She groaned. “Yes,” she managed to gasp as his fingers trailed down her bare collarbone, so close but so far from where she needed them. “Please,” she whispered once more. “Here.” Before she could think better of it, she grabbed his wrist and moved his palm to her breast.
Isabelle sighed as his thumb stroked her nipple, teasing the already exquisitely tight flesh, exactly where she burned for him. “More,” she whispered again. Because it was so, so good, but not nearly enough.
She’d played with herself before, but now, with him, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. God. She needed him to not stop. To never stop. If ever there was a time that a woman needed a spell book . . .
Thankfully, he obeyed despite her lack of magic, bending forward and licking her as she squeezed his arms for purchase. She bit her lip to not cry out, but a small whimper escaped.
Aaron glanced up, and a soft smile came over his lips before he kissed her again, fully and truly, taking all her cries as he continued pleasuring her breast with his fingers.
“And now?” he whispered right against her ear, nipping the lobe. And with that single delicious sensation, she nearly lost all control.
“What was the . . .” Still clutching his arms, she searched her mind for any semblance of propriety and polish and, well, her powers of speech. “Oh right, yes,” she managed to say. “I’m definitely in full control of my . . .” Isabelle pulled her braid over her shoulder again, smoothing it, even as she could not look away from him.
Aaron snorted.
“I am.” She giggled a little despite herself, fumbling with her buttons, fastening them once more.
“We’re playing a dangerous game. But . . . I believe we can separate this from my work. Or at least I can. Consider me less of an employee and more a vendor you are paying for a product. Though . . .” He reached out and pulled her hand into his, bringing it to his lips. She sighed and he caressed her cheek. “You would need to agree with my assessment. After all, I’m just giving you advice that you are free to take or not.”
“I’m taking your opinions under advisement.” She lifted her chin and smiled at him, closing her eyes as he ran his fingers over her jaw once more. “All of them.”
“Fair enough,” he whispered, releasing her. “Miss Lira?”
“Yes?” she asked, watching as he stepped toward the shadows. Away from her.
“I’m not the hero. I’m not even a main character in your story,” he said as he turned, striding toward the wall. “Remember that,” he called over his shoulder.
“I won’t forget, Mr. Ellenberg,” she returned, rubbing her arms as he vaulted over the stone and into the night, leaving her alone once more.
Aaron’s feet pounded against the cobblestones as he jogged eastward, the night sky still black and the wind from the river whipping at his coat. He hugged it tighter to his body, though the chilly air was doing a decent job of tamping down his unspent desire. At least enough to get him home.
Spring, his tuchus.
Huffing, he picked up the pace. He needed to get back to his room and rest. Because then he could sort everything out. Her. His life. The future he was striving to build. The sinking feeling that the memories he was making now would one day cause pain instead of pleasure. The fear that he wouldn’t let it—or worse, her—go.
Raising the collar of his worn coat over the back of his neck, Aaron sank down as he kept moving, the streets silent except for the scurrying night creatures and the occasional ne’er-do-wells plying their schemes. He skirted them, sticking to the sides of buildings and small streets, avoiding alleys and using the occasional roof when needed.
Weaving through the dangers of the night was his specialty—the time and place where invisibility was a skill, not a curse—which was probably one of the major reasons he’d not been killed during his foray outside the community. A place where he could succeed, where he felt alive—
Crunch.
Aaron’s neck hairs prickled as he worked not to react—that would bring on the attack before he could plan a counter—and instead stilled his mind to analyze it.
Splat.
A boot. Hitting water—to his left. Hurrying now, he darted forward as his mind worked. There was an alley ahead, not so narrow to be used for other purposes, but enough for a diversion.
Quick as he could, the moment it came into view, he pivoted down it, breaking into a run. Heavy feet followed as he raced, faster and faster. He jumped a trough, weaving through smaller and smaller spaces across the road as drunk revelers shouted obscenities when he whipped close.
He glanced over his shoulder, and a figure raced after him, ducking and bobbing, despite its relatively larger frame.
Blast.
While the Jewish parts of East End were certainly not immune to crime, as the watch could not be everywhere, he’d managed to avoid the more dangerous predators since his return. Apparently, his luck had come to an end. Oy. And he didn’t even have anything for this ruffian to steal. Aaron’s lungs burned as he raced farther and farther south, toward the river, away from the synagogue, because nothing good could come of whoever was chasing him knowing where he lived. A million, albeit poor, strategies raced through his brain even as he forced his feet to keep moving, even as his pursuer gained ground.
How did a man that tall travel so fast? Aaron shook his head, nimbly dodging a barrel. He kicked a second in his pursuer’s path. A cry rang out, and he took the opportunity to duck into yet another alley, this one unfamiliar. He pressed onward until the toe of his boot stuck in a crack, tripping him.
Quick as he could, he threw out his hands to catch himself as he slammed against the dirt. Blood trickled down his wrists, and the sharp pain kept him on the ground, even as danger rushed in. In desperation, he kicked the approaching figure’s legs out from under him and rolled onto his back, just as the other man tumbled on top of him with a thud.
