The Sleeper's Harp (The Arcane Artifacts, #1)

Chapter 20 - Vortex

I walked into the kitchen and Bastian's low whistle greeted me.

"You like?" I asked, stopping to twirl in place. I'd gone for something simpler this time. A pair of light washed denim cutoffs frayed at the bottom, black boots, and a cropped rocker T-shirt that skimmed my hem. Everything was paired with a black studded rocker belt. The T-shirt was mostly for Bastian's sake. I'd curled my hair and left it down.

"No fucking way. You're a fan of Maroon Rage?" He chuckled, shaking his head, eyes dancing.

"Yup. Got this at their concert last year."

"Shit." He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes devouring me, turning heated. "Come here, Sugar."

I strutted over to him. His hands snaked around my hips, settling low as he dipped his head and kissed me, softly this time. I deepened our kiss, swiping through his mouth with my tongue, trying to memorize the feel of it, the taste of it. What might it be like when he removed the glamor? Would his teeth sharpen? Prick me? Draw blood?

Heat built in my gut. I wanted that—wanted it badly. The idea of exploring him without restraint, without hiding behind glamor, left my fingers aching.

His hands crept lower, to the frayed hem of my shorts. Fingers swept beneath, feather light over my skin. I groaned, pushing against him. With swift movements, he scooped me up and planted me on the countertop. My knees spread and he pressed into me, pulling me against him. My head was a little taller from this position. I used it to my advantage, wrapping my fingers around his neck, angling his chin up. He growled, the sound vibrating against my mouth. I claimed him, licking his tongue ring, biting on his lower lip, my movements hungry.

I pulled away a fraction. "You don't have any lip piercings?" I realized, trying to recall if I'd seen them.

"I do," he said. "Just hidden by the glamor."

"Right." I often didn't notice the extra details beyond his pointed ears, teeth, and skin color whenever the transparent overlay appeared.

He exposed my neck and began planting kisses along my skin. "I have the rest of the night off," he managed between open mouth pecks. "After we get back from the club, it should be warm enough for a swim. I haven't forgotten the way you were eying the pool earlier."

My breath quickened. "I...didn't bring a swimsuit," I warned.

He huffed. "Who said anything about swim suits? This is my pool, Sugar. No one comes on my property. We'll have the place to ourselves."

A shiver raced down my spine. Ourselves. I wouldn't admit what that single word did.

His tongue darted out at the base of my neck, starting in the divot at the base of my trachea and sweeping upward, along the column, claiming. I groaned. The brush his piercing made my thighs squeeze, tightening against him.

His fingers slipped beneath my T-shirt, palms warm against my skin. "I bet you got a whole collection of these cute little tops, don't you Sugar?"

"I..." I couldn't breathe.

"Maybe you can model them for me sometime?" I huffed. His kisses stopped at the base of my jaw—

A timer beeped. He pulled away and grinned. "Stay right there," he warned, his voice a growl I didn't dare disobey.

Then he busied himself around the kitchen, finishing up our dinner. I watched him, tucking my hands beneath my thighs. He began plating food.

"Meatloaf? You made meatloaf?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

I laughed. "Not at all! God, it's so underrated."

He chuckled, then grabbed a fork and broke off a piece. A tendril of steam rose into the air. He blew on it to cool it, then brought it over. "Open up, baby girl."