Page 47 of City of the Lost
Shoving the cereal box back in the cupboard, I went in search of my moody partner. Hopefully he’d managed to extract whatever had crawled up his ass last night and was feeling more amiable. Well, as amiable as a Shedim could be.
Grunts drifted down the steps as I neared his floor. My skin prickled and then his scent hit me, potent and sharp like the air before a storm. He was on the ground doing push-ups. His torso was bare and slick with perspiration. Muscles rippled as he moved up and down, and that ass, taut and firm and encased in form-hugging joggers, flexed enticingly.
I leaned against the arched entrance to his living space, watching as he continued to exercise. Nonchalant, Bastion. You’re just watching a guy do his daily workout with absolutely zero droolage.
He did fifty more push-ups, rose fluidly to his feet, and padded toward his room.
Seriously? Was he blanking me now? First Tay and now Azren? My diaphragm tightened and irritation licked at the base of my throat. The mature thing to do would be to walk away. To let him do his sulky thing, to not play the game, but I was all about the lay-your-cards-on-the-table. I was all about the last word, and it didn’t work if he refused to bloody speak.
“Why the cold shoulder? What the heck did I do?”
He paused in the doorway, his back to me. The muscles shifted in tension. “Nothing. I just don’t wish to socialize right now.”
And that would be fine, but his tone, his attitude, the way he was avoiding looking at me all pointed to an altogether different issue.
“I don’t buy it. We’ve been fine, right? We’ve been getting on great.” My throat constricted on the final word, forcing me to clear it. “Seriously, have I done something to piss you off, because I can do that sometimes. I can tell you now it wasn’t intentional.”
He walked into his room without responding and anger and confusion clawed at my chest.
I strode into his bedroom after him, but he’d already ducked into the bathroom. Like hell I was just walking away without having this out. The door wasn’t locked; it opened with a slight push, and then Azren’s hand was around my throat and my back was up against the wall. Steam from the shower billowed around us, condensing on my skin in droplets, but there was nothing but the glow of his jade eyes and the cage of his body against mine as he pinned me to the tiles.
“What do you want, Wila? Is this what you want?”
His thumb was pressed to my jaw, and he used it to push my head to one side, exposing my neck. The air was warm and the sting of steam as it cooled on my skin was almost too much, and then he ducked his head and swept his tongue up the column of my neck. Warm, rough, and sudden, the movement sparked a tightening between my thighs and coaxed a whimper to stick in my throat.
He locked gazes with me. “Is this what you want?”
His voice was a growl, his fingers punishing as he cupped my breast with his free hand and ran his thumb over my painfully hard nipple through the fabric of my shirt. He watched my reaction: the involuntary parting of my lips, the hungry groan, the arch of my chest as I curved into him. Shadows swirled to life in the depths of his eyes, radiating out of his obsidian pupils and eating away at the deep green irises. His grip tightened into a rough caress of squeeze and tug that sent lightning dancing down my abdomen to the secret place of wet desire. He leaned into me, the side of his face pressed to mine as I squirmed, wanting to get free, wanting to get closer, because yes, this was what I’d wanted. I wanted it all, and he was here, so close. His scent was the promise of thunder, driving all sense out of my mind so all that mattered was tasting him. Turning my head and flicking out my tongue, I licked the salt from his skin.
He froze, every muscle and sinew tightening, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of water beating against ceramic and my erratic breath.
“Azren ...” His name was a plea falling from my lips. A question, a demand, a desperate need, one that had been building from the day we’d met.
With a guttural moan he pressed flush up against me. His arousal, hot and hard between us, cut the strings holding me up. I sagged against him, into him, hands coming up to claw at his shoulders, my fingers digging in to pull him closer. His hands found my hips, biting into my flesh as he hauled me against him, cupping my ass to lift me so I had my legs wrapped around his waist. My head fell back and his mouth found my neck again—lips and tongue and the sweet scrape of his lethal teeth while my hips undulated against his, begging, yearning. I rode him through the fabric, our grunts and groans reverberating off the tiles in a carnal symphony that was drowned out by the beat of the blood rushing in my ears and the rapidly swelling crescendo at the apex of my thighs.
“Wila? Wila, you there?” Trevor’s voice penetrated the carnal haze that had fallen over my mind.
My hips stalled in their sinuous dance and Azren froze again. He leaned back, his hooded gaze raking over my hot face. His lips were parted, the bottom one bloody where he’d bit down on it. He swiped his tongue across it and my pulse spiked. The skin healed instantly.
“Wila?” Trevor was closer now.
I opened my mouth to speak, to say something, anything, but Azren pressed his index finger to my lips. The action drew his attention to my mouth, and I was suddenly very aware that he had me pinned to the wall with his groin.
He leaned in, his breath hot on my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “He won’t come in.”
I nodded.
Several beats of silence followed, and then slowly—deliberately—Azren peeled his upper body from mine and set me on my feet. He turned his back to me, shoulders heaving.
My mouth was dry. There were no words, because we’d crossed some kind of boundary and there was no pretending any longer.
“I’m not what you need.” His voice was gruff. “I’m not what you want. I belong to my liege. Being with me isn’t safe for you.”
“It’s just sex.” The words cracked and broke and my flippant statement came out as more of a question. “You have meaningless sex all the time.”
He turned to me with the full force of his fiery gaze. His jaw ticked. “Yes, Wila. I havemeaninglesssex all the time.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat as his words sank in, my focus on the inflection on the word meaningless. He was saying this was more. Thatwewere more than meaningless. For the first time in forever, the panic that usually accompanied such a revelation was absent; instead there was pleasant heat, the kind that came with yearning and quiet acceptance, and this nudged to life a new kind of anxiety.
