15. Nora

15

NORA

I 'm tired of denying myself.

The fire crackles low, casting an ethereal yellow-orange glow across the wood-slated walls as I push her through the door.

Once it's shut, I crowd her against it, pulling her mouth to mine. It's been too long since I've tasted her—two, three weeks maybe? The longest time our bodies have been apart in years. Our lips dance together, tracing familiar steps. Imogen hums into my mouth, opening so sweetly for me.

I pull back, but only enough to let us catch our breaths. Her amber eyes glitter, flittering around the space and taking in every detail. She gasps, her gaze stalling over my shoulder.

"Gods, Nora," she says, mouth agape. Her tongue darts out, swiping over her bottom lip. "A wall of swords?"

She ducks under the cage of my arms, scurrying over to the wall behind my desk, which does, in fact, have a number of swords and daggers mounted on it. They shine in the soft light, silver and steel glinting with our reflections. Imogen runs a finger over the edge of one blade, shivering at the sharp and cold metal.

I follow, stopping behind her. I snake my arms around her waist, tugging her back to my front; warmth surrounds me, and it's not from the fire that crackles under the mantel.

"Be careful," I whisper in her ear. "I don't feel like playing nurse and giving you stitches tonight."

"You couldn't kiss it better?"

My lips nuzzle into her neck, placing kisses on her pulse. "Not my specialty, I'm afraid. And I've been told I have terrible bedside manners."

Imogen snorts, turning in my embrace. Her fingers dig into the small of my back, keeping me just as close as I hold her. She leans in for a kiss, but I keep our lips from touching with one hand anchored at the back of her neck, fingers curled in her hair.

"I need to tell you something," I say.

"Okay…"

I take a steadying breath, inflating my chest with the courage to be vulnerable—to be honest. I heard Imogen out, I understand her reasons, and I believe her when she says she won't betray us again. And that means the only way to move forward—to bridge the gap between us—is to take a step forward.

I hate it when Josie is right.

"You remember how my parents died, yeah?"

She's heard the gist of it before, not all the details.

Imogen's blond brows knit together as she nods, attention firmly locked on me.

"The man who killed them is back. And he's targeting House Pride."

Her face goes slack; she's a perceptive woman, hearing the unsaid details between the lines.

"Josie had mentioned something happened," she says. "Are you okay?"

"A family was butchered, but they spared the child. A daughter." I clear my throat, not able to look Imogen in the eye. Instead, I'm met with my own reflection, split in half by the blade behind her. "That part was a clear message to me. So, we struck back. Silas knows, and it has since become a more complicated matter."

"Oh, Nora. I'm so sorry."

Her hands run over my neck and shoulders, they graze over my cheeks, thumbs swiping at nonexistent tears. She's trying to comfort me, but she doesn't realize I'm not sad about it.

I'm furious.

Even more so after we got what we needed from Jamison, and Silas explicitly forbade us from taking any next steps in retaliation.

"I know that things haven't been… easy between us lately. But even if you doubt me as a lover, I'll always be your friend. If you need help, all you need to do is ask."

Imogen runs her fingers through my hair, nimbly finding the point where my neck meets my skull and rubbing with her thumb.

I sigh, my forehead falling to her shoulder.

Fuck, why is this so hard?

"It's difficult," I say, running my nose up her neck, drinking in her rose scent. "To let you in."

She must know there's more coming, because she stays quiet and continues to rub my neck. A sign of reassurance—that she hears me.

I place another kiss on her pulse, lips lingering on the soft skin there. I need to be close to her heartbeat; the steady thumps are a calming rhythm.

"You scare me."

"Why?" she asks.

"Because of how viscerally I reacted the other day."

I pull back, not enough to let her go, but enough that she can press her forehead to mine. I close my eyes, focusing on the way her nose brushes up against mine.

"If I let you in, it means I can lose you," I admit.

It means I'm weak.

Her hands bracket both of my cheeks.

"Have you not already let me in?"

"Not completely."

Her sigh brushes over my lips, a soft and warm spring breeze.

"Do you want to be with me?" she asks.

My brows furrow. "What kind of question is that?"

"An important one, to me."

Her lashes flutter, her gaze settling on my chest, as if staring right through to my heart.

"Yes," I say.

I think that's what this yearning in my gut means.

"Then don't hold back," she says. Her smile is soft, a mere wisp of a cloud spread across the bright sun.

I huff. "That simple?"

She leans forward, giving me a quick peck on the tip of my nose.

"That simple."

My tongue swipes over my lips, licking up the remnants of her past kisses. I search her face like it's a map that holds the answers to the universe. In turn, her eyes darken to the deepest amber.

"I waited a long time to hear that from you, you know," she adds.

"I don't know if I can give you more than this—or what we had before. But I find myself wanting to try," I say.

Her lips purse, as if pondering how my words taste. Then she nods.

"As long as you're trying, I'll have patience," she says. "I really like you, Nora."

I smirk. "Yeah?"

I push on her waist, walking us backwards, until Imogen is pressed against the mounted swords on the wall. She sucks in a short gasp. Her hands fall to my waist, gripping at my blouse when I lean into her neck again, nipping at it, unable to help myself. She has such a pretty neck, a blank piece of paper that I want to ruin with black and blue ink, the pen my teeth and tongue.

