Confusion clouds my thoughts. I pull back ever so slightly.
None of that was real.
His watchful eyes search my face and the uneven breaths that fall from my lips. The peaks of my nipples graze his chest with every exhale, and it’s only then that I feel incredibly inappropriate.
“Oh my god.” I scramble out of his arms and clutch the shirt closed around myself. “I—”
Does he know?
How exactly does his magic work?
Only my legs are touching his now when I scramble back and put as much space between myself and his incredibly full—incredibly distracting lips.
“How—”
The door slides open slowly, and both of us fling our attention to the man filling the doorframe.
Rorrick’s piercing gaze slides from his friend to me and then back again.
“Let’s go.” He nods, and then he’s striding down the hall away from us.
Seven’s hooded eyes hold mine as he gradually stands. The hard outline of his cock straining against his dark pants has me even more curious about the unreal moment we just shared.
The door’s left open, and I feel like the strangest captive that has ever been held hostage. Is it customary for your captors to give out free orgasms and sultry smiles and so much distracting energy that I might never want to see the human world ever fucking again?
His palm lingers on the doorknob, and his kind eyes find mine once again. “There’s water on the dresser for you.”
It’s a polite and formal offer. Not at a tone that someone would use with a girl that just came against his hand...
My lips part, but I still can’t even catch my breath before he’s gone. The door clicks closed softly.
He leaves me with the trembling energy of an orgasm that never happened and more confusion than I’ve ever felt.
Chapter 11
Seven
“You fucked her!” Rorrick’s practically storming around the desk with rage.
“I did not,” I say calmly.
I take a seat in one of the intricately woven chairs that sits in front of Christian’s desk. His sister made him these chairs last spring for his day of life. Her magic is rooted in nature. As was her mother’s. As is Christian’s, in a way.
“My shirt was nearly falling right off her!”
“Ah. Your shirt. Right. She looked good in that shirt.” I pause, and it’s sad how easy it is to press his buttons. “She looked good out of it too.” I lift my hand conversationally, and my calmness only makes him rage even harder.
It’s his downfall really. His emotions take on too much. He doesn’t know how to cut the emotions from the problems in his life. Just like his father, I’m told.
His fist slams into my jaw with a blur of his big body coming down on mine. The chair breaks beneath our weight, and we slam hard to the glossy, wooden floor. My eyes close, and it’s difficult to explain my reaction. Because I don’t have one. I just take it. When his fist cracks down across my nose once more, I thrive in that pain. Colors burst to life, the room becomes brighter, the anger in his eyes feels deeper.
I can feel. Every. Single. Thing.
Finally.
“Stop!” Christian stares down on the two of us from the other side of his desk, and his attention slides slowly to the splintered wood that’s all around me. The woven vines of the chair are nothing but jagged pieces now. “You know he loves this shit,” Christian whispers to Rorrick. “The fae will be here tomorrow for the first time in three hundred years! I need you to use your brain! He’s antagonizing you. He didn’t fuck her. Her scent would be all over him if he did.”
Rorrick’s fists open slowly, releasing all the anger that he held there. Christian’s right. I love to set Rorrick off. And Rorrick loves to be set off.