Chapter Fourteen

The Reyes house was in chaos.

Numb, Maricela went where Ivan steered her. People spoke to her, but she couldn’t hear them. She was only vaguely aware of being urged into a car, and of Avery, pale and somber, pulling her close until she stopped shaking.

Javier Montero was dead. It didn’t seem real. None of it seemed real.

In hushed tones, Avery told Ivan what she’d managed to glean from the gossip spreading through the party like wildfire--they’d found him in one of the studies. There was no sign of struggle or obvious injury...

But he did have a nasty bump on the back of his head.

That made Maricela start shivering all over again. This was all some terrible thing happening very far away to people she didn’t know. Silently, she repeated the lie to herself as the car sped toward home. As Ivan practically carried her inside and up to her room. As Avery helped her take off her dress and replace it with a nightgown.

Ivan hovered in the doorway to her suite, carrying on a low-voiced conversation with someone in the hallway. The words blurred into meaningless sound as Avery carefully laid her ball gown over the back of a chair. The conversation ended, and Ivan appeared at the door to her bedroom. “One of the royal guard is waiting for you in the hallway,” he told Avery. “He’ll stay with you for the time being.”

“Thank you.” Avery framed Maricela’s face with her hands, gave her an encouraging smile, and slipped out of the room.

Somehow, that smile grounded Maricela. She rubbed her hands over her arms as she stared out into the dark antechamber. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Ivan went to secure the doors, his footsteps nearly silent on the carpet. When he returned, he closed the door that separated his antechamber from the sitting room and turned to hover in the doorway to her bedroom. “Are you okay?”

Her stomach lurched. She was being worse than self-absorbed. She was being a complete dick. She wasn’t the one who’d fought with Javier, who might have--

She shook away the thought. “I should be asking you.”

His expression remained impassive. Closed off. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t look fine. He was wound so tight she thought he might shatter. “Ivan, listen to me.” She reached for him. “Whatever might have happened--”

“No.” He sidestepped her so fast, he was halfway across her room before he stopped. His fingers flexed at his side, and he stared at the floor. “You can’t touch me. Not right now. Do you know what it does to me when you touch me?”

Her heart wedged in her throat. It was the sort of declaration meant to flatter and seduce...except that Ivan didn’t sound infatuated.

He sounded tormented.

She tried to draw a breath, but it turned into a sob. “What are we doing to ourselves?”

“Fighting it.” He reached up to rip open his bow tie. “You don’t understand, Maricela. I didn’t want to kill him, but I’ll take the raven. I’d do it again. He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He shed his jacket next, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Then his shirt, one intent button at a time. He dragged it off and turned, displaying his arm to her. “Look. Look at who I am.”

Ravens covered his skin, dozens of tiny tattoos that each represented the unfathomable value of a life taken. He had so many, more every year, but she couldn’t be horrified by the deaths he carried.

After all, were his dozens any worse than her one?

She approached him slowly, carefully, the way she would a skittish animal. He watched her, his eyes burning, as she reached out again, but he didn’t move. He barely breathed.

Her fingers trembled on his arm. “I know who you are.” Before he could deny it, she bent her head and pressed her lips to one of the ravens that marked his shoulder.

“Maricela.” Her name came out on a hoarse groan. “You have to stop touching me, or I’ll start touching you.”

Her stomach clenched again, this time in anticipation. “You should. Because I think we’re already lovers--in every way but one.” She tilted her head back, entranced by the sheer ravenous hunger on his face. “Am I wrong?”

He stared at her for so long, she feared he was gathering his self-control. That he’d turn his back on her and put the door between them, and she’d never, ever know what it felt like to be honestly, nakedly desired.

Instead, he sank his fingers deep into her hair and cradled the back of her head. “This might be blasphemy,” he murmured, but she didn’t get a chance to argue.

Because he was kissing her.

She’d been kissed before, polite pecks on the cheek and hesitant caresses and eager, lusty explorations. But nothing like this. Ivan’s mouth moved confidently over hers, as if he didn’t have to discover what she liked because he already knew.

Somehow, he was right. She clung to him as his tongue slid over hers, momentarily distracted by the sensation of touching his bare skin, smooth and hot over hard muscle. His hands dropped to her hips, and her nightgown wasn’t thick enough to block the heat of his grip. He pulled her closer, right up against the hard ridge of his erection.

Her head was spinning. She broke the kiss to draw in a desperate breath, and Ivan just kept kissing her. Her jaw first, then her throat, lingering when she gasped to scrape the spot with his teeth before sucking lightly. The backs of her legs hit the edge of her bed, and Ivan smoothly lowered her to the mattress, following her without taking his lips from the hollow of her throat.

All her previous sexual encounters had been a little awkward, a lot of bumped noses and nervous laughter and is this all right? But Ivan didn’t stumble. He didn’t hesitate.

