And if she couldn’t turn off this instinct to turn and stare at Griffin Cinder.
“Cut it out back there,” Ray groused and glanced in the rearview mirror. He flipped on the defrost and nudged it to high. “Can’t see with you putting out so much fog.”
“Lower the windows,” Griffin growled.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ray slapped at the controls and all the windows cranked open.
The scent of rain grew heavier. Her body misted and her nipples hardened. The ache built in her pussy with no relief no matter how she shifted. She’d never been so turned-on in her life and she couldn’t see much less touch the man responsible.
A hand came from behind and gripped the side of her seat. Strong fingers tightened until the flesh around the nails went white. So close, only an inch from her shoulder. She wanted to lean into him. If they could touch, those hands would skim down her tummy, tease her, stroke over her slit until she parted her legs. Shaking and eager, she’d beg for where she needed him.
A whimper escaped her.
Ray jerked his head, cast her quick questioning glance and faced forward again, intent on the road—he obviously hadn’t seen Griffin’s near caress or he’d have hit the roof. “Everything okay over there?”
“Sure,” she croaked and shifted in her seat.
She didn’t understand what was happening to her. It’d be best to change plans and get away from them. Now. Today. But it was too early.
If she left, she’d go home. Her mom would ask why she’d failed her task, why she hadn’t ripped away Ray and Griffin’s powers.
“Stop the damn car. Now.” The guttural growl made her pant. She couldn’t even breathe.
Ray slammed on the brakes and she rocked forward against her seatbelt.
A door slammed and Griffin strode from the car. She didn’t have a choice but to stare at his jean-clad, fine ass as he walked away. That reaction, the heaviness in her breasts, the ache in her pussy, those were what she wanted when she stared at Neil’s ass. But instead, she had that reaction for the man she planned on destroying. She rubbed her hands over the tops of her legs, straightening her jeans, still unable to rip her gaze away from Griffin Cinder.
Thunderclouds gathered overhead and it darkened around them.
Ray yelled to Griffin as they pulled past. “I’ll ask Susan to pick you up.”
Lips curled, Griffin stared at Astrid, but his expression held such pain, she blinked. His potent stare bored into her and she itched everywhere. Her hair clung to her neck and she shoved it aside. Her shirt stretched across her chest and rubbed against her stiffened nipples. Urges rocked through her. Gripping her knees, she concentrated on remaining perfectly still, afraid that if she moved, she’d jump out, push Griffin to the ground and taste his skin.
The SUV peeled away and the image of lust-filled eyes followed her.
“And here’s the room you can use to clean up. They’re bringing your things from the camp, but if you need something, that chest of drawers has a bunch of sizes in it. This is a room we keep prepared for people who come to us for help.” The woman named Clarissa, all put together in designer clothes—similar to a line Astrid had helped develop—had a kind smile that nearly put Astrid at ease.
Still. Talents shouldn’t come to CTF for help. Not if they stripped people of their powers. She couldn’t let her guard down, even if this woman seemed nice enough.
“That’s kind of you.” Astrid stared out the glass windows that took up the entire outside wall of the small suite. It looked as nice as any business-catered hotel chain, except the door she assumed would lock her in.
“That’s what we do. Take care of para-talents. If you want, everything you need for a shower is in the bathroom, and there’s the phone. I’m sure your mother would like to hear from you soon. How about you come down to the kitchen when you’re done? I’ll find you something to eat. You remember where that is?”
It was a large mansion, but she remembered the layout. Not only had she been given a short tour, but she’d studied the map Neil had given her, after all.
“I do.” They really weren’t going to lock her in? They’d picked her up in the forest, part of a camp of people who plotted against them, and now they said they wanted her to get comfortable and stay safe. Even if they considered Helen Collins a friend, it didn’t make sense—not if they were out-of-control vigilantes.
“Good. How does pasta sound? I think I could eat a vat of it. I’m starved.”
Astrid nearly said, “I have no idea where you’d put it.” But she clamped down on her tongue to keep the friendly teasing in as Clarissa left. Astrid wasn’t here to get to know these people. Or, offend the woman if she couldn’t take a backward compliment.
The bathroom was larger than the one she shared with her mother at home. The claw-foot tub invited her to linger, but the standup shower would get her in and out quickly. It wouldn’t do to be off guard longer than needed.
Her fingers skimmed over a ledge next to the tub. Several large fluffy towels were stacked to one side. Lotions and soaps lined the other. She unscrewed the nearest bottle and sniffed. The shampoo smelled nice, not too perfumey, but she didn’t recognize the label. Flipping on the water, she tested the temperature, adjusting to as hot as she could take it. She stepped in, closed her eyes and relaxed beneath the spray for a moment. Just one. It felt so good.
