Spark of Sorcery (The Firestone Academy Book 2), page 31
“This one–”
“Might be worth breaking.”
My eyes flash. My fingers twitch and the shadows in my veins ache to touch her.
I close the distance between us until I’m standing right in front of her, the warmth of her skin – of her body and her blood – palatable. She tips her head back to stare up into my eyes and hers are the color of the forest back in Slate. So green, so welcoming, like home.
“Aren’t you afraid of me, little one?” I whisper to her, watching as the dark night of her pupils swallow up all that lush green and my fangs descend in my mouth.
“No,” she says. “I’m not afraid.”
She reaches out her hand and cups my face, running her palm over my cheek, stroking at my beard, and then, with a little caution, touch my fangs, sliding the pad of her thumb right down the enamel of my tooth to the sharp deadly point. She pricks her thumb against it and I have to breathe hard to stop myself from sinking that fang through her delicate skin.
“Sharp,” she whispers. “Do you want to … is that what you want?”
My stomach growls. Yes, I want that so fucking much, but there are other things I want just as much.
“No,” I say, “this is what I want.”
I curl my hand around the back of her skull and the other around her waist and drag her soft, warm body against mine and my mouth against hers.
I kiss her deep and slow and long like a girl ought to be kissed, like I haven’t done in years and years and her hands form fists in my shirt, her mouth moves invitingly against mine and her body presses against me.
I moan into her mouth and slide my hand from her waist, over the curve of her hip and to the rump of her ass. I squeeze it through the material of her T-shirt and pull her even more firmly against me so she’s hard against my stiff erection.
A little whimper bubbles in her throat and she rubs herself against me.
Fuck!
There’s no turning back now, no stepping away from this. I’m in too deep. Nothing could tempt me to step away from her needy kiss and her inviting body.
I slip my hand under the hem of her shirt and brush my fingers against the gusset of her panties. Eros was right. Damp. She’s already wet.
I groan.
My hand travels down to her thigh and I squeeze that too, lifting her leg to curl around me so I can grind against her. She follows my lead, rubbing herself against me, both of us finding pleasure in the friction, lost in the feel of each other’s bodies. Mine hard and cold; hers soft and warm.
I move my hand from the back of her head, fingers stroking over her hair and then to her throat. I stroke along the artery that runs there, feeling her pulse dancing against my fingers.
“Shit,” I mutter. She whimpers again and I can’t help but grind myself into her core with more force and more urgency.
We’re standing in the center of her room making out and dry humping like I haven’t done since I was a kid back in Slate Quarter. It’s so innocent, so raw, so different from everything that came later, from all the twisted stuff I did with her.
It’s a relief. Like a rebirth. Like an absolution.
Her mouth falters against mine, her thigh shakes in my hand and her head falls backward.
She’s close.
“Come on, little one, come for me. I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”
I grind my hard cock right along where she needs me most and she falls apart, a long strangled cry rushing from her lips and blood racing to the surface of her skin in beautiful crimson waves.
I can’t help myself, I slip my hand up her thigh, into her panties, and trace along the plush lips of her pussy. Her body shakes in my arms.
“Fox,” she murmurs, right by my ear, her breath hot. “Please.”
And how can I refuse her? I slide my finger right into her cunt. She’s wet and warm and she squeezes around my finger in waves of convulsion. It’s too much. I follow after her, grunting and orgasming like I haven’t done in years.
Free of shame. Free of repulsion. Free of self-loathing.
I’m too lost in her to feel any of that.
My finger still buried in her pussy, I scoop her up with my other arm and carry her backwards to the narrow rickety bed, dropping her down onto the hard mattress and crawling between her legs.
“Think you can do that again, pretty girl?” I say, sliding my finger from her.
“Do what?” she says, lips swollen from my kisses, face flushed, hair coming loose from its braid. She looks like every fucking teacher’s worst nightmare.
“Come,” I growl and slide two fingers inside her this time, stretching her open a little more, testing her. Could she take me? Could this tight pussy fit my cock inside? I reach high inside her searching for that spot. I know when I find it because she squeals, hips rising from the bed. “Fuck, yes,” I say, stroking at it until she’s writhing and bucking on my fingers, her arousal trickling down my hand to my wrist.
“Fox,” she pants.
“Professor,” I remind her, because fuck, if we’re doing this, we may as well do it properly.