And he was everywhere.

He settled half over her, his chest blazing hot as he pressed her down into the bed. His mouth found her ear, murmuring something she couldn’t even understand because his hand had settled low on her leg, just under the hem of her nightgown. His calloused fingertips traced her skin, rough and gentle at the same time.

“I know what to do,” she whispered.

Ivan lifted his head, his hand stilling on the outside of her knee. “What do you know, Maricela?”

Her cheeks heated. “How to make you feel good.” She nuzzled the spot where his neck met his shoulder, then bit him gently.

He stiffened against her, a groan escaping him. “Do it again.” So she bit him harder, her teeth lingering on his skin until he gripped her thigh and threw his head back. “Fuck.”

He drove his fingers into her hair again, this time tightening to tilt her head. This kiss was rougher, almost bruising. Perfect, because it felt like something she’d always needed but never knew enough to miss.

One lover worshipping another instead of a supplicant kneeling before a saint.

He rolled them, his fingers still tangled in her hair, and urged her to straddle his hips. When he broke the kiss this time, he reached for her tangled nightgown. “Take it off,” he rasped, somehow making it sound like an order and plea at the same time.

She peeled the gauzy nightdress over her head, acutely aware of the flexing, leashed strength of his body beneath hers. “Ivan...”

But she didn’t have time to be shy about stripping naked in front of him. He was looking at her like he’d been starving for this. Just to see her. His gaze roamed over her body and, with every passing heartbeat, his breathing sped.

Then, frowning, he traced the single raven tattooed onto her side. “You shouldn’t have to carry this.”

“No one forced me.” She caught his hand and laced her fingers with his. “It was my choice.”

His muscles flexed as he sat up, pressing his chest to hers. His erection ground insistently up against her, and Ivan caught her gasp with his mouth, kissing her deeply as his free hand slid up her spine.

He pulled her lower lip between his teeth, eliciting a whimper that turned into a moan when he tugged at her hair. Maricela let her head fall back, torn between a dozen different sensations--her scalp tingling, his hand on her hip, the heavy pressure of his cock rubbing against her through the fabric of his pants.

Warm air on her naked skin.

His mouth on her collarbone.

He pulled her hair harder, arching her back. “Tell me,” he murmured against her breastbone. “Tell me what you want.”

It would take her all night to answer. Every inch of her was aching to be touched, and she barely knew where to start. Then his cheek brushed the curve of her breast, his stubble scraping lightly over her skin, and the words spilled out with a shudder. “I want your tongue. On my nipple.”

He gave it to her. No teasing, no waiting--just heat, a pleasure that jolted through her as he dragged his tongue over the tip before drawing it between his lips.

No, he wasn’t a fumbling boy. Not in the slightest.

“What about--” She cut off with a cry as he sucked, and now the whole world was fuzzy. Swimming. “What do you want?”

“This.” He switched to her other breast, licking and sucking until he drove another helpless sound from her. His hand tightened on her hip, urging her to move against him. “You. All of you.”

It was a different sort of dance, and this time he was the one leading. She arched against him, gritting her teeth when pleasure shuddered up her spine. He hauled her upright, pressing his forehead to hers with a groan at her next squirming rock. “Just like that.”

She clutched his shoulders with trembling hands, desperate to steady herself, but she couldn’t stop shaking. It was like all the tension that had built up between them had never dissipated--it was all knotted up inside her, twisting tighter with every passing heartbeat.

Ready to explode.

He turned his head just enough for his lips to brush her ear. “I’ve been imagining this,” he whispered roughly. “How you’ll sound when you come. Show me.”

His breath on the sensitive spot behind her ear tipped her over the edge, and she came with a cry that she had to muffle against his jaw. It was fast but not easy, a blazing flash fire so hot and wild that it should have receded in an instant.

Instead, it burned her alive.

His arms locked around her as he rose and twisted. The brief sensation of falling ended with her back on the mattress, Ivan’s hard body pressing her down into the plush quilt. He braced his weight on either side of her head and ground his hips against hers, provoking another startling burst of pleasure.

Maricela opened her eyes. Ivan stared down at her, his face in shadow, his blue eyes wracked with a hunger that instantly renewed the empty ache between her thighs.

He hovered there for a moment, his gaze tracing her face as if he needed to fix it in his memory. Then he slipped silently down her body. He trailed kisses in his wake--to her jaw, her collarbone, the spot between her breasts. When he reached her ribs, he lingered over her tattoo again, but only for a moment.

Warm breath ghosted over her belly button next, and he curled his fingers under the lace edging her panties. She lifted her hips out of instinct, and he tugged the fabric down her legs, then settled onto his knees as he dropped her panties over the edge of the bed.

Then he just...looked at her.

