I bathe in the fragrant oils and bath salts displayed beside the clawfoot tub. My skin feels like silk and smells like sweet pea and lavender. I was going for soothing, but if I’m being honest, I wanted to make the breathing ritual as pleasing to Niko as possible. And since I’ve been training all day that definitely called for a bath.
I let my hair dry in silver ringlets below my shoulder blades while I search for something to wear. Gym clothes don’t seem appropriate, and neither do combat boots or a hoodie, so I settle on one of Irin’s sarongs and bra top ensembles. I opt for all black, although the high slit that hits the top of my right thigh is a bit obscene paired with the strappy bralette adorned with glittering black gems along the bust. My first instinct is to go for comfort and slip on the flats I wore before, but it just doesn’t go. Pumps it is, which sexes the entire outfit up about ten notches. For someone who doesn’t want a sexual attachment to her best guy friend, I’m pretty much a walking contradiction in four-inch heels.
Makeup is minimal, mostly because I don’t want to make it look like I’m trying too hard. And once my hair is dry, I tie it up in a top knot. Then it’s just a couple doors and a hallway that separates me from Niko and the breathing ritual.
I don’t understand why I’m so nervous as I walk to his room. Hell, even the thought of being in the confined space where he sleeps and bathes and God knows what else is freaking me out. I’m not some naïve maiden who hasn’t ever been alone with a guy before, and it’s not like I was raised with strong, conservative values. But this is Niko—everything about him is sex and seduction. I just never imagined being on the receiving end of his charms.
Deep breath and I knock.
Nikolai swings open the door, and the air in my lungs tumbles out of me unceremoniously.
He stands there, hair a muss of onyx waves and blue eyes sparkling. He’s wearing dark slacks and a slim-fit shirt with the top few buttons unfastened. The room is dim, illuminated by at least a dozen candles from what I can see, and there’s music playing.
“Come in,” Niko drawls, stepping to the side to usher me in.
I nod my thanks as I pass, and take in the room. I’ve been here before, but for some reason, it seems different—more intimate. Not like the first time we hung out here, chatting like old friends. Even his four-poster bed looks like it’s primed and ready for seduction.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, heading to the small bar stationed in the corner closest to the bathroom. I hate that I feel like all we do is drink and talk shit, but if there was ever a time to self-medicate with booze, it’s now.
“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
He brings me a few fingers of scotch, which I gladly accept, taking a long swig. Another sip and I feel less awkward about being alone with him in his room. One more and this almost feels like one of our normal evenings.
“What are you doing?” I question when he sits down at the small, two-seater table and pulls out a rectangular tin.
“I thought this might help us both loosen up,” he replies. He opens the tin and takes out rolling papers and a tiny Ziploc bag.
I watch Niko expertly roll the most beautiful joint I’ve ever seen, while we make small talk about everything from Crysis to my sister’s recovery. When he’s done just a few minutes later, he holds it out for me.
“Want to do the honors?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Go ahead.”
He sparks it. Inhales. Takes another hit then passes it to me. I take a couple puffs while Niko refills our glasses of scotch. And within that cloud of potent smoke, I forget why I was ever so nervous to be here.
“Come.” Niko stands, his eyes seductively low and glazed. He drags his teeth over his bottom lip before wetting it with his tongue.
“Where?”
“Just over to the bed. More comfortable.”
I put out what’s left of the joint and take his outstretched hand, letting him lead me to the bed. He promised we wouldn’t do anything I wasn’t comfortable with, and I believe him. I’m just not sure what I’m not comfortable with at this point.
We sit side by side like we’ve done a dozen times, and I kick off my ridiculous heels. Niko notices the way my sarong parts and exposes my entire thigh.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he notes. “But you didn’t have to dress up for me.”
“I didn’t,” I half-lie. “Didn’t know what to expect, so I felt loose and flowy was best.”
“Yeah.” His eyes go to my exposed throat. “You like the music?”
“I do. Who is it?” I sway lazily to the hypnotic bassline.
“dvsn. I thought you’d enjoy it.”
I smile and playfully smack him on the arm. He’s still so gorgeous even through my hazy eyes. “Don’t tell me you dusted off your coveted bedroom playlist for me.”