She scowls at me but she still does as I say. “Professor.”
“Yes, Miss Storm.”
I brush my thumb against her clit as I massage that spot inside her and she loses her ability to speak. Her eyes roll back in their sockets and her eyelids flutter shut.
She’s fucking beautiful and I lean into her, squeezing at her breast through her shirt and pressing my lips against that pounding pulse of hers, feeling her blood flowing right below the surface.
I kiss that spot, then lick my tongue up and down that vessel full of her sweet blood, all the time playing with her sensitive little nub and the spot inside her cunt.
“So pretty,” I murmur and she likes that, her pulse racing even faster. I kiss her a little harder, scraping my fangs against the tender skin and she comes for me a second time. I feel her orgasm in her cunt – in the way it squeezes and milks my fingers. I feel it in her clit – the thing quivering against my touch. But most of all I feel it in her pulse – feel it fluttering against my lips and my tongue.
I screw up my eyes and drag myself away from her.
Because it would be so easy – so easy when she’s drowsy and content with her orgasm – to sink my fangs into her neck and drink from her.
So easy.
But I won’t do it. I am not a monster.
As I pull away, she opens her eyes and blinks up at me.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“Does what hurt, little one? Are you telling me you haven’t–”
“No,” she says, her brows knotting together. “What is it with you men and your obsession with virgin–”
“What did you mean?”
My fingers are still buried in her cunt and reluctantly I slide them out of her. She frowns a little harder.
I’m covered in her arousal and I want nothing more than to plunge my fingers into my mouth and suck them clean. But I’m hanging on by the barest of threads here and that could be the thing that snaps it.
Instead, I wipe my fingers on the bed sheets and wave my hand through the air, using my magic to clean myself up.
She props herself up on her elbows. Her shirt’s pulled up around her waist. Her panties are yanked to one side. One of her legs dangles over my lap, the other rests behind me. She’s exposed and I can’t drag my eyes away from her pretty pussy.
I lick my lips. What I’d give to taste it. What I’d give to sink more than my fingers into her.
But I can’t trust myself. There’s only so much control a half-man half-monster can command.
“When you feed?” she says, her gaze fixed on my fangs. “Does it hurt the person you feed from?” She reaches up and touches the side of her neck. My attention there has left a mark.
I swallow. Hard.
“For the briefest of moments, yes. But there’s something in my kind’s saliva that is numbing and soothing.”
For a moment I think she might offer up her throat to me. But to my relief the moment passes.
“I have to go,” I say. “I’ve already stayed too long.”
“When will I see you, Professor?”
“In class I imagine, Miss Storm.” I hesitate. “You know we have to keep this a secret, don’t you? For now.”
“But if we truly are fated mates–”
“This situation is unusual,” I tell her. A commoner a mate of someone like Beaufort Lincoln. It’s unheard of. And then for her to be my mate too – a man not bonded to the others by fate. I’ve never heard of it before. “And that is dangerous for all of us.”
She nods and I kiss her again.
As I’m descending the steps of her tower, listening and searching the shadows for who may be watching, I consider if my words were disingenuous.
This situation is most dangerous for me. I am playing with fire.
I halt on the stairs and lean against the wall, the image of her hand stroking down her throat vivid in my mind, stealing away the cold breath in my lungs.
I was disingenuous to her then as well.
The magic in a vampire’s bite is more than just numbing, far more than soothing.
It’s like an opioid. It has the victim swimming in ecstasy, begging for the feeder to feed from them again and again.
And that’s why I will never feed from her.
I am not like the Princes.
I have no desire to make her my slave.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Briony
If I thought I was confused after all those revelations back at the clinic, I’m even more confused after that encounter with Fox in my room.
I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel about it.
Frightened?
This wasn’t how my time in the academy was meant to go. I was meant to keep my head down and learn the truth about my sister. Instead, I’m not only tangling myself up with three of the academy’s shadow weavers, I’m also messing around with one of the teachers.
Couple that with the dragon I have loose in the forest and I’m clearly asking for trouble.
Guilty?
Beaufort said he wouldn’t stand in my way with Fox but there’s a niggle in my gut that won’t go away. One that tells me I’ve been unfaithful or wronged them or something.
