36. Intent

thirty-six

Ezra hunched over his desk, chewing the end of a pen and idly spinning a loc through his fingers. He’d wandered into the office with his French press and a bowl of oatmeal when Milla left for work, and from the empty bowl and muddied coffee grinds in the press, had been there all day, still in his plaid pajama pants and the white v-neck he put on while Milla showered.

“We’ll run this evening,” he had said, engrossed in a message on his phone. “Maman sent a new ritual for us.”

Looking at him now, lost in frustrated thought and likely in a bad mood, a run was not in the cards. And if it were, Milla would have a terrible time.

She avoided the creaking floorboard in the hall and stepped lightly into the room, not wanting to startle him. He hated being surprised, and Milla had been dealing with elementary school field trips and feral tourists at the museum for eight hours. The last thing she needed was an Ezra tantrum. On quiet feet, she stepped up to the wingback chair and crossed her arms over the headrest. Better to be a presence that he warmed to in the room. A knock on the door or a tiny cough would start a fight, and again, she was not in the mood.

She read over his shoulder as he scribbled in a notebook. It was a translation, she thought, but in his mother’s language of intent rather than Ezra’s preferred French. She silently mouthed the words. Sometimes, if Milla said them aloud, she could glean the meaning, but this was gibberish. A glance at the ritual he worked on, a printout from an illuminated manuscript in swirling, decorative cursive, was even less helpful.

With a frustrated grunt, Ezra crossed out the line he’d written and tossed his pen down. He placed his elbows on the desk, massaged his temples, and let out a long, aggravated sigh.

“Why would you call me here for this?” He glared up at her, amber eyes blazing behind the skull mask.

Milla darted back, glancing around the office and stifling a cry when instead of the bay window and bookcases, a black nothingness stretched out in all directions. Boundless, limitless—a world of nothing, with Ezra stuck in the middle.

Nails gently scaled her scalp, fingers teasing through her hair. Soothing and soft, a gentle sensation easing Milla to wakefulness. Her neck hurt, and her ass was asleep from sitting on the floor with her back against the sofa. She blinked, groggily trying to recall when she had fallen asleep.

Lou and Donmar had left in a flurry of phone calls and she had opted against drinking her tea. Goddess, she wanted one night without the deadened sleep and heavy–limbed morning. She was sore enough from the week, and Tallahassee, the last thing she needed was a cup of poison.

Diego disappeared upstairs once the witches left, so she showered and pulled on her pajamas—a pair of loose purple and black striped shorts and a tank top; black, obviously—aimlessly wandering her kitchen until she could no longer deny she was waiting for Darkly to return. At some point, she sat down beside him, her shoulder brushing his elbow, and must have passed out from the exhaustion of the day, week, year, her life .

Still dark, the air held an otherworldly chill, the kind she felt whenever Shades lurked, which explained the fingers gently stroking her hair.

Milla stiffened, not wanting him to stop but startled all the same. When they were hunting the Loa, his return had been violent, his body lurching to wakefulness as his Shade took roost. This had been near silent. A hush of wind from the Neitherworld, a slight shift in the air, barely enough to wake her.

“You should get tae bed,” Darkly said quietly. She twisted around, the muscles in her neck pinching.

“How long have you been back?” It was too dark to see if the flush of life had returned to his cheeks, but deep shadows clung beneath his eyes, and lines dragged at the corners of his mouth.

“A few minutes.” He swept his fingers through her hair again, toying with the ends as a soft look came over his face. “No one’s ever sat with me before.”

It took her a second to make out the meaning behind those words, and when it hit, when the somber expression he wore and the way he was gazing at her made a little more sense, a piece of her heart broke. “Darkly.”

He cleared his throat and sat up. “Dinnae fash.”

“What?” She spun onto her knees, resting on her calves.

“Don’t worry about it.” He sat up, reaching for the blanket, and that wouldn’t do.

Milla popped onto her feet and stilled his arm with a gentle touch. “Come to bed.”

Darkly jerked his face to hers, eyes so wide the whites gleamed in the low, flickering light from her candles in the window. His throat bobbed, and he held utterly still.

“We need to sleep; it’s gonna be a long day.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come to bed.”

He didn’t argue. What was there to argue? The weirdo had said he needed an invitation, and so she was inviting him. It wasn’t a big deal. He was exhausted, she was exhausted, and no one was going to sleep well on the sofa.