Niko laughs, and I swear it sounds like a slow-motion melody. “Unfortunately, mine would be incredibly outdated…by almost twenty-five years.”
I faux gasp, clutching my chest. “You haven’t had sex in twenty-five years?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t say that. I just haven’t found it necessary to woo anyone in recent decades.”
I lean back on the bed, resting on my elbows. Head tipped back, eyes barely open. “So that means you’re not wooing me?”
Niko leans back as well. “Should I be?”
I don’t respond. Not because I’m speechless, but because there just isn’t an appropriate response. We’ve always been flirtatious, but this feels different. More intimate, more crucial. As if it was always meant to happen, and slowing down would be trying to stop a runaway train.
He leans forward. I hold my breath. His fingers trace the jeweled bodice of my bra top, his cold skin brushing my cleavage. He slides his hand to my back, steadying me as he pulls me towards him. A tiny sound escapes my lips when he brings his face to my chest—to the space between my breasts—and slowly drags his nose up to my throat, inhaling deep.
Each draw on my magic takes me higher, and I grip the back of his head, fisting his hair, desperate to stay tethered to him. He groans as he rolls his body over mine, placing a knee between my thighs. His hands grip my back as he buries his face in my neck. I feel his lips on my throat—cool and unbelievably soft—but he doesn’t kiss me, no matter how my body craves it. No matter how I whimper as he grazes my skin in maddening, feather-light strokes.
The weed and scotch are twin weights on my frame. I feel so heavy in his grasp, but he handles me as if I weigh nothing at all, manipulating my body like I’m a precious porcelain doll. I’m dizzy, but so present in this moment…so fucking aware of his every inhale, his every groan, his every rapid heartbeat.
I don’t know how Niko pulls away, but he does, panting heavily. My breaths are just as labored. It was just a couple minutes—if that—but it felt like being fucked for hours. The kind of fucked that you still feel days later whenever you squeeze your thighs together, remembering the slickness, the fullness.
“Please…” I beg. I’m so wet that I can feel dampness seeping through my panties and onto the sarong. And my nipples are so hard that it physically hurts as they press against the restricting bra top.
“You should go,” he manages to say, his voice strained. He still lies on the bed, propped up by his elbows, but his hands are tight fists at his sides. Sweat beads on his brow. And his entire body is tight and tense. His entire body.
I don’t mean to gawk at the pronounced bulge in his pants, but I’m way past the point of trying to appear decent and moral. Mouth dry, I lick my lips, imagining how he would taste—how he would feel—against my tongue.
I tingle. I ache. I need.
This isn’t sexual attraction. That doesn’t even begin to describe the intense feeling of hunger simmering in my soul. And now that I’ve gotten just a taste…I don’t know how we can ever go back to how things were before.
“Go, Eden,” he grits, his jaw locked tight. “You need to go. Because if you don’t, I’m going to ask you to stay.”
I force my eyes away—from his sexy mussed hair, from his tortured expression, from the erection throbbing painfully in his slacks—and slowly push my heavy body from the bed. I can’t do this to us. I won’t. My life is complicated enough. I won’t risk his life or his friendship. He means too much to me.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I stammer, picking up my shoes. I don’t even bother to put them on before stumbling to the door to let myself out.
Niko stays on the bed, fisting the duvet and working to catch his breath. His eyes are radiant when he looks to me. “You did well, E.”
I nod, not believing a word of it, and open the door before I beg him to let me stay.
I don’t realize how high I am until I try to make my way back to my room. But this doesn’t feel like a normal high. This is like being on a combination of the most potent strains of X and Molly, with a champagne chaser. However, I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m in control of my actions and my feelings, yet all I want to do is turn back, slip into Niko’s room, and slip out of my clothes. I’m so beyond horny that I’m imagining sex noises…moaning, the slap of skin, grunts of pleasure.
No. Not imagining it.
I stumble past a door that’s partially open. Just cracked, yet it’s enough for me to bear witness to what’s going down on the other side.
Lucifer.
Naked.
And fucking.
A woman is sprawled out before him on the bed, her long legs straight against his shoulders. He holds her by her hips as he strokes her deep and mercilessly, each thrust more violent than the next. Yet, the harder he fucks her, the louder she moans and begs for more. And in my hazy stupor, I no longer see the woman. It’s me with my ankles resting on his shoulders as Lucifer takes me fast and deep and hard. I can still remember what he feels like as he punishes my womb. And when his hands trail up her body to clutch her breasts, I can still remember how I cried out when those elegant fingers pinched and rolled my nipples while I slid up and down on his cock.