"I'm starting to wonder if you're a vampire, not fae," Imogen laughs.

"Funny," I say, admiring the mark that now blooms on her skin where my teeth nibbled. I pull away, fisting her hair. Her head tilts back. "You told me that if I need help, all I need to do is ask. Take this as me asking."

I'm not the type to spill my heart; I could go blue forcing every word past the lump in my throat. Or I could open up to her like this .

Bodies have a language of their own.

"Stay," I whisper the word into the shell of her ear.

"What?"

"Stay with me tonight. Here."

Imogen's breath hitches in her throat and then she's crashing her lips to mine with a fury.

I've tasted nothing sweeter.

I release her hair in favor of hiking up her dress. It's liquid silk, the way the fabric sluices over the curves at her hips. My fingers find Imogen's damp heat beneath her underwear, and I circle her with a feathered touch. She grinds into my palm, desperate for more contact.

I take my pleasure from Imogen's moans, the vibration of her body pressed against mine runs straight to my core. My fingers leave her clit and slide through her slick; she writhes when I dip one finger inside of her.

Capturing her whine with my lips, I pump my finger slowly. I continue until her pussy clutches my finger, but I don't push her over the edge. She lets out a frustrated growl.

It's clear she doesn't want to be edged tonight.

I lift my head and our noses brush as I stare into her half-lidded eyes.

A shiver racks her body when I pull my finger from her core and bring it to my mouth. I lied before. There is nothing sweeter than this, the taste of her coating my tongue.

My lips curve into a smug smile.

"Be a good girl, and get on the desk," I say, stepping back.

She lets loose a breathy laugh.

"You got it, Boss ," she teases.

She doesn't move right away. Instead, she reaches for the zipper at her waist. Her dress is quick to pool at her feet, a puddle of scarlet silk, leaving her bare except for the lace that wraps around her hips and between her thighs.

Something possessive and dark rouses in my gut.

"Get on the desk," I repeat, letting it hang as a threat between us.

Imogen smirks before slowly pulling off her underwear. She drops it into the pile of fabric at her feet and brushes past me to hop onto the desk. She said I was a tease, but she's the embodiment of torment, perching there with her legs spread and offering me a perfect view of her needy cunt.

"Coming?" she lilts.

I am across the room in seconds.

My fingers find purchase on her ample hips while my head dips down, my tongue darting out and circling one pebbled nipple. Imogen's hands immediately grip my hair. It stings, the way she uses it as leverage to press my mouth tighter to her chest, silently begging for more.

I bite down on her breast before sucking and flicking my tongue, giving her exactly what she wants. And when she's writhing again, hips grinding on air and searching for friction, I let my fingers return to her core, plunging two into her.

"Fuck," Imogen curses.

I laugh into her chest, peppering kisses down from her breasts to her navel.

I drop into my desk chair, rolling it close so I can lean forward and brush my tongue over her clit. She flutters around my fingers at the stimulation—so I apply more pressure by sucking on it. Hard .

Her fingernails dig into my scalp, and her whimpers fill the office, spurring me on. I curl my fingers, pulsing them against the spot that makes her fall apart.

Imogen comes beautifully around my fingers; she rides my mouth through her orgasm, muscles taught and throbbing as they grip me.

And when the final aftershocks recede, her entire body melts. Her back arches, and she purrs a satisfied hum.

I pull back, licking my lips clean while drinking in the sight of her.

Imogen's a rumpled mess compared to the composed beauty the rest of the world usually sees. I'm the lucky one, I realize, that gets to see her like this: laid out on my desk, leaning back on her hands. I get to see her with puffy lips and a heaving chest as her lungs desperately clutch to oxygen. I get to see her bask in the aftershocks of the orgasm I gave her.

In this way, she is utterly mine .

Her long lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks as she gazes at me with primal satisfaction.

I reach up and pluck at one of her still hard nipples. A shocked yelp turns into an exasperated laugh as she grabs my hand and pulls it away from her chest. Intertwining her fingers with mine, she lifts our joined hands to her mouth, kissing my knuckles.

Once. Twice. Three times.

I hum.

"I shouldn't have done that," I murmur, and her body freezes. I smirk, letting my eyes capture every detail of the woman before me. "I'm never going to be able to look at my desk without thinking of your sweet cunt now."

The relief is instant—the drop of her shoulders and huff of laughter filling the room. She bats my hands away.

"You can't say shit like that, Nor," she sighs. " Fuck . You scared me."

I snort, unable to hold my own laughter back. We lapse into silence, and I rest my head on my forearm that drapes over her leg. I mindlessly trace patterns on her milky thigh.

I glance up at Imogen. With her hair a golden halo and skin flushed pink, she's the picture of salvation.

Imogen shivers.

"I want to stay," she says, running a gentle hand through my hair.

I close my eyes and sigh.

"Good. Because you know I have a sweet tooth, and I'm not nearly done with dessert."

"And what about my dessert?" she teases, knocking her knees into me playfully.

I huff, forehead dropping to her soft thigh before biting it. She squeaks as if she's been tickled, jumping from the desk right into my lap. Both of us laugh as she pulls my lips to hers.

It's a languid kiss, our tongues slow dancing to our calmed heartbeats. And when our lips part and Imogen kisses her way to my ear, she sets my nerves alight.

"But seriously, I want one of those cookies."