CHAPTER 13 – ANGELINE

Angeline lost herself as Kyle rocked against her, melting into the sensations of the moment and nothing more.

His skin, that body, the heat.

Him.

And then he had to go and ruin it.

Just as he delivered his final thrust, just as she was on the brink again, he lifted his eyes to hers, and he kissed her.

She felt his warmth pour into her from above and below, and for a split second she felt nothing but bliss. But as his mouth moved against hers, that joy warped to doubt.

She’d been kissed like that before. She’d been made to feel like a goddess, when all she’d really done was become that bastard’s slave. She wouldn’t do it again. She wouldn’t lose control. She couldn’t fall for him, she couldn’t be kissed like that.

“Butter,” she panted, jerking away from his warm lips.

For a moment something flashed in Kyle’s eyes, something she didn’t know how to interpret. Then it flickered away, replaced by his cool, sarcastic laugh.

“Bit late for that, Angelface,” he said, glancing down between them. He smirked and pulled out of her, tugging the hem of his pants back over his pulsing cock. “Unless you wanna go for round two, then I can really give you something to safe-word about.”

“Whatever, Mr. Kinkster,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That was fun, but it was a one-time deal, remember?”

He shoved off the bed, lips tucked into a lascivious grin.

“Awe, come on,” Kyle chuckled, picking up a candle from the nightstand, “we didn’t even get to the real kinky stuff.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and slowly gazed down at his own stomach, flexing hard.

Angeline’s lips parted at the sight of him. She’d barely been allowed to touch him, to feel the firm lines of his body. Maybe she could…

Kyle gave her another smirk then deliberately tipped the candle sideways and poured a stream of hot wax down the ridges of his abs.

His eyes went wide with immediate regret.

He leapt back against the wall, dropping the candle, doubling over as he clawed at the hardening wax searing into his skin.

Angeline was torn between laughter and concern. “You idiot,” she shrieked, hopping up to help him. “Give me your amulet.”

He sucked in a short breath, face twisted in pain. “What? No—"

“I can help,” she snapped, whipping the chain off from around his neck, “I can fix it. Move your damn hands.”

He winced, eyes squeezed shut as she batted his fists away.

She took a deep breath and tapped into the Salamander power. The amulet glowed red. Pressing the cool pads of her fingers into the burns, she pulled, wicking the heat away from his flesh, stealing his pain.

Kyle’s jaw slowly fell open as he stared down in wonder. “I didn’t know that was possible. You’re a goddamn healer.”

Angeline dropped her hand, the last traces of the burn gone. Shrugging, she handed back the amulet and turned her gaze to her clothes.

“Angeline…” she felt his fingers close gently around her arm.

She knew what was coming next. Miracle talk. Make her feel special. Sometimes some of them got extra abilities, like the Masters, or her Diviner, Keira, but there was no rhyme or reason. It didn’t mean anyone deserved them.

“It’s nothing,” she said, “all it means is I can take a bit more heat than most Salamanders. Fire just bends more to my control.”

“I think it’s more than that Angie, I think you’ve got a gift.”

“And I think you’ve got a brain injury,” she said, whipping around, “why the hell did you pour hot wax on yourself?”

“I’ve done it before,” he said, tone defensive, “must have been a different kind of candle.” His shoulders slumped, clearly embarrassed. He leaned against the wall, bottom lip jutting out slightly.

Shit, why did he look so cute like that? Angeline felt a sudden urge to walk right over and nibble on his distended pout. She blinked away the thought and averted her gaze.

“Wonder what time it is?” she said, desperate to change the subject to something mundane.

As if on cue, a clanking noise began to jangle behind her. She turned and set her eyes on the small, brass bell on the nightstand, levitating by blue Mage magic as it rang.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

“Dinner bell,” she said. With no windows in the room she’d forgotten just how early it still was.

A half-smile ticked up in the corner of Kyle’s mouth. “There’s only one thing I’m hungry for, Angelface. You’ve whet my appetite something fierce.”

A sudden burst of nervous flutters erupted in her gut. She was trapped in that room, with Kyle, all night, with nothing to keep them entertained… nothing except each other. And the way he was looking at her, it was damn tempting to give in.

