Her fingers traced the line of his shoulders, down his neck, against his chin as he kissed her. She caressed the space behind his ear and with her other hand grazed the hem of his T-shirt. She pulled it up so she could drag her palms against his chest, his stomach. She wanted to feel his skin against hers as shewrithed against him, as the pressure between her legs mounted. It was almost—almost—enough to send her over the edge. His erection pressed into her stomach as he broke apart their kiss and said with a breathy hitch in his voice, “Maggie, can I touch you?”
She giggled; she couldn’t help it. “I thought we were?” And he groaned and then his mouth was on hers again, his fingers continuing their exploration of her body, slipping just for a moment beneath the waistband of her shorts and then returning over the curve of her belly and back to her breasts.
He tugged her shirt down, revealing her full breast to the air. Her nipple pebbled in the chill until his lips circled the point, his tongue flicking against it. She cried out, the sensitive touch darting straight to her core, the pressure of his thigh not quite enough. “Arthur.” Now she was the needy one, her plea full of every desire she had ignored for weeks. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asked against her nipple. “Be specific.”
“Please touch me,” she begged, and he was so obedient, his fingers immediately darting back down to her waistband and beneath the elastic of her underwear. He pressed one finger inside her, slowly at first until she squirmed against him. Then two, filling her until his palm was flush against her. She reached down to circle his cock with her hands, but he grabbed her hand and held it against the ground.
“Not yet,” he breathed, and she whimpered, wanting to bring him as much pleasure as he was bringing her. “Not until you come for me.”
She moaned as his fingers slid against her clit, circling it and alternating pressure until he found exactly what she liked, untilher hips were rolling. He sucked her nipple into his mouth again, his teeth gently scraping the sensitive skin, and she arched her back. “That’s it. You’re so wet for me, Maggie.” His breath against her nipple brought even more pleasure, the scruff on his chin moving against her as he spoke. He kissed his way up her chest and back to her neck, finding a sensitive spot in the crook between her chin and shoulder, his fingers working her pleasure higher and higher as he did so. Her hands were in fists against her legs as she arched into the pleasure, into his touch. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered. “Come for me.”
With those words, Maggie was lost. Her orgasm cascaded over her in waves, her body pulsing around Arthur’s fingers, deep inside her. She bit Arthur’s shoulder as she cried out, riding his thigh still crooked between her legs to add to the pressure until she went limp with spent pleasure.
“Arthur,” she muttered, nearly delirious as his fingers slid out from inside her. She missed the way they filled her, and reached again for the hard length between his legs, wondering if he would let her feel the way his cock filled her instead. He bucked at her touch, letting out a groan as she stroked him through his boxers.
“You don’t have to—” he said through gritted teeth. “If you don’t want to, that is. I don’t expect…”
“Arthur,” she said again, dragging her fingernails over the front of his boxers and then to the waistband, toying with the elastic as she stroked him through the fabric with the other hand. “Shut up. I want this. Do you?”
He looked at her with his need plain on his face as her fingers grazed the waistband again. “More than anything.” She tuggedhis boxers down until he sprang free, and began to stroke him. His skin was so soft, and she wanted to taste it, wanted him to fill her everywhere. Precome beaded at the head, and she rubbed her finger against it in languid circles.
Arthur moaned, his face against Maggie’s shoulder, bracing himself with his elbow on the ground so he didn’t crush her. When Maggie closed her fist around his cock, he moaned again. “I am going to come if you keep doing that,” he warned, and that was exactly what she wanted. He leaned over her on his hands and knees, and it was such a perfect view of the way he lost himself to her touch. She moved her hand up and down his cock, stroking the length and feeling flush at the way he was barely keeping himself upright above her. He reached down, adding his own hand to hers, helping her find the rhythm that drove him over the edge. And when she leaned up and kissed him, swallowing his gasp, he came in moments, cursing.
