Chapter Thirty-Three

Kierse might have had one or two too many. She startled awake as a blanket was being draped across her shoulders, not having remembered falling asleep on the couch. Graves was still seated, polishing off the last of the bottle of bourbon. Kingston was long gone. The top of her head brushed against Graves's thigh, the fur of the blanket and his body heating her.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said, still staring straight ahead.

"It's fine. I should probably get into my own bed if I don't want to wake up with a crick in my neck."

"Sensible."

Kierse sat up, stretching out her neck. Then she looked at Graves. So somber, so angry, so much like her. They'd reacted to circumstances differently. But like called to like. And right now, she could feel him draw her in.

"You never brought up the spear," Kierse said.

"No, I did not."

"I would think you would want your mentor involved."

"Would you want your mentor involved?"

Kierse recoiled at that thought. Jason was not a welcome thought in this conversation. He'd taught her everything she knew. He'd been her mentor and her worst nightmare. She was glad that he was gone and she never had to see him again.

"No," she said stiffly.

"Kingston and I have a rare relationship among warlocks," he continued. "We're still something like friends with separate territories. I don't always approve of his methods, and he doesn't always approve of mine. He would not approve of this."

"Why not?" she prodded.

"The spear may be valuable, but it is also dangerous to possess. He thinks it's a waste of effort. And I wouldn't put it past him to intercede. He likes to collect things as I do."

She nodded in understanding. She would keep her silence around him. They didn't need another complication to add to the mission. But at least it explained why Edgar had packed up everything before Kingston gotten to the library.

She decided to change topics. "You were training me this whole time?"

"Yes. I've assumed you were a warlock from the start. We have to wait for proof, but I like to go ahead as planned anyway. My methods are... unique."

"They appear to be exactly what you were taught."

"Similar, but what happened to you was not part of my plan."

"Which part?"

"Your illness," he said, his eyes skimming down her body. "I did not like to see you hurting."

"I recovered."

"You did, but not as fast as I would have liked. Nor did you see yourself when you passed out." He tipped his head. "You were so... delicate. So fragile."

She nearly laughed. "That doesn't sound like me."

"No, that is why I didn't like it. You were hurt, and there was nothing I could do about it."

His eyes bored through her, letting her see into the depths of him. Something she was certain he very rarely let anyone see.

"I do not like to be out of control."

She swallowed. She knew that about him. And about herself as well. Control was what held her life together. It had been predictable even in its villainous qualities. She had grown to expect them. Here, she was not in control. She had carved a small corner into his world and pried at every instance where she could grapple more power from him, but that was as much control as she could have with Graves. He was the apex predator.

A part of her shivered at the thought. She had never been with someone before where she was not the highest on the food chain. It made heat pool in her core, and she shifted her legs. Her head was still woozy from the alcohol. She had no idea how much she had consumed. Only that it was enough to loosen her tongue and her body.

The simple fact was: she wanted him.

Why shouldn't she have him?

Kierse pushed the fur blanket off of her lap as she came to her feet. Graves's eyes landed on her, carefully neutral.

"Going to bed?"

"Not yet." She took the glass out of his hand. There was a knuckle's worth left, and she tipped it back into her mouth like a shot.

His eyes tracked the bob of her throat as she swallowed the liquid courage. Heat flared as their gazes met once more, and he leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms wide, abandoning his book.

"I was going to drink that."

She set the glass down on the coffee table and grasped the bourbon bottle. She shook it back and forth, the dregs sloshing around in the bottom. "Just enough for one more."

He reached for it, but she grinned and tipped back the bottle, letting the last bit slosh into her mouth. He growled in the back of his throat. Something primal. Something uncharacteristic of Graves. Perhaps he was also a little drunk from good conversation with his mentor, from the booze, and from the ounce of relaxation in this maddening timeline.

"That's coming out of your expenses." He leaned back in his seat once more, watching her with those calculating gray eyes.

"I think I can afford it." She dropped the bottle back onto the table. "Though it's not what I want."

His answering gambit was to tip his head up and raise his eyebrows. He must have known what she wanted. Sensed it. How could he not? It had been circling between them since the night of the party.

"What is it that you want, Wren?" he responded with that edge of desire on the final syllable.

The echo of the conversation hung on that word. Is she a wren? Are you? She didn't know what it meant. But she'd done enough research now to know that holly and wrens were intertwined. One a symbol for the other. The end of winter. The beginning of spring. They belonged together.

Then by all rights, she was his.

She straddled his tall frame, settling herself onto his lap. Her hands came up around his neck. He was searing. Hot as fire, but not in the way the wish powder had burned through her. In the way she wanted him to burn through her. She could see in the quirk of his mouth and the storms in his eyes and the tilt of his head that he was intrigued.

"What are you doing?"

"What we should have done the night you kissed me."

Then she dropped her mouth onto his. His hot, perfect mouth that tasted like every deadly sin. His lips were decadent, soft and smooth, unlike the hard lines of his personality. He tasted like bourbon and cinnamon. A potent combination that made her head spin. She knew his magic didn't work on her, that she was immune to him, but for a moment there, she could also taste his magic on her tongue. She shivered at the contact, wanting nothing more than to be devoured whole.