“Nope,” she said, wiping herself quickly, then tugging on her pants, “one time. Not budging. Maybe there’s some cards or something in these drawers.”

Kyle laughed and ran his hand over his face. “You’re cute when you’re nervous. Hell, you’re cute all the time. Okay, I’ll drop it. I won’t ask again. You’re in charge again, Captain.”

“Good,” she said, relief settling in her chest. “Can you put a shirt on?”

“Well why would I go and do that?”

“You just said—”

“How else are you going to paint my portrait?”

“What?” she said, scrunching her nose as she pulled on her own shirt.

His naughty smirk shifted, wider, softer. Sincere. Snagging his pack, he produced a handful of parchment, followed by 4 tubes of paint, and two brushes.

Angeline couldn’t fight her own ridiculous grin tugging at her cheeks. “How?—"

“I borrowed them from the cartographer,” he said, handing her the brushes. “Figured if we were going to hole up in here away from the blue Viking, we needed a variety of activities to keep us occupied… you know, in case I tired you out.”

Angeline dropped her gaze to the brushes in her fist, her chest swelling in gratitude. It had been years since she’d held a brush. She didn’t even realize how much she’d missed it, not until Kyle had pulled that parchment from his bag. “Kyle…”

“So you gonna immortalize this sweet bod or what?” he laughed, flexing his abs again. “I mean, we just had a close call with the wax. Someone ought to document this work of art before I mangle it somehow.”

She smacked him playfully on the chest, then picked up a tube of blue paint and examined it. “You are ridiculous. Not all artists do portraits you know.”

“Fine,” he grinned, “then paint me in ABStract.” He gestured down at the hard lines of his stomach.

Angeline could barely hold back her surprise at his pun. She smiled and shook her head. “Put a shirt on. Or else.”

He swaggered over and stepped right up to her, his chest pressed to hers. His voice dropped down low, back to the tone he’d used before when they’d been tangled in those sheets. “Or else, what?”

“Or else this.” She held the tube of blue paint to his chest and squeezed. A little blue glob shot out, coating his nipple.

Kyle laughed and ran his tongue across his teeth, clearly amused.

Angeline took her brush and smugly smeared the paint across the curve of his pec muscle. “I warned you.”

“And you think that’s punishment?” he said, curling his hands around her waist.

The heat of his fingers sent a tingle rushing to her core.

“I knew you just wanted an excuse to get up close and personal again,” he laughed, his breath hot against her ear.

A shiver shot down her spine, belly tightening. No, she couldn’t give in. “Hold still,” she said, batting his hands away, “you’re not being a very cooperative canvas.”

His chest shook with amusement as he stood back, hands raised. “I think red’s more my color,” he nodded towards the other tubes on the bed.

Angeline raised an eyebrow and snagged the red tube. She bit back a smile as she screwed off the lid and squirted a crimson trail across his other breast.

Before she could switch to the second brush, Kyle reached down and snagged her hand. He placed her palm against his chest and started smearing.

Her jaw dropped, indignant… but also secretly enjoying the feel of the smooth muscle beneath her fingers. She tilted her head and considered his pecs, one red, one blue. A short laugh escaped her lungs. “You look like a pair of 3D glasses.”

Kyle tilted his head and glanced down, still holding her wrist. “Well then fix it, Ms. Art Instructor, I know you’re more creative than that.”

She pursed her lips to one side. “I think it’s perfect how it is. Unless you have any better ideas.”

He bit his lip and nodded. He guided her red-smudged hand all the way across his chest, through the glob of blue, then down, slowly, across each one of his abs, creating a zigzag of purple. “There, now I’m a tornado.”

She couldn’t be bothered to look at his art, she was too focused on where he’d led her hand, right to the button of his low-slung pants. A rush of heat blossomed between her thighs. Her lips parted, she let out a tense exhale.

She pulled her hand away and dropped her eyes to the floor. She could go all night trying to fight it, or she could just give in now and make sure she got it out of her system. He was leaving in the morning either way…

She tossed the tubes and brushes on the bed and peeled off her own shirt.

Heat flared in his denim blue eyes as he took in the sight of her once again.

She stepped toward him, closed the space between them, and handed him a brush. “My turn.”