He followed her without a word, taking Milla’s hand and stepping over the creaky floorboard as they entered her room. Moonlight poured through the window, illuminating the wingback chair and her bed in a pale, pleasing blue. She stopped when she noticed how it also illuminated her nest of blankets and pillows on the floor.

“Right.”

“Want to talk about it?” Darkly squeezed her hand, obnoxiously patient as ever.

“No,” she said. “I just—the mattress.”

When she did not elaborate, Darkly traced his thumb over her knuckles. “Aye?”

“It’s too soft.” Saying it out loud, she heard how silly it was, but what other words could she use? It was too soft. Too comfortable, too easy, and she couldn’t breathe when she sank into the memory foam, tossing and turning while being cradled on a cloud. The floor was firm and unyielding, a punishing surface.

Darkly let go of her hand and settled on the edge of the bed, bringing their faces all but level. His fingertips dusted her arms, up to Milla’s shoulders and down. A soft touch, a rapid sweep, and the feel of his skin against hers had Milla’s body erupting in goosebumps.

“What are you—”

“Can I try something?” he asked, lightly tracing her arms again before catching her fingertips and lifting her arms away from her body. She nodded, unable to catch her breath. Darkly held still, bright green eyes boring into her. “Milla.”

“Yes.” The word scraped from her throat. Not that she didn’t want him touching her. Goddess, now that he had and could, she wanted it terribly. But the blankets and her bed, and the why … she wasn’t ready to face that. There was too much to do, too much to resolve and unpack, and they were running against a ticking clock. This could wait. Her time in the cells could wait. Milla could wait until she had a chance to—

“Breathe, leannán .”

At his command, Milla gasped, burning lungs glutting themselves on oxygen. When had she stopped breathing? Her heart raced, her fingers tingled, and Darkly gently traced her arms, centering Milla in the moment, the room. Him.

“Breathe,” he demanded. And she did. “Again.” She timed each breath to the rise of his fingers up her arms, exhaling as he swept down to her hands. Until her heart settled, and there were no five things she saw or three she could feel. There was only Darkly.

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?” He gazed dreamily at her as if those light caresses were the only thing he wanted in this world.

“Leannán,” she prompted.

“Milla—” Eyes darting over her face, his cheeks darkened with a blush, barely visible in her dimly lit room. Raising one of her hands, he lightly kissed the triskelion sigil. “Milla, milenka .” And the other. Heat suffused her body as he raised his eyes again, staring intently at her. “ Moje milenka. ”

His voice shivered through her veins, that subtle command he wielded with the Shades sewing the truth of the words into Milla. It was no coincidence he chose to translate the word into Czech. Witches did not believe in coincidences, and Darkly was a clever witch, choosing the language of her intent to make his known.

My lover.

“I—”

“ Leannán .” And repeated it in a soft, breathy voice , weaving his magick into the word. He slid his hands to her elbows, widening his legs to fit her between his knees.

“You’ve been calling me that—”

“For weeks.” He set his hands on her hips and pulled Milla closer, resting his chin on her breastbone and looking at her with an absurdly innocent expression. “I slipped.”

“Fell on your ass.”

“Head over heels.” This, he murmured into her breastbone. Milla gripped his shoulders to keep upright when her knees threatened to buckle. He lay a heated kiss against her skin, and she sucked in a breath.

“Darkly.” She pushed weakly against his shoulders. “I need to catch you up. On the demesnes, and Beltane and—”

“Tomorrow.” Another kiss.

“You need to call your sister.” It was a weak protest, and she knew it, but there was so much to address, so much to work through before Beltane. They needed to know what he learned while shadestepping and whether or not he found Cyrus. They needed to keep moving, making plans to recover their lost witch and catch the ritualists before they unleashed nine rings of hell on the largest ritual in the Southeast.

Darkly’s hands curved around her rear, and with a sharp tug, he hauled Milla forward. His strong legs gripped her thighs, his arms wound around her body, and his mouth—

“Dinnae mention my sister right now.” Hot breath warmed her breast, the only warning before he sucked her nipple through the fabric of her top. Fire roared down her spine, her body responding immediately to the warmth and wetness.

“Darkly …”

“Too much?” He murmured, blowing a breath of cool air across damp fabric. Milla hissed, her nails digging into his shoulders, no longer pushing him away.

