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“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No,” he repeats, rounding in front of me and gently cupping my cheeks. “It’s already making me feel crazy. I don’t have to be on the front lines to know I didn’t pick up your pieces.” He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. “Two dead bodies, a pile of ashes on the floor… The room was on fire. Rinya was bleeding and likely concussed. Madigan looked shaken and agitated.”
I scrunch my face. “We had a busy afternoon.”
Imy nods. “And all I can think about now is how you didn’t answer the question, how I didn’t direct it to you. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I purse my lips and give him the truth. “I have some bruising, but it will be gone before I make it to my room. Perks of being a goddess, I guess.”
He chuckles, though it’s lukewarm, nothing like his normal rasp. “I don’t understand how you can move on so quickly. I’m still stuck on that being the second time we were too late.”
“The others will be mad for a minute, but they’re coming to terms with what I am. Even if you’re on time, there’s nothing that I’ll need other than this,” I explain. “I don’t need you during a fight or to help me kill a foe… It’s after the adrenaline fades and when the delayed triggers set in that I need you to be here for me.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against mine. “I should know you better by now. And if I couldn’t be what you needed in that moment, I should have left you with Connak—”
I put my hand over his mouth to stop him. “Imy?”
“Hmm?” he hums, sounding more like himself.
“Will you just kiss me already? Stop talking and replace all these memories with something worth thinking about later.”
Imryll leans forward and removes my hand. He softly takes my lips before he licks the seam of my mouth. I don’t give him access quickly enough to appease him, and his demands become more insistent until I open up to him. His tongue duels with mine as our breaths mingle, our kiss becomes harsh the deeper we fall.
Gentle hands trace up and down my sides. I gasp as his fingertips dig into my hips as he scoops me off my feet. Imryll walks us toward the dark corner, through an archway I’ve never seen. My back bumps against the stone wall of an alcove.
He releases me, and I reluctantly slide down the front of his body. Searing lips find the sensitive flesh under my ear, and I let out a low moan as he sucks against my tender skin. Every pull has a wave of pleasure crashing into my core, causing my pussy to throb in anticipation.
Imryll shifts, stepping between my legs, his knee widening my stance. I shamelessly grind against his thigh as if I’m in high school again, and dry-humping him is the answer to all my problems.
But I no longer want the flow of a garden hose.
I want the destruction of a cyclone.
“I need more, Imryll,” I beg. “Take me upstairs.”
Imryll’s usual control evaporates, as if my plea has flipped a switch in his mind. He nips at the sweet spot where my neck and shoulder meet. I shudder against him, the slight pain leaving me a wanton mess.
His fingers deftly work at the buttons on my blouse, and mere seconds pass before he slides it off my arms to drop on the ground. I peer around him as he cups my breast. He leans down, but stalls when he glances at me.
“Stop worrying,” he quietly cajoles. “No one will see us.”
“I’m not worried about someone seeing us,” I tell him. “I’m worried about them hearing us and then coming to find us.”
“Do you want to be caught?” he purrs, looking at me through dark lashes.
“No,” I snap, but I’m too breathy to show my attitude.
I feel him grin against the globe of my breast, though he adjusts to stand in front of me, blocking any would-be passerby’s view.
Imryll doesn’t have the same reservations about being caught in a compromising position in the catacombs. He actually seems to enjoy the prospect of someone catching us.
I grasp the bottom of his cream-colored shirt and pull it up his chest, reveling in the muscles he keeps hidden beneath. He releases me long enough to discard the linen obstructing my view and toss it to the side.
