All I can think about is getting out of this crowded place, getting somewhere private, and taking our clothes off.
The incubus leads me through the door and out into the chilly evening. It feels good against my heated skin but would feel better if I got this stupid dress off. We hustle down to the end of the block, turn right, and then fifteen feet more, there’s a side alley.
Nice, dark, and private.
I go without hesitation.
As soon as we’re past the light of the street, the fae slings me forward so roughly that I stumble several feet, but I’m able to right myself. He blasts me again, this time with a bolt of desire that hits me straight between the legs, and I almost orgasm. One hand goes to the hem of my dress, and I start to pull it up. The other hand dives straight down the front of my granny panties, and I don’t have even one bit of embarrassment about them. All I know is that I almost had an orgasm, but it eluded me, and if I can just touch myself, I’ll be able to grab onto it.
One orgasm to knock the edge off, then I can get naked.
The dress gets just to my stomach, my fingertips almost to their goal, as the incubus starts walking toward me. In my heart of hearts, I know I’m going to die, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make because of how I’m feeling at this moment.
Something shadowy moves behind the Dark Fae, and I cry out in surprise when I see the tip of a sword protrude through his belly, covered in thick, black blood. My cry is one of devastation, then something warm and secure settles over me like a soft cashmere blanket.
Carrick stands before me, fury in his eyes.
There’s also something else—something gentle—as he pulls my hand out of my underwear and tugs my dress down over my hips. The fae must not be dead because I still feel the lust and desire that he provoked within me, and my hands go back to pull my dress up again.
Because I’d much rather take it off for someone like Carrick and well, here he is right in front of me.
“Carrick,” I whisper breathlessly. “Help me get this dress off. I need you to touch me.”
“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath and catches my hands in his before I can grab the material again.
“Please,” I beg him, and I wonder if there will come a day when I’ll feel ashamed for this moment. “If you’d just touch me—”
“A thaisce,” he murmurs, bringing a hand to my cheek, and again, a calming sensation washes over me. His expression is something I’ve never seen before—at least not leveled at me. Banked desire, tenderness, and just a raging tint of fury. I’m not sure if he’s mad at my behavior, mad at the incubus, or mad at the opportunity in front of him that he can’t take. “Not like this. Never like this.”
I frown. What did he just call me? And why never?
I hate I’m still so muddled.
Carrick’s hand moves from my cheek to the back of my neck, where he squeezes gently and murmurs low words I don’t understand. I suddenly feel woozy, and my eyes start to droop.
“Sleep,” he says.
Just before blackness takes me, he scoops me up in his arms. I hate the last thing I see is disappointment on his face.
* * *
When I wake up, I’m in a strange bed and in an unfamiliar t-shirt that swallows me up. The room is lavish with heavy cherry furniture, silk Persian rugs, and custom drapery on windows overlooking a valley of green hills with a pink sunrise on the horizon.
I sit up, look left and then right, noting I am all alone. There’s no panic as I remember everything about last night, right up until Carrick saved me from the incubus.
I know this isn’t his home though, as it’s not his style.
Carefully, I get out of the bed and as I walk around it, I spot a bench that has my workout clothes folded on it. There’s an open door leading into a bathroom, so I snatch my clothes up and head that way.
Once I’ve dressed, attended my morning toilet, and run my fingers through my messy, sleep-ridden hair, I exit the bathroom only to yelp when I see Maddox casually lounging on the bed.
Bringing my hand to my heart, I exclaim, “You scared me to death.”
“Sorry.” He grins, not sorry at all. “I see you found your clothes. Pity… I rather like the thought of you wearing my t-shirt.”
“Your t-shirt?” I ask in surprise.
He sweeps a hand out. “Couldn’t very well have you going to sleep in that skimpy little dress now, could we?”
“You undressed me?” My tone is incredulous, my cheeks heating up.