Chapter 35

Coen didn't whistle when he saw me. He gaped.

"What—?"

"Lander," I said by explanation, approaching the marble steps leading up to his house. "He straightened my hair."

After a few more seconds of gaping, Coen trotted down the steps to cradle my face in his hands. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he just said, "Did he alter anything else about you?"

I frowned up at him. "Yes, he did. Why?"

Coen didn't answer that. "What did he change?" Each word was clipped, strained, and I suddenly had the suspicion he was jealous of another man's magic touching me. As if Lander was a man to contend with. I almost snorted at the thought.

"Hmm." I twirled out of his grip, relishing the way my glossy sheet of hair whipped about me like a curtain. "Why don't you try to find out?"

Not that there was anything still changed about me, but still—Coen had been way too moody since that last quarterly test, and he'd been so intent on urging me to study harder, practice more, that I had missed that coy, cocky side of him. Anything to urge him out of this mopey shell of his….

It worked. Coen clucked his tongue and said simply, "Fine."

In one swift movement, he bent down, scooped me up by the thighs, and threw me over his shoulder like he'd done so long ago on the night before Branding. Then he whirled and trotted back up the steps, kicking open his house's door.

I scratched at his back. "What are you doing?"

A few of the guys lounging inside turned toward us and raised their eyebrows appreciatively. Coen ignored them.

"I'm going to inspect every inch of you for changes, of course."

Heat slunk up the skin of my legs where Coen's large hands were tightening around them. We were almost to his room now, and when he barged in with me still over his shoulder, he didn't even pause to close the door behind us; he simply kicked backward and sent it slamming shut with his foot.

Then dumped me on his bed.

Nothing could have prepared me for the way he bowed over me, every one of his muscles taut and taunting me to reach out and touch them. He'd crawled on top of me many times before, but it was always gentle and calculating, not wild and bordering on the fringe of frenzy like this.

"I thought you were taking me on a date," I chided up at him. Trying to keep a note of mocking derisiveness in my voice despite that slinking heat.

But the breath in my lungs seemed to wiggle and squirm at the look he gave me.

"I am. This is our date. But." Coen held up a finger. "You have to let me in." He cleared his throat when I flushed, and that hungry haze in his eyes seemed to blink away. "I mean, you have to let me in your mind. Give me permission to go further than usual."

Stay out of my head, I'd once snapped at him. Don't enter it again without my permission. It all seemed so long ago.

"Of course," I murmured.

I had barely finished saying it when the room changed.

A gasp burst out of me.

I wasn't lying on his cleanly-made, fluffy white bed anymore, but a polished wooden boat rocking among puffed-up clouds. And we weren't stationary, but moving, up and up and up through a light mist, toward a sky smeared with purple and black and split wide open by the beaming curve of a crescent moon.

"Coen… what—?"

I shot upright and twisted to grip the edge of the boat, leaning over and looking down. I halfway expected to see nothing besides clouds, but no—through the veil of mist, that was definitely the outline of Eshol far below.

Coen's eyes followed the movement of my face as I took it all in.

"I wanted you to feel what it's like in my own head whenever I'm around you."

I froze. Slowly turned toward him.

Finally, for the first time since that last quarterly test, he had snapped out of his seriousness, and as much as that statement absolutely poured butterflies into me, I couldn't risk dragging him back into it.

"Hmm." I pretended to contemplate our surroundings. "You feel clouded?"

Coen looked like he was ready to roll his eyes. "Unfortunately. It's sort of annoying, actually."

A smile formed on my lips. I crawled closer to him. "You feel high?"

"It's nauseating," came his answer. "And I have a fear of heights."

"You feel full of bright, twinkling stars?"

"Stars that burn holes in my chest and eat me alive," he said, eyeing the sky above us as we floated closer to it.

He was holding back, I knew—and somehow having him shape our perception of reality into a mold of his own mind helped me see why. Clouds and stars, with the island of Eshol far beneath us, as if the world had dropped away…

Ever since our first real kiss in that gem-gilded cave, he'd been holding back. It didn't seem like it upon first glance, with the way he always took charge, the way he always laid me under him, but… he'd never taken us all the way. And for some reason, even though I'd been wanting more for the past several weeks, I'd been waiting for him to do so. Waiting for him to burst through his careful control and absolutely ravage me in the heat of the moment.

But Coen wouldn't break, I realized suddenly with a rush of butterfly wings up my throat. He would not slip or burst or let that hungry haze in his eyes overtake his actions. He was in far, far more control than I'd ever guessed, with a stamina that could send us higher and higher and higher until we broke through the sky and shot into whatever lay beyond. And we'd never fall or deflate unless I…

I swallowed the dryness in my throat, looking at him.

It was up to me. I would have to say the word, and then he'd pounce.

But what if I didn't want to simply say the word and have it… done to me? What if I felt in control? What if I commanded him?

The realization that I could… I could take charge in this way startled me, and I almost fell into him. Almost.

"Are you okay?" Coen asked, his eyes narrowing on my neck, as if he could see how wild my pulse was fluttering there.

I didn't answer. I just kissed him.

Immediately, his hands flew up to grasp the back of my neck and pull me against him.

No. I wanted it done my way. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pushed him down with that fist of wadded fabric.

Or, at least, I tried to. He didn't budge. Frustrated, my lips still taking and tasting his, I pushed harder, and now a hot, hardy chuckle found its way into my mouth.

His chuckle. His amusement. I hissed in frustration and changed tactics, burying my mouth in the crook of his shoulder and neck, sucking in the scent of black bamboo and nipping at his skin.