He pulled back roughly, breaking the kiss with a disgruntled noise. "I can't give you what you need."

"Oh, I think you can," she said coyly.

"Deserve," he corrected.

She scoffed. "That word is meaningless."

His hand brushed a lock of her hair out of her face. "Little wren, I am a monster. A monster in a suit, but one with claws nonetheless."

"I don't care," she told him. "That's what I want."

"You don't want..."

"Don't tell me what I want. I'll tell you what I want. I want you." Her hand came to the tie on his suit, dragging him in closer to her. Their mouths were a hairsbreadth apart as she commanded, "Let the monster off its leash."

He groaned. He had been contained for so long—had held back nearly every bit of what made him him—that at her word, he erupted.

Their lips crashed back together, hungry and wanting. It was nothing like that kiss at the party and yet, somehow, exactly like it. Maybe he hadn't been pretending any more than she had. That night had been an awakening, and here they were, reaching for completion.

Graves's hands landed on her ass. That night at Imani's, he hadn't been able to keep his hands off of her ass at the party. And now he was getting his fill. He gripped her hard. Hard enough to bruise. And fuck, she liked it. She couldn't hold back the groan against his lips. Because it had been a long time since she'd felt like this. A long time since she'd been comfortable enough to let go of control and just exist in the moment. She never would have thought it would be with Graves, but fuck, he felt so good.

This was what she'd asked for, what she wanted. Sex. Plain and simple. None of those pesky emotions or complications. This was the easy part, and she wanted it all. All of him.

"Wren," he growled as his lips ran across her jaw.

"Yes," she gasped.

He pressed a kiss to the pulse at her neck, the very point that was beating furiously. It was where he'd first touched her when she thought he might be a vampire and want to drain her dry. She'd considered then that she just might let him. And now, she was putty in his hands. Willing, very willing to do whatever he requested.

When his tongue found her collarbone, his hands slid up and under her top. Those gloved hands weren't enough. She wanted to feel his hands on her, and yet the heat coming from him was hot enough to burn. Would she even survive his hands on her?

She rolled her hips against him with an urgency she could hardly suppress. She didn't want to suppress it. Not anymore.

"Fuck," he snarled.

He hoisted her into the air and crashed her back down onto the couch, putting him in the dominant position. Her eyes flared wide at the abrupt change. She should have been afraid with him over her like this, but when had he ever not been in control? Never. And even this sliver of release, the sensuous word fuck out of his lips, was a more powerful aphrodisiac than wish powder.

He thrust forward, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head at the hard length of him against the thin material of her pants. She arched backward, meeting his rhythm beat for beat. Her body tightened and went loose all at the same time. Her legs wrapped around his hips, and she just wanted him to shred her clothing. Tear it to pieces with his hands and own her.

"Graves," she gasped, his name a plea on her lips.

He broke her grip around his waist, and his face drop to the hem of her shirt. He slid the material out of the way and kissed along the edge of her pants. She squirmed as he tortured her with his lips and tongue on her bare skin. She would never have thought that this was the way Graves would torture her.

"Please." The word slipped out before she could stop it.

A flash of his pearly whites sent heat straight through her. Oh, he liked that. A little shameless begging. It certainly wasn't something she had ever done, but if he didn't get inside her soon she was certainly not above it.

He gripped her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. Then his mouth buried into her breasts. She'd gone without a bra and was thanking everything in the universe that she didn't have another article of clothing between them. He tugged a nipple into his mouth, rolling the bead between his teeth and massaging it with his tongue. She writhed beneath him, reaching for the strands of his midnight-blue hair. Wanting him to keep going and to maybe go a little lower and all of it at once. When he nipped at the nipple, pain flickered through her, hot and needy. He rolled his tongue over the other nipple, taking his time with it as he had the first one. And no amount of arcing or grasping at him or trying to bring him closer would stop him from the methodical seduction of her body.

Her poor scrap of underwear never stood a chance.

"I can't..." she muttered incoherently.

He smirked. "Oh?"

A finger slid up the seam of her pants, and she nearly exploded all at once. She saw a flash of light. A burst of wings. The beginning of spring. Her world narrowed to that finger as it traveled over her clit, circled once, and then disappeared.

Her moan was met with a satisfied chuckle. Then he delved lower, lower, lower. His kisses lingered over her stomach and circled around her belly button. Then he grabbed her legs, hauling them up around his shoulders. She didn't even have a moment to tense before he buried his head between her legs. Even with her damn pants between them, she felt her body surrender to his desire.

"You smell so good," he grunted. "Let's find out what you taste like."

She nodded. Yes, fucking finally.

He slipped her pants and underwear over her hips, tossing them backward over his shoulder. Then in one swift motion, he returned to her awaiting body.

"What a pretty pussy," he said, his breath hot on her.

"Graves," she said, shifting and trying to get him closer.

His tongue darted out, slipping against the sensitive bud. "Is this what you want?"

"Fuck," she gasped.

"Where are your manners?" he teased.