Water soothed her nerves and she pushed the stress away. Alone, she let her mind wander, rolled her shoulders and let herself be, for just a moment. No mother to tell her to straighten her posture. No boyfriend who looked at her with disregard and never with affection or even lust.
No one had looked at her as Griffin Cinder did, as if he could imagine her naked, spread before him and eagerly accepting his body. He was the enemy, but she had to admit, he had a rugged, incredibly hot appeal. Women must fall all over themselves to get his attention. Not that she should want it. She shouldn’t crave that ominous stare roving over her, devouring her, and filling her with promised passion.
But he had unmistakably desired her. Here, with no one to judge her, she could admit that for the first time, a man had turned her on, and he’d only looked at her. What if he could see her now? She slowly tracked her fingers on the outside of her leg where she’d clutched herself and leisurely stroked up her side.
If Griffin were here, he’d cup her breasts, knead them and pinch her nipples. He’d talk to her saying incredible things that would make her hot.
He’d call her s
ugar
. As if she’d heard him do it before, she let the words she imagined he’d say while he fucked her, hard. That he liked a woman to get on her knees and take it from behind. That he liked it leisurely and mind-blowing, for hours upon hours. That he liked to talk dirty.
“That’s right, sugar. Show me how you like it. Show me where to touch you.”
Her breathing went rapid. She felt it more than heard it over the sound of the shower. Drawn irresistibly, her mind entered the daydream. Hands glided near the place that would give pleasure, but she pulled away, tickling over her stomach and the indents between her ribs.
“Don’t be shy. Do it. Make yourself hot. Make yourself come.”
His voice sounded in ear as if he were here.
“I want to fuck you. I want to pump my cock into that pussy. I know you’re wet. Do you taste as sweet as you look?”
Words she’d never dreamed before she now thought with ease. The slickness between her legs was hot, even in the shower. Her chest burned. Until now, she’d never pictured someone specific doing things to her. But as the steam fogged around her in the shower, she imagined that alluring, lust-filled glower.
“Griffin,” she whispered. His hands would be rougher than hers. If he gripped her as she did now, he’d press harder, with strength and knowledge. He’d know what she wanted. What he wanted—
“I want to tongue your breasts. Bite them.”
She caught the tips of her breasts and pinched firmly. The pressure was acute and a gasp escaped from her.
The sharp pleasure sizzled, painful even. The tenderness spread. Water pounded on her chest, dancing across her sensitized flesh. She moaned and closed her eyes. The shower’s fog—reminiscent of clouds from a storm mage—stayed with her.
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
Just the imagining of him was so seductive that touching her breasts had never been so sweet. The building heat between her legs became unbearable.
The spray washed over her, and she slid to the bottom of the tub while tracking a light touch over her skin amid the drops of water.
Her stroke found wet and swollen folds. Too eager to wait, she parted herself and stroked lightly over her slippery, tender flesh. A man like Griffin, would he get right to business, or tease?
“That’s it. Stroke that sugar. You want it, don’t you? You want it.”
His voice filled her head repeating, over and over, vulgar words that made her cream, made her hips hump the air—
cock, cock, cock
.
Her groan echoed in the tiled room.
Fingers circling, she teased her swollen bud. Once, twice. Her legs fell open to the water and the thick air around her. The shower pounded in her ears. The pressure built and she imagined Griffin there, between her legs, looking down at her with hunger, driving inside her.
“Make me come, Griffin.”
The wait was too much. The words from her lips drove her higher. She pressed her clit, rubbing herself and clenching all over, seeking. Her swollen folds were hot, sensitive, and her pussy wanted more, to be filled. She caught the wave of pleasure so fast, so intensely, she cried out.
A door shut in a muffled click.
Shaking, she shot up, slammed her eyes open and pushed aside the shower curtain. Her chest heaved and her legs quaked. A burn covered her cheeks as if she’d been caught masturbating, but the door was closed and her clothes still lay in front of it. No one had come in.
But fog filled the room. Not misty from a shower, the atmosphere was thicker, with a rain freshness to it like the outdoors. The hair on her arms rose. Heart still pounding, she managed to turn off the shower and stumble out. A heated towel rack was a blessing. She wrapped herself, toed her clothes out of the way and opened the door a crack.
Her room was hazy, as if the steam of the shower had filled the room—but it shouldn’t have.
There. On the floor near the door, her backpack.
That’s what she’d heard. Someone had delivered her things. She took a deep breath. Static saturated the air. It had to be Griffin who’d opened the door, put her things inside and left. He hadn’t come in while she’d been picturing him fucking her while she got herself off.
Water dripped into her eye. She blew out a long breath and brushed her wet hair back.