She tried not to fidget under his scrutiny, but none of her previous experiences had ever been this intense. Those men and women had been happy with simple, easy pleasure, and eager to soothe her when it all threatened to overwhelm her.

They never demanded anything from her. Not the way Ivan would.

He stroked the sensitive skin just above the inside of her knee. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, pressing gently to urge her legs apart. Anticipation eclipsed her nervousness as his lips brushed her knee, her thigh. Higher.

She choked on a moan as his tongue touched her. Soft, at first, just a tease, followed by his fingers grazing her clit. He stroked lower, parting her flesh to his inescapable, devouring mouth.

No, no one had ever demanded this much from her. And no one would ever, ever give as much in return.

She slid her fingers into his hair, gripping the short strands, utterly focused on the sinuous movement of his tongue. He groaned, a sound she felt more than heard as the low noise vibrated through her, and she arched toward his mouth, chasing that sharp little jolt of pleasure.

And he gave her more. Ivan had always been serious and intense, but now his focus had shifted. He pursued her pleasure with single-minded deliberation, finding the spots that had her yanking on his hair and lingering there with endless patience and unwavering attention. His tongue lashed over her. His fingers stroked lower. One dipped inside, pushing into her with slow, languid strokes that matched the rhythm of his mouth.

She choked on a moan. “Ivan...”

He groaned again, the vibrations melting into another bright shock as his tongue circled her clit. But she needed something harder, deeper. Something to assuage the empty ache inside her.

She didn’t realize she was pulling him up until he loomed over her, his eyes burning with hunger and one finger still deep inside her. “Tell me what you need.”

Always so ready to give her what she asked, everything else in the world be damned. Her heart thudded painfully as she stroked his cheek. “Your fingers,” she whispered.

“You want more?” He watched her face intently as he slipped his finger free. For a moment she was left alone, bereft, and then his touch returned with two broad fingers pressing slowly into her. His jaw clenched as he rocked them back and forth. “They’re big. Is it too much?”

No. She tried to say it, but all that came out was a tight whimper, and she gripped his shoulders in case he tried to pull away.

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing his temple to hers. His lips hovered over her ear as he eased his fingers deeper, filling her a fraction of an inch at a time. “Move your hips. Take me as deep as you can.”

The hoarse command left her trembling, and she obeyed without thinking, arching up. He moaned his encouragement, curling his hand so the base of his palm pressed down on her clit. “Yes. Ride it.”

Her lungs were on fire, her pulse pounding in her ears. Every movement was torture, and she couldn’t get enough. Her body had taken over, greedily seeking what her mind could barely comprehend. She clenched around his fingers, tighter and tighter, until she imagined she could feel them trembling inside her.

She bit his jaw. Scratched his shoulders. Bucked beneath him--anything to release the nearly painful tension that wracked her. When it finally splintered, she threw back her head to scream. Ivan caught her mouth instead, muffling her cries as she shuddered beneath him.

The world barely existed, and Maricela was in a million pieces. The only truly real thing was Ivan, and she clung to him even as she broke the kiss, gasping. Even as pleasure crashed over her in drowning waves.

Once the waves started to recede, she floated there, giddy with relief. A laugh bubbled up inside her, but then she opened her eyes, and the urge vanished. Along with the rest of the breath in her lungs.

Ivan was braced above her, both arms locked, his muscles trembling with the effort of maintaining control. His chest heaved once, twice. He shuddered. “My pants.”

Mesmerized, she reached for them without looking, though he shuddered again when her fingers trailed over his stomach before reaching the double buttons. She managed to free the first one, but her impatience got the better of her, and the second button popped off as she tugged at the fabric.

His breath hissed out as he rocked against her hand. “Hurry.”

The zipper stuck halfway down, and Maricela shoved his pants and underwear off his hips, pushing them down his legs with her feet. He lowered his weight without warning, settling on top of her with his shaft slicking against her clit.

She had to bite her lip to hold back a cry. “Please.”

“Put your legs around my hips.”

A momentary flash of nervousness seized her, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she locked her legs around him.

“Maricela.” His chest touched hers as he lowered himself to his elbows, and she felt the softest brush of his lips over hers. “Look at me.”

How could she? Everything about this moment threatened to overpower her with its intensity, and she still wanted it more than her next breath. She was standing on the edge of something vast and inescapable, and she was eager to fall into it.

How was she supposed to explain that she was terrified--not of him, but of how much he made her feel?

She met his gaze, and the tenderness there eased her apprehension. “I’m all right.”

“You’re safe.” He shifted, and the head of his erection, broader than his fingers and so hard, pressed against her as he watched her face. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know.” He would hurt himself before he hurt her.

Maybe that was part of what scared her.

Then he thrust into her, sliding deep with one slow, relentless movement, and thought became an impossibility. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nothing mattered but this--naked intimacy and dazzling pleasure and the look on Ivan’s face as his iron control fractured.

