It was a siren’s song beckoning me to my doom, and it was so beautiful I might’ve succumbed even knowing it would lead me to hell. “Christian…” Every muscle tightened at the whisper of my name. It sounded so sweet coming from her mouth, like it was the sound of salvation instead of ruin. She was the only person who’d ever said my name like that. My hand curled around her thigh. Roughness dug into soft flesh before I released her and straightened, hating myself more with every second. “Go to your room, Stella.” My harsh command shattered the raw intimacy of the moment. “And lock your door.” A beat of hesitation. A ragged exhale. Then a rustle of papers and a loss of warmth as she fled the room. I waited until I heard her door close before I released my own leashed breath. My steps pounded in rhythm with my heart as I walked to my bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and turned the shower as cold as it would go.
The icy blasts of water pummeled my skin but did nothing to quell the desire raging inside me and incinerating everything in its path until only visions of jade eyes and lush dark curls remained. The phantom scent of green florals swirled in the shower, as invisible yet tangible as the sensation of hot silk beneath my touch. Stella had seared so deep into my consciousness that she was all I could smell. All I could feel. And, even when I closed my eyes, all I could see.
The need in my groin pulsed harder. Goddammit. I bit out a low curse before I caved and fisted
my cock. It was hard and swollen and already dripping pre-cum, and my movements were rough, almost angry as I worked myself toward a much-needed release. I could’ve kissed her. I could’ve fisted her hair and branded her with my mouth until I proved there was nothing fake about the dark fire that burned between us. The only thing that’d held me back was a fine thread of self-control, woven from cold logic and the faintest shreds of my long-destroyed conscience. I was well aware of the fact that, should either of us cave, I would be condemning not only myself but her to hell.
I would be touching her with bloodied hands and kissing her with a deceiver’s mouth. She would be climbing into bed with a monster, and she didn’t even know it. Part of me wanted her so much I didn’t care; the other part was protective enough that I’d have her sent away to a place where even I couldn’t find her. It was a paradox, as were all things in my life that related to her.
But if that thread had snapped… I closed my eyes, my grip tight and my breath harshening.
She could be beneath me now, her nails clawing my back and my name a moan in her mouth…
My orgasm coiled at the base of my spine, slowly at first, then faster until it exploded in one blinding, deafening moment. “Fuck!” The force of my release drowned out my curse, but when I came down from my high, all that was left was cold water and the bright, mocking glare of the overhead light. I rested my forehead against the icy tile and counted my deep inhales. One.
Two. Three. Stella’s room was down the hall from mine. Despite what I’d told her, a locked door wouldn’t be much protection. Four. Five. Six. I kept counting until my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace and clarity chased away the scotch in my blood and the fog in my brain. It wasn’t the right night to make a move. I’d waited this long. I could wait a while longer. Because when I claimed Stella as mine, I would do it so fucking thoroughly there wouldn’t be a shred of doubt in either of our minds as to who she belonged to…or who I belonged to in return.
24
STELLA
For the record, I was not jealous of the women Christian saw last night. I was merely worried about him being gone for hours since he was my boyfriend—well, fake boyfriend—and it would create a lot of headaches for me if anything happened to him. That was all. My skin prickled with awareness as we waited for Josh or Jules to answer the door. It was their belated housewarming, and Christian had finagled an invite since Rhys and Bridget were in town for both the party and some diplomatic event. Something about wanting to see Rhys and not being able to meet up with him separately. I’d planned to avoid Christian until I sorted through my tangled feelings toward him, but now I had to spend an entire day with him while his confession and warning played like a broken record in my head. I’ve never wanted anyone more, and I’ve never hated myself more for it. Go to your room, Stella. And lock your door. My imagination couldn’t resist spinning fantasies of what would’ve happened had I not left after his warning…or if I hadn’t locked my door like he’d told me to. Rough hands. Whiskey kisses. Footsteps in the
dark. Heat arrowed down my torso and pooled between my thighs. I clutched my housewarming gift closer to me as my breaths quickened. Despite my love of crystals, tarot, and all things mystic, I didn’t believe in magic. Not the spells and broomsticks kind, anyway. But in that moment, I was certain that Christian could crawl inside my mind and pick out every dirty, wicked fantasy I’d had of him. His stare burned a hole in my cheek as the crisp April afternoon turned into a furnace. The sun blazed a ruthless path over my exposed skin and slowed my heartbeat while the silence wrapped tight hands around my throat.
I might’ve suffocated right there on the front steps had Jules not opened the front door and saved me. “Stella! Christian! I thought I heard you guys,” she bubbled. “I’m so glad you could make it!” The tension collapsed, pulling Christian’s gaze away from me and loosening the string holding me upright until I sagged against my boxed candle gift set with a mixture of relief and disappointment. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I thrust the box at her, hoping she couldn’t pick up on my restlessness. Once Jules scented a whiff of gossip, she chased it down like a dog after a bone. “This is for you. Happy housewarming.” Her eyes lit up. She lived for presents. She once told me it was a shame Santa wasn’t real because, as old as he was, she’d fuck him if it meant she’d wake up to a different gift every morning. Granted, that had been after three eggnogs over the holidays, but still. Jules Ambrose’s mind worked in fascinating ways. “Thank you! Come in, come in. Everyone’s already in the living room.” She took the gift with one hand and opened the door wider with the other. “Just take off your shoes and leave them by the door.
I personally don’t care, but Josh is anal about that.” She rolled her eyes in good-natured exasperation. “That’s because I don’t want people tracking city dirt and grime all over our floors, you heathen.” Josh came up behind her and kissed her cheek before greeting us with a dimpled smile. “Hey, guys. Welcome to our humble abode.” He swept a dramatic arm around the two-story townhouse. I’d visited before, so I was familiar with the hardwood floors and charmingly mismatched décor—Jules’s fluffy pink rugs next to Josh’s black leather furniture, her red lip-shaped pillows offsetting the hideous paintings strewn on the walls. Josh was easy on the eyes, but his taste in art was questionable at best. “Nice art,” Christian drawled. “Thanks.” The other man beamed. “I picked it out myself.” “I can tell.” I shot Christian a quick look, but his expression was impassive. “I am not a heathen.” Jules was still stuck on what Josh called her. “As for the grime and dirt, that’s what cleaning is for.”