She was going to kill him.

"Please," she whispered.

"You can do better than that, Wren."

"Graves," she said around a strangled moan. "Fuck me with your mouth, your lips, your tongue. I need you..." His nose brushed against her clit, and she choked. "Fuck me or I'll die."

"Well, we can't have that."

Then, he bent down and brought his lips to her pussy. At the first brush of his tongue all the way up the seam to the awaiting bundle of nerves, she thought she was going to combust. If she had been on fire at the party, it didn't hold a candle to this moment.

She was already holding on to a precipice, ready to jump over the edge. So when he spread her legs wider for his access and swirled his tongue around her clit, her entire body was shaking with barely contained control. He licked up her center, tasting her heat and desire. When his mouth clamped over her core, she saw stars.

"God yes," she groaned.

Her hands fisted in that blue-black hair, feeling the silken threads as he drove her on. Begging had been fucking worth it, because the man knew what to do with his tongue. She only regretted that he hadn't removed those damn gloves. Because she desperately wanted to know what his fingers felt like.

"Gloves," she muttered incoherently.

But he didn't even break to respond to her. As if to prove that he didn't need his hands to bring her to orgasm. And fuck, he was right. His tongue was a relentless pressure against her clit, hitting her in the exact place to drive her completely and inextricably over the edge. She held his head down, pulsing against his lips, and cried out to the room beyond. She didn't care who else heard. It didn't matter in that moment.

Her body dropped back limp against the couch. She met his swirling gray eyes as he lifted himself from between her legs. She could see the shape of his cock, hard and long, straining against his suit pants. His eyes were hungry, and she was desperate to give him his fill.

"I'm not finished with you."

"Thank fuck."

He hefted her up and guided her toward the bookshelves. The holly vines tangled down the expanse, red berries visible in the thorny branches. Books lined the shelves for what felt like miles. He turned her and slammed her back into the shelf. Thorns dug into her back, and berries crushed under her spine. The entire shelf shuddered behind her.

She reached for him, dragging their lips together and getting a taste of her own arousal on his tongue. Fucking hell, it was hot.

She fumbled for his suit pants, unwilling to break the kiss but needing him in fewer clothes. She slid the belt loose, snapped the button on his pants, and then dragged the zipper low. When they hung loose on his hips, she slipped her hand in and brushed her fingers against his cock.

A guttural noise left his lips as she wrapped her hand around him. But fuck, she could barely close her fingers around him. She broke away long enough to get a look at the full rigid length. Her body trembled with need at the sight. As she stroked him, her eyes widened with appreciation.

"Like the view?" he asked.

She licked her lips and met his gaze. "I'd like it better inside of me."

His answer was to grasp her thighs and wrap them around his legs. She reached overhead and wound the vines around her wrists, clutching them firmly for support. They bit into her skin, and she couldn't even care, because with one easy stroke Graves buried himself deep inside of her.

Her head dropped back, and she tightened her grip on the vines. She had been thinking about this since they danced that first time, and he did not disappoint. He stretched her to fullness, her body enveloping his cock. He held her up like she weighed nothing with his hands on her ass. And she didn't care, didn't think of the magic that likely allowed it or any of the other things that could complicate this. Just him, all of him. Then he started to move. An easy slide out and a hard thrust back in. She had no words, no pleas left on her tongue, just satisfaction in every movement. And she wondered if he was no beast or monster at all. But a god. A fucking god.

He slammed her against the bookshelf as he did exactly what she wanted—he let loose. The tightly controlled Graves was gone. The man, the beast, the god was here. And he showed no mercy.

His hard thrusts were as relentless as the beating sun. All she could do and all she wanted to do was take it as the sun shone on her in all its glory. She might get burned, but it was worth it.

She'd been with other lovers. But nothing, not a single other person could compare to him. Not even if she managed another lifetime of lovers.

Her heart galloped ahead of her as her climax rose deep and intense within her. "I'm so close."

"With me," he commanded, and she could do nothing else.

It wasn't magic that held her. It was him. A command that needed no magic to have power. She held on and on as he drove into her. Then she could hold on no longer. She opened her mouth to tell him, but all that came out was a cry as she released around his cock.

He followed immediately, roaring as he emptied deep inside of her. His hands tightened on her ass, and she could feel every ridge and pulse and flex inside of her body. She shook as he pumped into her a few more times, hitting her at all-new heights, before he finally finished.

Her own cries turned to whimpers and groans as she came down from her high. She released her hands from their bruised and aching grasp on the vines and dropped them onto his shoulders. Her head fell forward against his chest. Their heartbeats united as their chests heaved from the exertion. He slowly slid out of her and dropped her gently to her feet. She stumbled, her legs turning to jelly, and he kept a steadying arm around her waist.

"I..." she whispered, looking up at him with bedroom eyes.

His answering kiss stole her breath from her lungs. As if he, too, needed one more kiss after all of that. When they broke apart, she just stared up at him, perplexed.

What had he done to her? Had he ruined her for all other sex?

Only a glimmer in the back of her mind said she didn't care.

She didn't care one bit.