Her talent-partner wasn’t here at CTF. Neil would be hers. She’d grow to find him sexually attractive. She had to. Everyone thought he was the only para-talent that could be her partner. If she wanted a relationship, if she ever wanted marriage and children, someone to share herself with, then she had to accept it. One day, she’d picture him while she stroked her own clit. It didn’t mean anything that she’d never felt attraction to a man before, until now, until she’d met a mage who was her opposite. It couldn’t mean anything. She wouldn’t let it.
Shivering, she returned to the bathroom and finished drying.
When she was done, she quickly threw on a specially fitted pantset of her own design that had traveled well in her backpack. She’d have to remember to pitch the new line as travel-ready. Smiling, she grabbed her phone and headed downstairs. It didn’t matter if her brown-dyed hair was damp and unstyled. Or that she hadn’t perfected her makeup. She wasn’t here to snag anyone’s physical interest. Staying in her room wasn’t an option. Neither was dwelling on her attraction to Griffin and why she could possibly want a storm mage, much less a Cinder.
Pausing outside her door, she took in where she was. The scent of marinara sauce had her stomach leading the way.
The buzz of voices came from below. Clutching the stair rail, she hesitated. This was it, the performance of a lifetime. She rushed down the stairs and toward the kitchen before she could bolt out the front door.
“There you are. Come on, dig in.” Clarissa waved her forward from the other side of a large breakfast bar, the top some sort of dark granite. At a nearby table, Ray Cinder sat with his arms crossed and a straight expression that gave nothing away. And then there was Griffin.
Her breath caught and her bare feet slid to a halt on the tiled floor. Only supreme force of will and practice at hiding her thoughts from her mother kept the blush from her cheeks. She’d just masturbated to visions of this man, her enemy, the man she’d be lying to.
“And you checked on Daisy?” Ray asked Griffin, but they both stared at Astrid rather than looking at each other. She resisted the urge to back out of the room.
Griffin’s shoulders bunched beneath his dark t-shirt, which hugged his muscular form. Facing away, he presented that fine ass and his wild hair, which curled a bit as if dampened in humid air. “Have a seat, Astrid.”
His low, gruff voice sent shivers over her. The lines of his body bunching, he exposed his sharp profile, clutched the back of a chair and answered his brother. “They’re fine. They locked me out of Daisy’s room and have proceeded to fuck like bunnies.”
“Griff. Watch your mouth. We have a guest,” Clarissa chided. She filled two plates with pasta and brought them to the table, smiling a welcome for Astrid to join her.
Ray raised a brow and frowned at Griffin. “Yes. We have a guest. Mind your manners.”
“They’re honeymooning.” Griffin chuckled and shook his head. “I definitely know we have a guest. Trust me. I can’t forget. And I checked on Vince. Still out cold, tucked away in the clinic.” He pushed away from the chair and smirked at his brother. “Want me to get you a plate, since Clarissa is ignoring you again?”
“Please.” Ray faced Clarissa. “What did I do now?”
“It’s what you didn’t do.” Clarissa snapped a napkin open and put it across her lap. “Some of us would like their own honeymoons.”
Ray grabbed his glass of water and gulped instead of replying.
Astrid sat next to the other woman, who clearly knew how to push these men’s buttons. Clarissa was prettier in person than her file. The water mage had the cool personality expected of her kind and the rippling calm voice. Astrid found herself at ease.
Then, her skin shivered. Static she now recognized as Griffin’s storm aura, caressed her arms.
She stared into her plate as a warm presence sat across from her.
“Glad you found your backpack. You didn’t answer my knock, so I slipped it just inside your room.” Nothing showed on his face. He had no idea she’d been picturing him between her legs the moment he’d opened her door.
“Yes, thank you,” she managed.
“After you eat, I’ll make sure to find you a way home,” Griffin announced. Her chin snapped up to catch him slumping in his chair, his shoes knocking against her feet.
“Watch out. I’m barefoot.” An unexpected rush of fear overrode the blooming of attraction. Fear. For her enemy. That couldn’t be. She shouldn’t want to avoid draining his powers. That was what she was here for.
Ray rapped his knuckles on the table. “I will take her home, or wherever she needs to be, but first, will you be safe there? I still don’t know what Vince wanted with you.”
It didn’t make sense. That the Cinders would care if she were safe at home.
Griffin slapped the table. “Don’t harass the woman while she’s eating. Give it a rest. You have a few others you’ve collected that you can subject to the inquisition.”
“Touchy, aren’t you? What’s gotten you in a twister?”
“Boys.” Clarissa clinked against her water glass with a spoon. “Stop abusing the table and quiet down. How about we let Astrid answer one of those questions.”
Astrid grabbed her own water glass and drank to soothe her dry throat.
“Well. It’s late. I know our families are aligned, known to each other in a way, and if you don’t mind, since my mother doesn’t expect me back for a few days, I could stay here the night and tell you what I know.” She rambled. Her nerves were showing.