Halo licked his lips. Did he need to be inside her to do it?
Yes. Need to be inside her.
She was currently upset with him for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He would have to do some soothing before she welcomed another kiss.
The wait galled, however. He wanted this thing with her solidified. Wanted her surrender now. The plan hadn’t changed. Win her heart and then the task. Like Roc, Halo would prove victorious in the end. Then he could turn his focus to his eternal connection with Ophelia. And it was eternal, stardust or not. Because he would not be letting his harpymph go. Ever.
He might have failed to secure her during their last sensual skirmish, but he had gained valuable insight into all things Ophelia Falconcrest regardless. She responded to three things: his commands, her own power, and all affection. The contradictions were as thrilling as her touch. The perfect ammunition to wield against her stubborn contrariness. One day soon, she would utter the words he suddenly longed to hear. You are my consort and entwine, Halo.
A moan burned the back of his throat. He barely stopped himself from stroking his aching length through his leathers. If not for an upcoming meeting with the Commander, he would have stripped and marched inside that stall, then dropped to his knees and offered his next kiss.
The water shut off, and his posture went rigid. Ophelia. Naked. Wet.
Inhale. Exhale. He should prove he meant what he’d boasted. That his gravita would be the most envied female in the land. Pampered. Adored.
Something Ian told him prodded Halo’s memory, and he nodded, decided. There will be a courtship.
—Set up a candlelit meal in my bedroom. You have two hours.—He projected the commands directly to Ian. With a blessing task at stake, every Astra remained at the ready. —Make sure there’s something with lobster.—The main ingredient in yesterday’s lunch. —Go to every trouble and stop at nothing to ensure the setting is magnificent.—
—Aw. Is our Halo going on his first date?—
Maybe? He worked his jaw. —Just get it done.—
“All clean and dry, and ready to report for duty, sir,” Ophelia said with a cheery tone. Her mood had certainly improved since they’d last spoken. A surprising and pleasant shift. “What is my darling’s pleasure?”
My darling? She had decided to mind him then?
He turned, watching as she exited the stall on a cloud of steam, wearing a towel. Locks of wet hair clung to her here and there.
Though he hated to utter his next words, he did it. “You should dress.” And he should don a T-shirt. The Astra only went without the garment in times of war. No better way to show off past crimes. But he didn’t want to don a shirt. Let Ophelia examine him and see the male who would stop at nothing to succeed.
She knotted her hair atop her head and sauntered past him, as if she hadn’t a care. Pausing in the doorway to the closet, she gazed at him over her shoulder. With smoldering eyes, she asked, “Is precious dressing for business or pleasure?”
He frowned. That tone. Those words. That body language. Everything about her screamed, I’m eager to please. His deepest instincts answered, Lies!
Perhaps her mood was not improved, after all.
“Precious is dressing for business,” he said, and she scowled. No, there’d been no improvement. If anything, she had regressed.
Would he ever understand this female?
As soon as he’d awoken, he’d spoken to Andromeda. After explaining that he no longer required her services, he’d admitted he thought he’d found his mate. The Amazon had expressed genuine excitement and promptly declared herself his “wingwoman.” Someone, apparently, who aided a friend in the acquiring of a harpymph.
Andromeda had promptly made space in the closet and raided the palace, picking out the best garments for Ophelia, the sizes based solely on his description of “lush and perfect.” He feared his reaction to the harpy in some of the scantier gowns.
“Dude. I’m naked and draped in a towel here,” Ophelia huffed. “Pay attention to me while I ask the same question for the third time. What kind of business?”
He almost smiled. He very much liked the pout in her tone. “We are meeting with Roc and Taliyah in ten minutes, thirty-two seconds. Thirty-one.” Thirty. “They demand a full accounting of everything that’s happened during the task so far. Which we will both give them. I have other clothes for you in the closet.”
She whirled around, one hand holding the too-small towel in place, the other anchored on her hip. “You know, before I met you, I was nervous to meet with Taliyah. Now, a conference with the General seems like old hat. No big, you know? The fact that you track the exact time until a meeting, down to the second, without glancing at a clock, is blowing my mind.”