His voice came out hoarse, tight, like it had been dragged through fire.
His eyes searched her face, dark, stormy, almost violent in the depth of emotion inside them.
“Look at you,” he muttered, his thumb brushing her cheek almost unconsciously. “You don’t want to sleep smelling like that disgusting bastard, do you?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she moved closer.
Her body pressed fully against his, soft and warm, her forehead dropping against his chest. Her fingers curled into his shirt.
“No,” she whispered.
The sound broke something in him.
With sudden urgency, Magnus bent and lifted her into his arms again. His hold was tight, almost desperate, as he carried her into the bathroom. He kicked the door shut behind them, turned on the water, steam already beginning to rise, and stepped into the tub with her.
He carefully lowered her down.
But the moment her feet touched the surface, she moved.
She surged upward instead of letting him go, her arms tightening fiercely around his neck. The force of it pushed him off balance. Magnus stumbled forward, one knee hitting the tub, water crashing over the edges.
“Sophia—”
Her fingers fisted in his collar, pulling him down. And then, her lips found his neck.
Heat rushed through her instantly, wild and merciless, burning along her veins. Her breaths came broken, uneven, her body trembling as if she were trapped in flames. Thinking became impossible. The world narrowed, blurred, until nothing existed except Magnus.
Air wouldn’t stay in her lungs.
She kissed him again, and again, restless, searching, like she was afraid he would vanish if she stopped. Her arms locked around him, holding him there, her mouth moving along his skin, up his throat, across his jaw.
Soft. Wet. Frantic.
Magnus sucked in a sharp breath.
Her touch made his fingers clamp down on the edge of the tub until his knuckles blanched. Every muscle in his body seized. Every nerve lit up at once.
He tried to lean away.
She followed.
A strained breath ripped out of him, his spine going rigid as her softness brushed him, as her scent curled around his senses and dragged him under.
“What are you doing?” he rasped, the sound rough, uneven. “Sophia, stop. You need to bathe and sleep.”
Her answer was another kiss.
She shifted to the other side of his neck, and his eyes closed against his will. A tremor went through him. Holding back was turning into agony.
She climbed over him, blindly, desperately. One of her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, clumsy, impatient, while her mouth kept moving over his skin, her tongue warm, her lips sucking lightly.
His head tipped back.
Her scent filled him, thick, dizzying. He was already painfully hard, and every second made it worse. The last threads of control were cutting into him.
She wouldn’t stop.
