good. She always had, from the very first time. And each time afterward. Every time he succeeded in making her gasp with pleasure, each time she whispered how she loved him, he lost another part of his heart to her.

She bucked beneath him, rolling her hips in sublime motion. He answered with deep thrusts, each one half-lifting her off the bed. She moaned her approval. He grew harder. She arched upward and opened her mouth on his chest, licking the sweat from his skin. He dragged in a breath. She smelled like musk and earth, fire and sky, rain and peace, all at once.

Their frenzy mounted. He bit her neck. Her fingernails scored his back. He hooked both arms under her knees. The new angle of penetration tore a cry from her throat.

“Fuck me, Arthur. Harder.” She arched her back to give him even better access.