“No, but we—”

“You’re tense, milenka .” Goddess, the way his brogue rolled over the word. “Cannae do anything about the demesnes, willnae call my sister, but this …” His mouth came down over her other breast, sucking hard. A throaty moan tore out of Milla, and she dropped her head back. “This I can do something about.”

His lips closed over her throat, traveling up to the sensitive patch below her ear as his hands roved her body. Gripping her ass and sweeping up her spine, hitching Milla onto her tiptoes until her options were to balance against him or fall. His approving rumble when she chose the former rattled her bones, setting off a low thrumming in her core.

“Earlier,” he whispered softly in her ear, “it wasnae too much?” To clarify, he pressed a soft band of kisses across her throat, where his hand had been only hours before.

Milla shook her head, lost in the sudden rush of remembered euphoria. How the world had tipped on its side, and Darkly had taken total control, never shying away from his desire for fear of hurting her and fucking Milla the way she had always wanted to be fucked—like the idea of not losing himself in her was too much to bear.

His kisses stopped, and she remembered too late that he wanted words. “No,” she forced out. “Not too much.”

“And you’ll tell me if I go too far?” The gentleness of the question and the way he held and kissed her had Milla raising her head. There was hurt there, an unspoken fear that made her want to gather Darkly to her chest and never let go. “I need—” He looked away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and shuddering a sigh before meeting her gaze. “I need to know if I ever go too far, milenka .”

“Of course.” She cupped his cheek and Darkly leaned into her touch. In that, Milla would have given anything to see him smile. “Do we need to establish a safe word?” His eyes flew open, lips parting in surprise. “Or a red-yellow-greenlight system?”

“What?”

“Or I could tap your arm twice.” She did so. “In case my mouth is full.” At that, Milla rocked her hips into Darkly’s groin. The shock left his face, and something darker bloomed.

“Think you’re funny, aye?” Darkly practically growled, hands slipping down around her rear. Milla bit her lower lip in a grin as he hoisted her onto his lap. “What other jokes does this smart mouth have?”

Milla started to reply and Darkly seized her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. His fingers kneaded her rear, teasing the hem of her shorts as his tongue swept against hers, denying Milla the space to breathe, to think. Her nipples scraped against the damp fabric of her tanktop, her breasts pressed against his chest, but it wasn’t enough. Milla wanted his skin, his lips, his teeth. She wanted all of him, all over her at once. Rolling her hips, she squirmed against him in a silent plea that he touch her.

Her skin, her pussy, anywhere, just touch her .

He pulled away, teeth snagging her lip until Milla gasped at the burning pain. Canting his hips, Darkly ground his erection against her, moaning into her neck as she whimpered, caught in the bittersweet. He slid his hands to her upper thighs, gripping tight and holding Milla in place. The seam of her shorts rubbed wonderfully against her clit, his cock pressed against her sex in a delicious rhythm. “Nothing to say?” he panted in her ear.

All she could manage was a moan.

He chuckled and worked his hand between them. A finger swept her center, still over the Horned God-damned shorts, but even then, a thrill shot straight into her core.

“Good.” His voice dropped into a growl Milla felt in her toes. “Then my witch is going to sit here and let me make her come until these beautiful shoulders relax.” He kissed her shoulder and nipped the skin. “And she can sleep.”

“Darkly—”

“Understood?” That devilish finger slipped beneath her shorts, teasing the crook of her thigh.

“Yes.” How she managed to form the word was a mystery. She rolled her hips and Darkly squeezed her thigh tighter.

“No, milenka .” He pulled back, halting his finger and waiting for her full, hazy attention. “Be still.”

Her lips parted, brain forming the words controlling little witch, but no sound escaped.

“One tap for yes.” Darkly smirked, eyes glinting in the moonlight. He pulsed his finger once, teasing her slickened center, and Milla could not tap his shoulder fast enough. “Good witch.”

He swept his finger across her sex, compounding the praise with the touch she craved. Light and teasing, summoning heat and pleasure to her pussy until it throbbed from each gentle pulse. Barely splitting her lips, avoiding her clit, and winding her tighter and tighter. Her arms trembled, the muscles in her stomach went taut, and it took all of her restraint not to relax her thighs and force that wicked finger into her aching cunt.