“Fuck.” The word seemed torn from him as he began to move. Slowly at first, his arms trembling with the effort. Every time he sank into her, another layer of control chipped away, until his thrusts became demanding, insistent. A little rough.

Yes.

Everyone else who’d ever touched her had been careful beyond reason, because they were touching a princess--the prized youngest Rios child, adored member of the royal family. Future saint.

Ivan was only touching her.

She sobbed in a breath as another thrust drove her up the bed. Pleasure wasn’t a word that fit anymore. This was something more desperate. Visceral. She tried to caress him--his shoulders, his back--but she couldn’t stop herself from curling her fingernails into his skin, so she dropped her hands and clenched her fingers in the coverlet instead.

“Don’t,” he groaned, fucking her deeper. “Don’t hold back.”

The words jolted through her in a white-hot flash, and she remembered his reaction when she bit him. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed to feel that sweet edge where control didn’t exist. She dragged her nails down his back and moaned when his hips jerked.

He pushed up again, locking his arms, and the new angle of his thrusts shattered the tense pressure. The orgasm went on and on, curling through her like ink in water, spreading outward until her entire body was quaking beneath his. Too much, and Maricela embraced it, exulted in it.

So did Ivan. As if her release had stripped away the final shreds of his control, he gripped the bed on either side of her head and plunged into her, fast and deep. Finally, with a choked groan, he went rigid above her.

She could feel his cock pulsing inside her. It was a breathless moment of almost unbearable intimacy, and she never wanted it to end.

But it had to. Ivan dropped his forehead to hers for a few shuddering breaths, then rolled over in one graceful flex of muscles. He brought her on top of him, sprawled across his chest with her head tucked under his chin.

His heart pounded beneath her hand, echoing her own racing pulse. It only intensified the feeling that they were alone in the world, just the two of them. No one and nothing else.

Ivan settled one hand at the small of her back while the other stroked slowly up her spine. “You okay?”

She hid her smile against his collarbone. “Yes. Are you?”

“I should feel guilty.” His fingers spread wide, spanning her back from one shoulder blade to the other, and the possessiveness of his touch made her heart race even faster. “I don’t.”

“Good.” She lifted her head. “What do we do now?”

Ivan’s gaze was serious. “If anyone finds out, Deacon will assign you a new bodyguard.”

Odd, considering that no one had dared to suggest that Ashwin couldn’t provide Kora with effective protection. Then again, perhaps no one wanted to risk that inevitable fight. “It might be easier--”

“No.” His hand tightened on her back, but only for a moment. “Unless you don’t want me anymore.”

Her chest ached. “I always want you, Ivan. There’s no one I trust more. But I don’t want to lose this, either.”

“You don’t have to.” One of his rare, precious smiles curved his lips. “I can’t give you forever, Maricela. No Rider could. But I can give you this, for as long as you want it. We’ll just have to be careful.”

The ache twisted into a splinter of pain so sudden and sharp that she was surprised she didn’t wince. Ivan was honest--maybe to a fault--and he was speaking a truth she already knew. He couldn’t give her forever.

Too bad that was exactly what she wanted.

But she’d take what she could get. And if that meant her time with Ivan would be limited to a handful of stolen moments no one else could know about, she’d just have to make sure those moments counted.

She brushed a kiss over his chin. “It sounds like you’re suggesting a torrid secret affair.”

One of his eyebrows went up. “You want torrid?”

“Is there any other kind of secret affair?”

“Maybe not.” He gathered her hair back from her face as he stared up at her. “I can show you torrid. I can show you a lot of things. You just have to tell me how far you want to go.”

She didn’t have limits, not where Ivan was concerned. Not where her heart was concerned. “I think...we should find out. Together.”

“All right.” He sounded so serious, like he was making a vow or a pledge. But his fingers tightened in her hair, drawing her mouth back to his.

The kiss was soft, slow. An opportunity to explore--and Maricela took it. She slid her hands over his body, every place she hadn’t had the time or presence of mind to touch yet. The hard plane of his stomach. The sharp lines of his ribs. The strong cord of muscle that ran down the side of his neck.

And when she’d satisfied her curiosity, she started again--this time with her tongue.

His muscles flexed and tensed under her mouth, tighter as she drifted lower. He groaned when her teeth raked his skin, then shuddered and sank his fingers into her hair again when she licked his hipbone. “Maricela--”

“Shh.” She teased her fingernails down his thighs. “Just say yes.”

It came out as another groan. “Yes.”

He made a delectable noise of pure pleasure low in the back of his throat when she wrapped her hand around his cock and touched her tongue to the crown, and Maricela silently added it to the list of things she was pretty sure she could no longer live without.

I can give you this, for as long as you want it.

It would have to be enough.