Page 49 of Charmed

One stroke of their tongues, and that hum of excitement she forever invoked buzzed under his skin. He went deeper, opened wider, and desire took on new meaning.

An ache throbbed in that hollow place inside him he'd never been able to fill, dormant no longer. It expanded, cultivated, and would've taken over if he hadn't forced himself to remember she was in his arms. He had her. It became almost painful, the want of her.

She shifted, and he groaned in protest until he realized she'd only done so in order to straddle him. He buried his hands in her hair, those silky waves scented with elemental magick, and devoured her kiss.

Not enough, not enough, not enough.

Yearning blended with craving and morphed into necessity beyond reason. He slid his hands down her spine to her perfect backside and palmed both globes, sinking his fingers into her giving flesh. Her nails raked his neck, his nape, his scalp.

More, more, more.

He dragged her flush against him and bucked at the friction through their clothes. Her breasts crushed between them. He vowed to pay more attention to both equally as soon as his heart stopped cracking ribs. At the moment, the desperate rocking of her hips while she rode him was making mince meat of his brain. She gasped and severed the kiss, working her mouth across his jaw to his throat.

Siphoning air, he threw his head back and pried his eyes open, only to blink repeatedly in bewilderment. Angels. Puffy clouds. Had she killed him already? If he was seeing angels, he must be at Heaven's gate and...

Wait. The mural. In the library.

How long had he wanted her in his bed, fantasized about being with her? And he was about to make love to her for the first time on a damn sofa in the room where they'd discussed defense strategies and curses.

"Let's take this upstairs." Somehow, he'd get his legs to function. She wasn't cooperating, though. Not with the nipping and licking and sucking and... Uhn. "Fi, babe. Upstairs. Now."

"Why?" She rose onto her knees and looked down at him through heavy lids saturated with lust. Her lips were swollen from their kiss and her warm breath fanned his face. "There's a perfectly good couch right here. Or the floor, the desk, the..."

Because he'd waited too long and had too much respect for her to not make this count, that's why.

Not giving her a choice, he stood, securing her in his arms, and strode for the door. She stared at him in stunned admiration on the trek through the foyer, her legs around his waist and arms around his neck.

At the base of the grand staircase, he paused. He wasn't sure of the reason. Maybe to give her a chance to object or perhaps just to observe the moment. If he had more of a mind to dig farther, the motivation was no doubt rooted in the way her surprise had his chest constricting. Like consideration had never played a part in intimacy for her.

She seemed to know what he didn't, though. A secret smile, and she set her feet on the ground. Without a word, she took his hand and climbed the steps, him a half-pace behind. At the top, she glanced at the three wings, and he recalled she'd not been upstairs before.

The weight of that plowed into him. He'd never had an overnight guest. Neither had his brothers. Well, not until Kaida had come into Brady's life.

Meath Mansion had bad memories stitched into every fabric, embedded into each nail, and ground into the framework. Upon coming of age, when the place had been transferred into their names, they'd tried to redecorate and make it theirs. Flush out the ugly. It hadn't helped the way they'd hoped.

Privacy had always played a major role in their lives, too. Don't let anyone see beyond the walls, walk through the doors, or spy in the windows. They might discover the horrors that lived inside. The gutting, eviscerating heart of the matter was, none of them had ever trusted another soul enough to expose the vulnerability within.

Swallowing hard, Riley glanced at Fiona's profile—the sharp slant of her nose, the curve of her lips, the tender softness of her cheeks—and he knew this wasn't a mistake. Not the blind faith he'd put in her, having her here with him, or whatever he happened to depict in the process. She didn't judge or patronize, though he'd given her ample opportunity to do so. In her own way, she'd listened, and usually not with her ears.

"This way." He squeezed her hand and tilted his head toward the far right wing. Halfway down the hallway to his suite, she dug in her heels. He turned to look at her, finding her gaze traveling the swords lining the walls. "I collect them."

She hummed in her throat. "You mentioned it. This is more like an obsession. What started the interest?"

He thought about admitting it gave him a twisted sense of security to have an endless supply of sharp implements at his disposal, but he settled for the half-truth. "Lord of the Rings and a small amount of King Arthur."

Her grin was as quick as her wit. "So, magick has always been a draw, huh? Good to know you like me for more than my body."

"Your body doesn't hurt."

She offered a purely sexual laugh, her attention still on the swords. "You know, some would argue all this is you trying to make up for a lack of something in other areas."

Ah, hell. She'd discover the lie in that comment very soon. "Tell me that tomorrow morning. If you can walk."

Funny how being in her presence could downshift his emotions through a full gamut in the course of mere hours. Arousal. Fear, amusement, panic. Arousal. Rage, fondness, happiness. Arousal. Anxiety, pride, concern. Then there was always...arousal.

"I don't know," she teased in a sing-song tone, trailing her hand along the wall. Her hips swayed seductively as she sauntered, and she eyed him over her shoulder. "Huge bank account, huge mansion. Lots of..." She slid her index finger down the flat end of the blade to his Spatha Viking sword. "Phallic symbols."

Arousal for the win.

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