Page 20 of Junk Magic

I’d gotten the impression that Cyrus had always been the dutiful younger sibling, who had provided constant support to his older brother. But as such, he’d never been given a chance to find out who else he could be. He’d been born into the supporting role, just as Sebastian had been born the heir apparent, with neither of them having any choice about it.

And now that he didn’t have to be Cyrus Arnou anymore—now that he couldn’t be, by Were law—he’d just been told that he couldn’t be anything else, either. Not in Were circles and not outside them. No matter how much those boys needed him.

It must be maddening.

Which was why it was surprising to hear him ask hoarsely: “Are you all right?”

I looked up to see water cascading off Cyrus’s face and hair, which didn’t mask the concern in those brown eyes. “Me?”

The eyes decided to do a roll. “Yes, you. The one who fought a monster tonight and almost died.”

I shook my head. “He wasn’t a monster. He was only a boy.”

And just like that, the thought that I’d been shying away from all night, the one that had made me fiercely concentrate on work in order to avoid it, reared its ugly head. I immediately deflected again. “How are you, or is that a stupid question?”

Cyrus didn’t answer for a long moment. He just turned me around again, I didn’t know why. Until those amazingly talented fingers of his went to work . . . on my scalp.

I almost cried it felt so good. And then the rhythmic motion of his hands dropped down to knead the tense muscles in my neck and shoulders, before moving back up to do the same to my temples and head, massaging in the shampoo I’d lathered up with right before he came in. And, damn, it felt amazing!

“You’re going to get more than a bath if you keep that up,” he whispered, bending over me, his breath in my ear.

“Keep what up?” I breathed, and then realized: my body had turned around to face the wall at his urging, but my hands had stayed behind, still craving that touch. And they’d been touching a lot. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” That time, it was a full-on growl.

“Okay,” I breathed, trying to keep it together, and not twist around and jump him. This wasn’t the time. That wasn’t what he needed from me right now.

Of course, I could be wrong, I thought, as a slick, soapy, iron-hard body very deliberately slid against mine.

And then did it again.

“Unh,” I groaned, from somewhere deep inside. “Don’t try to change the subject!”

“And what were you doing?” Teeth scraped across my shoulder, a deliberate tease, as something huge and hot pressed against me.

“I honestly don’t remember,” I gasped.

“Let’s go with that,” he said, and pushed inside.

I squirmed, my body trying to adjust around him, and mostly failing because Cyrus was a big boy.

Very big, I thought, as familiar, callused hands slowly slid down my arms, displacing all those bubbles. And moved my own hands up to the wall so I could brace myself. Only I didn’t have to, because his hands stayed on mine, huge and warm, like his body as it began to undulate against me.

My teeth caught on my bottom lip, my breath turned hot and heavy in my throat, and my body clenched around him, making him work for it. Which he usually took as validation and a challenge, but not tonight. Tonight, he coaxed my sighs out of me, teased my groans past my lips, gentled me higher and higher and higher until finally, at last—

He backed off.

“What—what are you doing?” I gasped.

“Giving tonight some kind of happy ending.”

“I almost had my happy ending!” I said furiously, trying to look over my shoulder.

He chuckled, the bastard. I heard him. “Not yet.”

He went back to work.

As it happened, I had three happy endings, the last accompanied by a full body shudder that may have hidden several more. I didn’t know. I was too fuzzy brained by then to count, and limp as a wet noodle.

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