And that’s a problem.
I try to force myself to walk away and leave Lucifer to his depravity, but the sight of a third party traipsing into view freezes me where I stand.
Kairo, naked and hard as steel, climbs onto the bed and sidles up beside Lucifer. With a look of worship in his eyes, he begins to kiss and stroke Lucifer’s neck, his chest, his taut abs. Lucifer rests a hand on Kairo’s lower back and slides it down to palm his pert ass, his other hand still fondling one of the woman’s breasts.
I thought I was turned on before, but this…I wasn’t prepared for this. And I definitely wasn’t ready for what happens next.
Lucifer pulls out, his massive hardness glistening with the woman’s arousal. As she shifts onto her knees and turns around, Kairo kisses a trail down Lucifer’s torso, going lower…lower…lower. Until both he and the unknown woman are licking and sucking Lucifer together, eagerly feasting on his stiff, throbbing flesh.
I cover my mouth with a trembling hand, biting back a gasp. Or a moan. I can’t be sure. But I know I shouldn’t be here. Still, my legs are immersed in cement, my limbs leaden with my own unquenched desire. That’s not why I stay though. The erotic scene playing out before me isn’t the reason I can’t look away.
His face.
Lucifer’s beautiful, cold face. His features aren’t contorted in ecstasy. His dazzling eyes aren’t narrowed in concentration as he fights to hold on to his orgasm. His sensual, full mouth isn’t parted as he releases a rousing hiss. His strong, angled jaw isn’t tight as he prepares to release himself onto their willing, snaking tongues.
He looks…bored. Detached. As if he can’t force himself to feel. As if he is far, far away from that bed, this room, maybe even this realm. As if all this—the sex, the indulgence, the debauchery—is just a distraction. From what, I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to find out.
But still…I can’t look away. It feels like turning from him now would be an act of abandonment, and somehow, in this moment, we share a secret that no one else will ever know. I know what it feels like to be left behind by those who had sworn to love and care for me, and so does he. Maybe that’s our biggest secret of all.
I hear voices approaching from down the hall, so before I’m caught, I step away from the door and go the opposite direction. Whatever high I was feeling from the joint and the breathing ritual has been replaced with something different entirely. Sadness. I feel sad for Lucifer. To be so powerful, so feared, yet so melancholy…
I wasn’t supposed to see that. Not from him. And as irrational as it is, I resent him for it. I wanted to detest him despite my body’s draw to him, but now…now I pity him. I feel for him. And that makes me want to hate him even more. Because he doesn’t get to make me feel. He hasn’t earned that privilege. After all he’s done to me, to my sister, to Legion, he doesn’t deserve a fucking ounce of sympathy from me, kindred spirits or not.
I’ve barely made it inside my room when there’s a knock at the door. I expect it to be Niko, checking to see how I’m feeling after things got way awkward, so I swing open the door without asking whom it is.
Legion stands in the doorframe, his massive build absorbing the light around him. His silver eyes are pinched into a slight frown and he shifts his gaze from my head to the tops of my pushed up breasts to the flat expanse of my exposed belly to my bare thigh. After he’s finished taking inventory of my body, he flicks his glare up to my face, still flushed with longing.
“I had to see…” he begins, his voice raw. “I had to know that you were still—”
Mine.
He doesn’t even get the word out before his mouth his mouth covers mine and he sweeps my body into his arms. But his desperate, fervent kiss feels like Mine. He traces those four letters with his tongue as he tastes the yearning building deep within me. And when he walks us to the bed to lay me down on my back, the word is reflected in his starlit stare as he stands over me, watching me writhe with need.
Mine.
“Yes,” I answer, without needing to hear the question.
And when he rips off that ridiculous sarong and jeweled top, he carves the edict on my womb, claiming me. Staining me.
Yet, even as my back arches and I come so hard that I see stars behind my eyelids and my limbs go limp with exhaustion, I can’t deny a niggling feeling at the back of my head, telling me that I’m wrong. He’s wrong. Something feels…wrong.
Mine.
Am I?