Coen stilled against me, no doubt caught in a moment of surprise.

Then he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to give him access to my neck. I tried to yank away, but he clamped his mouth down on the delicate skin just above my collarbone.

"Coen. Steeler," I panted, knowing that if I let loose a single moan, my resolution would completely dissolve. "You stop that. Let me."

"Let you what?" he said against my neck. We were still rising through this mist, as if the stars and moon were infinitely out of reach. As if the sky would never end.

Words failed me, but my hand didn't. I reached down and grabbed the full span of him through his pants, and a wicked smile flew to my lips when he let me go as if I'd electrocuted him from head to toe.

"Let me do this," I said.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, so, so rigid under the glide of my palm as I moved it up and down the fabric of his pants.

"Okay, but only if you can concentrate through this," he said, reaching down in return.

Now I was the one nearly spasming as his fingers grazed me where it ached. Too much. Too much clothing sat between that ache and his fingers.

But I couldn't give in. I was determined to be the one in control—at least for this first time.

I withdrew my hand from his erection to rip off his shirt.

Coen tutted. "Not so fast, little hurricane."

In one pouncing motion, he lowered me onto my back and dipped his face to the lowest part of my stomach. Grinning, he gently bit the bottom of my shirt and brought it up over my breasts with his teeth.

Then he made a trail of kisses down to that lowest part that throbbed and yearned for more of him, brushing feather-light lips over it until I couldn't help but scrabble at his head, wanting him to go harder.

He popped back up, smiling with those wicked lips, and I struck.

Lifting myself up by the elbows, I didn't waste time before I tore off my shirt all the way, then rocked forward and grabbed the hem of his.

And as I pulled his shirt off him, I came face to face with all that glorious, tan skin stretched tight over his muscles. All that weight and power and bulk I wanted on top of me. Under me. Something.

I ripped my eyes from the line running between his abs, forcing myself to meet his stare that clipped the edge of my breath away.

"Are you sure, Rayna?" Coen asked, caution suddenly filling his voice. "I didn't set this up to make you have sex with me. I just…"

"You what?" I asked, even as my fingers—trembling now, dammit—reached behind me to unclip my bra.

Coen noted the movement and had his hands behind my back in a flash, undoing the clips and throwing my bra overboard. In reality, it was probably falling to the carpet of his room, but right now it looked like it had disappeared in a flurry of mist.

Now my breasts were bouncing in front of his face as I crawled closer to him, settling myself into a straddle over his lap and grinding myself against the hardness that pushed up from beneath his pants. God, the pressure was everything—burning and sending flurries of white-hot pleasure and need shooting through me.

Coen's eyes latched onto one of my nipples. "I'm just in your head so much," he said through clenched teeth, as if it physically pained him to not have that nipple in his mouth, "that I wanted you to get a taste of my mind. And what you do to me."

"Well, I've had a taste," I managed to say. "And I want more."

I scooted back a bit to work on the buttons of his pants, fumbling over the smooth edges, missing the slitted holes. Coen watched me with his head cocked and his eyes full of glittering amusement, refusing to help. As if my ability to unbutton him fast enough was the final test to prove that I was choosing this for myself.

"Bastard," I muttered, earning a chuckle. That point between my thighs was screaming now, building with pressure and pain and please, oh, please—

The impatience tore through me, and I ripped his buttons off completely. The sound of them clinking to the bottom of the boat couldn't hide my grunt of frustration or Coen's huff of laughter.

"Sorry," I panted, even as I ripped open the rest of his pants, leaving threads dangling and the mass of him beneath me.

He was large and gleaming and… God, I didn't know how I was going to fit all of him inside me. But I knew I needed filled, needed stretched, or else I would collapse in on myself.

"Don't worry," Coen breathed, "I'll just return the favor."

He did. He slipped his thumbs into either side of my waistband and jerked, splitting apart all the seams until my pants were nothing but shreds scattered around us. He did the same to the lace of my underwear, and suddenly there was no more fabric between us. Nothing to hide the glistening wetness already trailing down my thighs.

"Ahhh." Coen spread my knees further apart, taking it in. "Look at you, beautiful hurricane. Such a wild, wet, greedy little thing."

A blush flared bright and hot against my cheeks, but I couldn't reply. Couldn't speak. Could only position our two halves together and settle myself against his broad tip. He clutched my backside, his hands cupping each side of me, but didn't pull me down.

That was my move to make. Right now.

"Oh, God." The moan skated off my tongue as I lowered myself, impaling that slick, aching part of me with that hard, throbbing part of him.

It was burning. It was bliss. It was the fire in our veins, merging into one point. And when Coen's lips brushed against the brand on my shoulder, when he finally lifted his mouth to mine again and our lips met, it unlocked something feral inside of me.

I let my body move how it wanted to, let my hips swirl and grind without thought. The boat began a violent rocking motion as Coen moved against me, too, as he drove upward, slamming himself into me again and again with groan after groan peeling off his lips. The clouds were condensing around us, and the stars were flashing quicker and brighter, more like strobes than twinkles now.

I'd wanted this for too long, I just hadn't allowed myself to think…

To think I could have it.

Not when I still didn't have all the answers about my blood and this island and the world. Not when I had been feeling as if something was missing inside me, and even Coen couldn't fill all of it.

But with his calloused hands cupping me like I was simultaneously the strongest and most fragile thing he'd ever held, with every thrust that gave me the friction and fire I needed, those worries flaked away to the wind, the mist swallowing them as if they'd never been.

There was nothing but Coen and me, retracting and joining again and again and again in the space between stars—

Until the moon shattered above us into a million glowing shards.