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Turning to peer at the digital clock on her nightstand required some effort, what with her body being deliciously sore in all the right places. She stared at the numbers, not quite comprehending. Slow to drag itself out of the remnants of sleep, her mind took a minute to catch up to what she saw.
2:16.
P.M.
Just to be sure, she glanced toward the sliver of light spilling into the room from the window—clearly sunlight, so yes, it was afternoon.
She shot upright, wincing at the twinges the move caused in her strained muscles. This couldn’t be true. She did not oversleep. She never did. Frowning, she checked her phone’s alarm, certain she’d set it for noon before she’d fallen into bed after crawling home from Tallak’s this morning.
Only, the list of alarms that greeted her was turned off.
I forgot.
By the gods, how worn out had she been? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past noon. As a teenager, maybe? Never mind that she’d only gotten back from Tallak’s sometime after six, had hit her pillow around seven, after taking a thorough shower. Staying in bed until the afternoon…unthinkable.
She’d never had that luxury, not as a wide-eyed, eighteen-year-old mother of twins, nor anytime in the years after, when two rambunctious kids and the responsibilities as a witch in the community had kept her running a tight schedule. Not to mention Robert would have sneered at her for days if she’d dared be so lazy to stay in bed that long.
And she had things to take care of now, too. She’d been meaning to go through the books again in search of more information about the sigils and blood magic. Taking the night off to roll around with Tallak had already meant less time to hunt for clues about the murder ritual, and now she’d slept away most of the day, too.
She swung her legs out of bed—ouch—padded over to the bathroom—ouch—and started a shower. When her muscles screamed at her with every move, and the well-pleasured spot between her legs ached in a constant reminder of just how many times Tallak had taken her, she decided a cup of healing potion for breakfast might be a good idea.
Or would that be late lunch?
With a grimace, she stepped into the shower, and despite the soreness, her body felt…light, in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Well, a night full of the best sex she’d ever had would do that.
She paused in shampooing her hair.
It really was, wasn’t it? The most fun she’d ever had with someone in bed. The kind of sex she hadn’t known existed, at least not for her. Raw, primal, stripping her of all the layers she wrapped herself in when she went out to face the world, and yet exhilarating in a way that fed some starved part of her soul.
The kind of sex that could become addictive.
Which was why she firmly placed the entire night in a box labeled Once and Never Again and shoved it down into the dusty basement of the memories that were best archived rather than left clinging to the forefront of her mind. Lest they make her consider repeating the experience.
No. She and Tallak had agreed on it. One night. Nothing more. Anything beyond that would lead to consequences and complications she didn’t need. A one-time sexual escapade was something both of them could gloss over and pretend never happened. No matter how many sky-shattering orgasms had been involved…
She yanked her thoughts back from that dangerous path and took a deep breath. Don’t dwell on it. She’d had an itch, and now she’d scratched it. Time to focus on more important things again.
Showered, dressed, and styled, she gingerly moved downstairs, flinching here and there at her soreness. The house seemed quiet. It would be a blessing if no one else was here to witness her coming down from her room after sleeping in so inappropriately late.
She found the coffee can thankfully filled and poured herself a cup, moved to the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard—and choked on the sip she was taking, her gaze riveted to the arresting sight out on the lawn.
Sunlight glinted off the perspiration gilding Tallak’s naked, gloriously muscled back as he moved with sinuous grace in what was more of a warrior’s dance than martial arts. She barely noticed Basil grappling with him, her unwavering focus on the way Tallak’s flowing training pants clung to his defined butt and strong thighs.
Her mouth went dry, her fingers curling hard around the mug. Underneath her primly buttoned blouse, her nipples tightened to aching points.
A full night of relishing all that strength and predatory intent directed at her, and here she was, humiliatingly wet and ready for more within two seconds flat. Seems like that itch only got worse after you scratched it, hm?
She clenched her jaw and breathed through her nose. This was ridiculous. No way would she keep lusting after him. No, this was simply some sensory echo of the overload of physical intimacy she’d received last night. It would fade, like some lingering memory of a dream after wak—
Tallak executed a strike that was propelled by a thrust of his hips, and all the air left her lungs.
Not realizing she’d taken a step forward, toward the window, she bumped into the breakfast nook table. The coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug, burning her fingers. With a suppressed curse, she flinched, and the darned cup slipped out of her hands. It shattered on the tiled floor, the crash loud in the silence of the house.
“Shipwreck!”
Out on the lawn, Tallak whirled around, his eyes locking on hers through the window. She stilled, her breath stuck in her throat at the intensity of that sizzling focus. Basil peeked around Tallak and frowned in her direction.
The next second, her son was moving toward the patio and the French doors leading into the kitchen, and Hazel glanced down at the mess of coffee in front of her feet. Her eye twitched. If only magic were indeed so practically useful as human media sometimes liked to portray it. Would be nice if she could clean up a spill with a snap of her fingers.