Arthur cleaned up with his abandoned shirt and then collapsed next to her, his head finding her shoulder. She marveled at this closeness, which somehow seemed stranger than the sex. After he’d caught his breath, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, catching her mouth at the corner, and Maggie closed her eyes and leaned into him. This is what she’d known since Beltane—she fit, right here. His arms curved around her, pulling her closer to him until they were flush against each other, sated.
Just as she was beginning to fall asleep, he whispered, “Wait. Don’t move.” He gently pulled his arm out from under her and got up to bring her his canteen of water and find another shirt.
As she drank, he settled down next to her. Maggie looked at him in the darkness. His hair was mussed from where she’dgripped it, and there was the same look of wonder on his face. His eyes roamed over her slowly, lingering, like it was what he’d wanted to do for weeks.
After he drank his fill of water, Maggie tugged him back down to the sleeping bag, entwining their bodies again. Arthur cradled her against him, her head resting against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that had broken the spell. He laid a hand on her hip, and it was nearly enough to make her wet with want again, but she eased into him, tracing her fingers from his elbow to his hand and listening to his calming heartbeat until sleep carried them both under.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maggie slept better than she had in weeks, even with the hard ground and roots beneath her. In Arthur’s arms, sleep was easy. He held her to him like she was precious. Like she was his.
But when she woke, she couldn’t help the familiar anxieties bubbling to the surface. Arthur may have held her like she was his, but she wasn’t. Was she? Had she made a mistake? Was she about to make another? She watched him sleep, all his hard edges made soft in a way she’d never seen. She liked to see him like this and liked it even more when he stirred and his face brightened with a joyous smile when he saw her. Some of the knot in the pit of her stomach unraveled as she smiled back.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and shifted the morning hardness of his cock away from her. She was wet at the memory of what they’d done, but she didn’t kiss Arthur back. It would be opening a door to what she truly wanted—to drag him back down to the sleeping bag with her. To fuck him again. To invite him back to her apartment. He was a distraction. And sleeping with a colleague went against every rule she had made to protect herself. They were supposed to be working together, not falling into bed with each other.
After the campsite was packed away into Arthur’s interdimensional bag, they walked back the way they came. The silence between them was thick with so much unsaid, and just when Maggie was wondering which one of them would break first, Arthur asked, hesitating, “How long have you known?”
Maggie bit her lip. She didn’t know what, exactly, his hesitation meant, and she was too chicken to ask. She ducked under a low-hanging branch. “After I collapsed in the pall.”
“What unraveled the spell for you?”
She thought back to that moment that had tugged at the rune, breaking its power over her, and she was glad they had the distraction of their walk to hide how her cheeks burned. “Your heartbeat,” she admitted, her throat feeling tight. This felt too personal, too intimate, but she owed him honesty for once. “On Beltane, I felt it while we danced. How fast it beat for me.” He had stopped walking, and now they were close enough on the narrow path for their fingers to brush against each other’s. “After I collapsed in the pall, I was in and out of consciousness, but I remember your heartbeat so clearly as you carried me to safety.” She grimaced at the memory. It had all been so confusing, but that had been clear. “When I woke in my office with you watching over me, I knew without a doubt who I had kissed.”
She looked up at Arthur expectantly, but he looked down at their hands where their fingers still touched.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you tellme?” she demanded, pulling away and walking again, like they were doing some sort of strange dance. “When did you know?”
“The day of our bargain.” He walked around her, lifting alarge stick that had fallen on the path overnight and tossing it in the brush so her way forward was clear. “Do you remember on the beach when you stood up and held your hand out to me? It was an invitation. Almost…” He paused, searching for the word. “A dare. And when we shook hands in your office, when we became part of something together again, it all came flooding back.”
It wasn’t what she expected, but now she remembered the look of wonder he’d given her on the beach and the dazed expression he’d had in her office, the one she’d thought was pall sickness. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked again, her words sharp as points. “Why didn’t you trust me?”
