Page 13 of Our Radiant Embers

“Who said anything about a compromise?” The self-satisfied arch of his eyebrows further fuelled my annoyance. Good God, someone needed to take him down a peg.

“If the government thought you’d do a better job alone, they would have handed it to you.”

I might have struck a nerve based on the tension that twitched around his mouth. “Or maybe,” he countered, “they’re trying to send a message of hope to the downtrodden.” His voice tipped into American motivational coach territory. “Believe in yourself! Anything is possible! Dwarves will be giants!”

Okay, how bad would it be if I punched him? Nothing major, honest—just a little love tap to wipe that smug grin off his face. I reminded myself that I was a pacifist. Mostly.

“Is this how you typically run business negotiations?” I asked, grabbing my jacket. “Because if so, you must have an amazing aesthetic surgeon on call who fixes your nose each time it gets broken.”

“Is that a threat?” He sounded amused, the bastard—like I was a funny little dog yapping at him, floppy ears and all. Yeah, we were done here.

“No.” I slipped into my jacket without sparing him so much as a look. “It’s just a friendly observation, that’s all.”

When I headed for the door, he stopped me with a silky, “Does this mean you’re pulling out?”

Ha, that’d be the day.

Slowly, I pivoted to fix him with a flat look. “You know me better than that.”

“Do I?” His tone hinted at that night we didn’t talk about, or at least not openly. What was his game here? To keep me on my toes, I assumed. Except out of the two of us, I had no trouble admitting to my preferences. And yes, those apparently included getting off with someone who rubbed me the wrong fucking way—until he didn’t.

“Well.” I let a slow, calculated smile bloom on my lips. “You know what I sound like when I come on your face, for starters.”

He inhaled sharply, a flush rising to his cheeks. Gotcha. I ignored the tug of arousal in my belly because fuck, it had been hot. Tangled together after I’d made him come in my hand, the shadows around us occasionally broken by the headlights of a passing car, far enough from where we’d parked that it didn’t matter. We’d barely spoken since our first clashing kiss, just logistics like not here and okay, then where? So when he’d murmured, ‘You can, you know?’ and had gestured at his mouth—Christ, with how dark it had been, and with most of my blood south of my brain, it had taken me a second to get his meaning.

I hadn’t asked if that was his first time, and he hadn’t volunteered the information. But given how he’d needed a few minutes to find his rhythm until he got comfortable taking me a bit further down? Probably.

Bloody hot.

Not the blowjob virgin part—I didn’t care about being the first to walk across freshly fallen snow. No, it was the intoxicating mix of how eager he’d been and the fact that it was Adam—perfectly untouchable, always put together, the boy that all the girls had swooned over in school. And there he was, happily choking on my dick.

I realised that the air between us had grown heavy and still.

“I doubt”—his voice sounded frosted over—“that puts me in a particularly unique position.”

Had he just called me a slag? I almost laughed. Maybe in my early twenties, fresh out of the insular and conservative magical school, revelling in the newfound freedom that came with attending university. In our world, children were shielded away in a separate educational system until eighteen, to prevent them from leaking our secrets. Post-graduation, the boundaries between our community and the non-magical world blurred significantly.

Anyway, I’d calmed down. I’d been busy too.

“Careful there,” I told him. “One just might think you’re jealous.”

His lips flattened into a thin line. “Hardly.”

“Aww.” I pressed a hand to my heart. “Are you telling me I’m not the best you’ve ever had? Harsh.”

His eyes narrowed. Then he glanced away, rising from behind the desk without another word, and I suddenly wondered whether I’d overstepped a line. If he actually was in the closet...Christ, there was a distinct possibility that he had little else to compare me to.

Which made me an arse.

Granted, he was a far bigger arse, but two wrongs didn’t make a right. I also didn’t know how to address it without basically asking him to explain his sexuality and associated experience. Not cool.

Yeah, so we were clearly done for the day. He held the door for me, and I stayed quiet as I walked past him. We headed down the hallway together, our steps echoing in the silence exuded by the walls.

“So,” I began once we emerged into the vast entrance hall. “Where do we go from here?”

“You talk to your family,” he said. “And I talk to mine.”

That sounded remarkably abstract considering that a week from now, we’d need to present a united front to the government.

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