Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

He glanced at me, and I smiled.

“Smooth. You get a lot of practice undressing wounded girls?”

“It’s come up.”

I would have said something about that, but one look at his smile, and electric heat caught fire in my belly. The weight and need for him pressed at my chest, and dragged delicious warmth down my stomach to pool between my legs.

Next went the undershirt. Painless. After that, he moved behind me again and unhooked my bra.

I gasped at the warm, moist air that licked my skin as he pulled the strap off first my good arm, then down my bad arm. Once the bra was gone, he stood behind me again and brushed his fingertips slowly up my stomach, then my ribs, which I could feel on the right, but lost track of over the numbness of the scars on my left.

Hadn’t I worried about my scars? About if Zayvion would find them ugly, me ugly, because of them?

But he did not pause over the scars, did not pull away. His fingertips traced the curve beneath my breasts, lifting the weight of me. I leaned into the warm hardness of his bare chest and stomach and closed my eyes. I could feel his heartbeat, pounding, hard, strong. Still, he barely touched me as he traced gentle circles around my nipples. An aching sweetness bloomed beneath my skin. I arched my back and rolled my hip against his, wanting more. Wanting him. All of him.

He made a soft, deep sound, his body responding to my invitation, and plunged his fingertips down my stomach to the warmth beneath the waistband of my jeans.

He kissed the side of my neck, licking along the mark of magic at the curve, then sucking until fire and magic rose through me, answering his touch.

I got my good hand on the button of my jeans, but Zay’s hands were already busy, unbuttoning, unzipping, his fingers slipping down my panties.

Oh. Yes.

But my jeans weren’t loose enough for much more than that. Zayvion pulled his hands away and caught at my belt loops. He knelt behind. As he lowered my jeans off my hips and down to my thighs, he followed with his lips, kissing the small of my back, the side of my hip, back of my thigh, behind my bare knees. Each wet, soft press of his mouth against my skin rolled a shock of heat through me, and left me aching for more.

He paused.

“Zay?” I breathed.

“Lift your foot.”

What? Oh, right. I lifted one foot, stepping out of my jeans, lifted the other. Zayvion pushed my pants across the floor, out of our way.

From his kneeling position, he caught the edge of my panties and tugged them down off my hips, away from the wet warmth of me.

He didn’t have to remind me to lift my feet this time.

I turned around and faced him.

Zayvion crouched, face level with my stomach, burning gold eyes, deep brown skin. The man radiated power, hunger, need. I caught my breath at the sight of him.

“I need you,” I said. “Please.” I dragged my good fingers though his hair, thick, soft black curls, wet with the steam of the shower. I wanted to pull him up to his feet so I could kiss him.

Wait. No kissing.

Well, none for me. Zayvion’s lips were just fine. He proved it by licking across my stomach. I moaned as he worked his way up.

I arched my head back, closed my eyes again as need thrummed through me.

He rested his hands on both sides of my hips. “Shower,” he said.

What? Oh, no way. Forget the shower.

“Allie.”

I opened my eyes. He was standing.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, low and sexy. “Waiting for you.” He let go of my hips, gave me a little push toward the shower. He leaned his butt against the sink and crossed his very nice arms over his very nice chest.

“I can’t,” I said in a voice that was all breath. “I can’t wait.”

He smiled a slow, dark smile. “It will be worth it.”

From that look, I guessed arguing with him would only extend my wait.

I got into the shower and let the warm water stroke my aching skin. I fumbled with the soap, but managed to wash myself left-handed without dropping anything or falling over. Then I washed and rinsed my hair, which was not as easy as it seemed. My right hand was bandaged, sore, and I didn’t really want to put soap on it. My left shoulder, however, hurt every time I raised my arm, so that pretty much counted out my left hand. Still, this wasn’t the first time I’d had to take care of my battered body. I managed.

I even turned off the water on my own.

I pulled back the curtain.

Zayvion still leaned against my sink. He held a towel in his hands.

I stepped out, took the towel, and wrapped it around me without bothering to dry off.

“I’m done.” I leaned full body against him, warm, naked, and slid my good hand down to the button of his jeans. I pressed my palm there, cradling his warmth. He grunted, and I grinned. Oh, I liked what I could do to this lovely, lovely man.

I thumbed the button through the button hole, letting my knuckles press against his stomach. He needed me, wanted me, that much was clear. But instead of unzipping his jeans, I stepped away.

I unlocked the door and didn’t care how cold it was in the hallway as I swayed off to my bedroom. I didn’t hear him behind me. Of course, I never heard him. But I could feel him. His need so strong, it was like a second pulse beneath my skin. I stopped next to the bed.

I pulled off my towel, let it drop to the floor, and heard the door close behind me.

I turned and watched as Zayvion unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. He stood naked before me-dark, intense. A condom appeared in his hand, and I was glad he remembered. I wasn’t sure I had any in the house.

I wanted to savor him, touch him slowly, taste his body, his soul. I held my arms open for him and he stalked over to me. We pressed together, folding into each other’s embrace. His hands slid down to the back of my thighs and he lifted me.

He lowered me gently onto the bed and held himself above me, his hungry gaze taking me in before he bent his head, his lips searching and finding my breast. He exhaled, something between a moan and a sigh, my name, I think.

He leaned to one side, supported by his elbow, and drew away just enough to trace something with his fingertip against my stomach. A glyph. Infinity, again.

“Zay?” I asked.

He just smiled and kissed the side of my throat, drawing magic up through me. The glyph against my skin warmed. Magic spread through me, hot, sweet, following the stroke of his tongue, circling the glyph on my stomach, growing stronger until I had to stretch to hold it all.

Oh. Oh yes.

Magic drew a second pleasure beneath my skin, settled like a weight in my belly. I wanted Zayvion. Wanted to open for him, wanted to wrap around him, feel him hard, powerful, inside me.

I kissed the side of his jaw softly, not wanting to split my lip on the rough stubble of his skin.

He stroked his palm down my body again until his fingers slipped to the warmth between my legs.

His fingertips were cool and drew a slow, delicious circle, then withdrew.

“Please,” I said.

And then there was no more talking. No more thinking. He was with me, in me, and my heartbeat was too loud. I inhaled, tasted mint, pine, threw my head back, moaned.

Magic licked fire across my nerves, aching, Zayvion pulling on magic. I reveled in the sensation of our bodies together, the stroke and texture of him inside me, stretching my senses, making me tingle, ache, burn, making me needful. I gasped, each breath short, shorter.

Heat, a deep, silken stroke took me, shaped me, shaped us, magic, every inch of my body, until I knew I could not be this any longer, could not be only myself. I wanted more. And magic could give it to me.

I called magic up through me and sent it, racing, wild, into Zayvion. He groaned. Shuddered. His eyes washed with gold.