I tried not to look directly at it—at him. He was overwhelming in every sense of the word, and the sight of him, naked and wet, was enough to make my pulse race and have heat pooling low in my belly. I could feel the heat of his lust through his bond, and it only made the tension between us more unbearable.
Fine,I thought, an idea sparking in my mind. If he wanted to stare, I’d give him something to look at.
I turned to face him fully, tilting my head as I stepped closer, the loofah still in my hand. “Would you care to finish cleaning me?” I asked, my voice light and almost teasing.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he didn’t move. Then, wordlessly, he took the loofah from me. When his fingers brushed mine, a jolt of awareness rushed up my arm, and I swallowed hard as he stepped closer.
The first touch of the loofah against my skin was slow, deliberate. He started at my shoulders, the rough texture gliding over my wet skin as he worked the soap into a lather. His movements were maddeningly thorough, lingering longer than necessary in certain areas. When he reached my breasts, he paused, the loofah brushing over my nipples just enough to make me gasp. He said nothing, but I felt his arousal spike through the bond.
I bit my lip, trying to suppress the heat pooling low in my stomach. My body betrayed me, responding to his touch in ways I hadn’t anticipated. The bond wasn’t just amplifying his emotions—it was feeding mine, too.
When he finally moved lower, I sucked in a breath. The loofah slid over my stomach, then down my thighs, each stroke leaving a trail of fire in its wake. By the time he stepped back, I was trembling, though whether it was from anger or desire, I couldn’t tell.
I turned the tables, stepping closer to him until our bodies were nearly touching. My hands moved to his chest, sliding down over the hard planes of muscle. His skin was hot beneath my palms, and I relished the hitch of his breath as my fingers drifted lower.
When I brushed against his erection, he let out a sharp breath, his hips jerking slightly. “Fuck, Vivian,” he muttered, his voice thick with need.
His pleasure rushed through the bond and made my knees weak. But I wasn’t done yet. I moved closer, pressing against him as I tilted my head up to meet his gaze. He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was like the kiss at the wedding ceremony, but this time, there were no barriers, no pretenses. I could feel everything he was feeling. His hands were everywhere—my back, my waist, my hips—pulling me closer as his mouth claimed mine. The bond buzzed between us, amplifying every sensation, every emotion, until it was almost too much to bear.
His lips left mine, trailing down my neck to my collarbone, then lower. When his mouth hovered over my breast, his breath hot against my skin, my mind screamed at me to stop.
I stepped back abruptly, the hot spray of water shocking against my skin. “I think I’m clean now,” I said a little breathlessly.
He stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with disbelief.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, leaving him there hot and bothered, the water still cascading down his perfect, infuriating body.
Whatever was happening between us, I wasn’t ready for it.
Not yet.
18
RAFFAELE
The chamber was as cold as it always was. The enchanted sconces on the walls cast menacing shadows across the room, adding a sinister edge to the assembled group of enforcers. Some stood with the rigid precision of soldiers, their postures straight and their gazes fixed ahead. Others, like Jareth, oozed casual indifference, as if this meeting was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Jareth leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, a lazy smirk already curling his lips.
It grated on my nerves and amused me in equal measure.
“Reports,” I demanded. I strode to the center of the room, my boots echoing off the stone floor. The bond with Vivian pulsed faintly at the back of my mind—a tether I’d grown uncomfortably aware of since the ritual. Her lingering irritation and confusion bled into me, but I shoved it aside. There was no room for distractions here.
Nyx stepped forward, her silver hair catching the dim light as she consulted her enchanted slate. She was fae, and her movements were as fluid and graceful as one expected of her kind. “Multiple rival faction leaders have been spotted meeting in secret. They may be forming a coalition against us.”
A ripple of tension passed through the room. Even Jareth’s smirk faltered slightly, though he recovered quickly, his eyes glinting with interest.
“Do we have names?” I asked.
Nyx nodded. “Preliminary intelligence suggests leaders from the Ashen faction, the Nightborne, and the Crimson Dominion are involved. If true, this coalition could pose a significant threat to our operations.”
The room buzzed with quiet murmurs, but I raised a hand, silencing them. “We’ll send a surveillance team. I want to know exactly what they’re planning before we act. Nyx, assign one of our best infiltrators.” Relations between my territory and the Ashen was contentious. Our fathers were enemies, which made us enemies.
“Understood.”
“More updates?” I demanded, scanning the room.
Jareth pushed off the wall. “Got a fun one for you, boss,” he drawled. “Seems one of your former sorcerers has gone rogue. Selling our secrets to anyone with deep enough pockets. You know, the kind of shit that gets heads rolling.” He mimed a slicing motion across his throat for effect.
