Oracle's Moon (Elder Races #4)(72)

Intensely. Ecstatically. Intimately.

Hungrily.

He followed her out of the house in a daze, where he encountered so many more new sensations: the texture of the screen door’s wooden frame, the scents of a summer night, the rough rhythm of chirruping insects. He climbed into her car. His fingertips learned the smooth, hard metal of the car doors, and the soft, worn passenger seat. When he turned to look at Grace, he caught the shadowed gleam of her smile.

Would he ever see another smile as gorgeous as hers?

And the deadly seductive thing was, he could sense how the physical evidence of her pleasure spread throughout her psyche. He could feel her smile as well as see it. It lightened the crackle of her spitfire personality.

Then came more sensations. The blast of air swirling through open car windows, the feeling of movement through space as they drove into the city, the pressure of his seat belt against his collarbone and torso.

When she cried at the check she had received from Carling and Rune, he felt the wetness of her tears on the softness of her cheek as he wiped them away.

Then he kissed her.

And it was the first kiss, the only kiss.

The only one in the entire world.

She embraced him, and there was more friction, this time from her warm arm sliding along the back of his neck. She molded her soft lips to his, and the kiss became a sensitive and searching dance as they shifted and caressed in response to each other’s movements.

They parted, and he discovered more colors: the darkened rose of her lips and the blush in her cheeks. Her eyes shone with a lustrous sparkle, and her energy flared with brilliance.

He had once believed he knew desire, from the things he had witnessed and the lovers he had taken. Desire, he had thought, was an artifice, an educated exchange in pleasure.

The roar of agonized hunger he now felt seared him. There was nothing of artifice in this. It was raw and edged, and he barely held it in control.

He had existed for so long he had never bothered to count the years. The numbers and the accounting had no meaning for him. But he remembered living them all. He measured the span of his life by events, and he had never experienced desire like this, as a complete desperation.

She felt it too; he knew she did. She ached with just as much hunger as he did. The raw burn of it was spiced with the complexity of her thoughts and feelings.

And she still preferred to go into that establishment.

He could come to only one conclusion. Clearly she had not found the kiss as compelling as he had.

That meant he would have to work harder the next time he kissed her, so that she did.

Frowning fiercely, he climbed out of the car when Grace did. As she locked the doors, he gave the six approaching, noisy youths a hard glance, warning them silently to keep their distance, and he made sure at least a few of them saw it.

One of the youths gave him an amiable grin. The young man said, “Hey, dude…”

He decided right then and there, he hated that word.

“Where did you get those contacts?” The young man strolled over, peering at Khalil in fascination, and a few of his associates followed. “Your eyes are wicked awesome.”

“Do not call me ‘dude,’” he said coldly. The entire group was human. He attributed their extreme foolishness in approaching him to that. Any young Djinn would have taken the hint at his first glare and would have disappeared by now.

“Anything you say, du—uh, mister,” said the young man. One of his friends sniggered quietly behind a hand. “How did you do that thing with your eyes?”

“What thing?” Khalil asked impatiently. “Tell me then go away.”

The male gave him a loose smile. “They kinda glow in the dark. Do you have special contacts that reflect the light?”

“That is none of your business. Now do as I told you. Go away.”

One of the male’s associates scratched his chin. “I’ve heard some drugs can make your eyes look funny, but I thought that mostly meant they just dilated or something.”

Khalil grew angry and his Power bristled. Behind him, Grace said, “Khalil, they don’t mean any harm. They’re probably just college kids, and they’re a little drunk.”

He glanced behind him. Grace stood on the other side of her car. Her eyes were dancing, her face alight with amusement. “Very well,” he muttered. He would not have minded taking his frustration out on a foolish someone. Or a few foolish someones.

“I’m not drunk,” one of them said. “I only had four or five beers. I just can’t drive.”

“Dude, you’re totally making that up,” his neighbor said. “You had more like seven or eight.”

Khalil considered that one’s use of “dude.” Since it had not been directed at him, he decided to let it pass.

“Well, I had nine, and y’all kept up with me,” said a third. “That’s why none of us are driving.”

“What are we doing, again?” said a fourth.

“You are getting out of my way,” Khalil said. He pushed through them as they started talking over each other.

Then the original youth made a mistake. He laid a hand on Khalil’s arm.

“Hey, about those contacts—”

The physical sensation of being touched without his permission was a thousand times worse than when another Djinn male came too close. Hissing, he whirled on the youth, whose somewhat silly face rounded in an O of surprise.