Darkly ducked his head, teeth snagging her tank top and tugging it aside to free a breast, matching the maddening pulse of his finger as he flicked her nipple with the tip of his tongue. A whimper strangled out of her throat, and her arms twitched at his shoulders.

“Can you come like this?” He asked, sucking her nipple as he awaited her reply. Milla was incapable of anything more than panting. Goddess, she wanted to come; she wished she could come like this. Her pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing because that fucking finger still teased her seam.

All it would take was the gentlest brush against her clit, and she’d be screaming, her legs turning to Jell-O.

“I think you can, Milla.” Laying his finger straight down the seam of her lips, Darkly rolled the digit. Milla’s breath caught, her body tight as a bowstring. He did it again, the base of his finger applying glorious pressure to her clit. Tears pricked her eyes. It was too much, the tease of this pleasure too great, and he’d barely done anything .

Lifting his head, Darkly studied her face, every twitch of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes, and when her breaths came too tight, too close to one another, he drove his finger into her pussy, pressing his palm against her clit, and Milla fell apart.

Pleasure exploded in her core, shooting out to her extremities and leaving her in a deep, visceral groan. He chuckled, kissing her temple as Milla sagged forward, and that damned finger never let up.

“Again, Milla,” he urged. “I can feel how tight ”—a second finger joined the first, and she shot straight as he crooked against that place deep inside her—“you still are.”

“Darkly—”

“Too much?”

She shook her head faster and faster as he scored that place, sending pulse after pulse of pleasure into her veins. “No, no, it’s—” He angled his wrist, grinning widely as her inner walls clenched around his fingers, and a second orgasm crashed through her body. “ Fuck .”

“Good witch.” Darkly stood, praise thrilling along her limbs, and placed Milla on the bed. He pulled her shorts away and jerked his chin. “On your side.”

Milla gazed drunkenly at him, her brain unable to parse the words. He ripped his shirt off faster than she could blink and raked his gaze over her, devouring every bead of sweat, the way her legs had splayed when he dripped her onto the bed, ready and open for him.

The sigil flashed emerald and moss green in the moonlight, each whorl and spiral curving along the lean muscle of his chest. The lowermost arcs of the triskelion dragged her gaze down the rigid plane of his stomach to the peaks of shallow grooves at his hips and the erection straining against his briefs. Milla’s lips parted, finally understanding why the word thirsty was used reserved for moments such as these.

Darkly palmed himself with one hand and rubbed a thumb over his lower lip, heat darkening his gaze. “I willnae ask again.”

“Didn’t ask the first time,” she said. Her tongue was thick and lazy, her head swimming, but she rolled onto her side, gasping when Darkly immediately pressed against her back, bare as the dawn.

“Punish me later,” he rumbled in her ear, grasping Milla’s leg above the knee and angling her how he wanted. His erection teased her pussy, sliding along her lips just as his finger had. He banded an arm across her front, slipping the other between Milla and the bedding to press down on her lower abdomen and hold her in place. Pleasure flooded her senses as Darkly teased her nipples and filled her head with filthy words. Begging Milla to come for him again, just once more, before he gave her what she wanted. It was all she could do to knot her fingers in the comforter and hold onto her sanity.

“Be my good witch,” he cajoled. “I know you have one more in you, hen. Just one more.”

And Horned God-dammit, he was right. As if summoned from the depths of her, another orgasm built. A slow burn that soon blazed across her body. She couldn’t move, caught in his arms and imprisoned by the pleasure he gave her body. The head of his cock teased her clit, sliding easily through her arousal as her inner walls tightened and tightened. Clever fingers pinched and flicked her nipples; his teeth snagged her ear and those lovely, terrible words .

“Good little witches get fucked, Milla.” His hips crashed against her ass, his cock hot and heavy between her legs. “You’re my good little witch, aren’t you?”

A word rose in her throat, caught on the back of her tongue as stars burst behind her eyes. The hand on her abdomen slid lower, those clever fingers finding her clit, and Milla screamed as she fell once more.

“Yes!”

Bliss fired from every synapse, drowning Milla in a sea of pleasure. Distantly, Darkly muttered, “Fuck,” and too far away to reach, thick, delicious heat slid into her aching pussy, filling Milla until her eyes rolled back and her bones melted. He fucked her like the good witch she was, praising her with words that landed on deaf ears, but she was too far away, too blissed out to catch more than the passing, “ Moje milenka. Moje Milla. ”