As I dress the next morning, I meet my reflection in the mirror. There’s the faintest of bruises on my throat from where Fox sucked on my neck, his fingers inside me.
A little whimper bubbles out of my mouth.
I shake my head.
What the hell am I becoming?
Before I arrived at the academy, I’d slept with one man and one man only. Now I’m sleeping with four – or at least, I’d like to be. It’s pretty damn confusing. Am I meant to feel this way? Or am I seriously screwed up?
I decide the only way to know is to talk to them about it like Clare suggested.
Yeah, who the hell am I? Because talking, sharing my feelings – that is not my usual go-to response. Are they changing me? Or is it this place?
I shut the wardrobe door and head off for my lessons. There won’t be a chance to speak with the Princes until tonight.
After dinner, Thorne meets me behind the academy buildings and we walk out the back way to the forest, right into the heart of the trees until we find Blaze. On the way we talk about mundane stuff – today’s lessons, if my injuries are still hurting, the upcoming trial. After I’ve spent an hour throwing sticks for Blaze, we walk back and I blurt out what I’ve been wanting to say the whole time.
“I need to talk to the three of you,” I say. His gaze springs my way. “I need to talk to you about Fox.”
“Professor Tudor?” he asks. I nod. “Okay.”
We don’t speak again until we reach the Princes’ tower. He opens the door and instructs me to take a seat in the lounge while he goes to fetch the others.
I’m too nervous to sit though, choosing to pace around the room instead as I bite at the inside of my cheek.
“Hey Kitten,” Dray says a couple of minutes later, bounding into the room. “This isn’t a Wednesday or a Saturday. Do we get more regular visits now?”
He skips right up to me, hooks an arm around my waist and drags me in for a long hard kiss. There’s pure delight and excitement sparking in his eyes when he pulls away. At least, there is until his eyes land on that bruise on my neck.
Oh crap!
“What’s that?” he asks, frowning as the other two join us in the room.
“It’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I wriggle out of his embrace and take a decided step away. I can’t think straight pressed up against his hard body.
“What’s what?” Beaufort asks, hands deep in his pockets.
“A hickey,” Dray says, “on her neck. You responsible for that, Beau?”
“No,” he says, frowning.
“It was F– Professor Tudor,” I blurt out.
“Fuck,” Beaufort says, taking a step towards me. “Did he try to bite you?”
“No!” I say. “But …” I swallow, “we … did make out.”
I flick my gaze around their faces. Why do I care about how they are going to react to this news? Is it because I don’t want to hurt them? Is it because – as hard as I’ve tried – I’m developing feelings for these men?
My gaze falls to the floor and my throat constricts.
Damn it, Briony!
It’s just sex. That’s all it is.
“Is that what you came here to tell us?” Beaufort asks. His voice is neutral and I can tell by the tone he’s struggling to keep it that way – none of the usual snark or annoyance.
I look back up at him. He’s struggling to keep his face neutral too.
“Just made out?” My eyes flick to Dray. He’s smirking at me with wickedness in his eyes. “I find it hard to believe that’s all you did, knowing you, Kitten.”
“It was a little more than kissing,” I admit.
“Did you sleep with him?” Beaufort asks.
I shake my head.
“Did he touch you?” Dray asks, eyes glinting even more.
I hesitate, then I nod.
“Did he make you come?” Dray licks his lips.
I nod again. Dray grins like a maniac. Beaufort’s face remains neutral.
With trepidation, and for the first time, I peek at Thorne.
For once, his face isn’t neutral. His neck is corded, his jaw hard and his eyes … his eyes are swimming with hurt.
The sight of this man – so strong, so stoic, so damn hard – with pain like that in his eyes, breaks me. Tears prickle behind my eyes.
“Oh Thorne,” I gasp, reaching out towards him, then remembering and pulling my hands away. “Beaufort said … I didn’t mean … I would never …” My words fade away. I inhale and exhale, shame burning my cheeks. “I betrayed you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Beaufort says softly. “You’re his mate – just like you are ours. It’s what fate wants and we can’t stand in front of that – none of us can.”
I shake my head. “Thorne disagrees,” I mutter.
Beaufort and Dray turn to look at their friend.
The usually emotionless shadow weaver, screws shut his eyes. His shoulders rise and fall, and then he opens them again.
“You haven’t betrayed me, Briony,” he says.
“Then why does it look like I broke your heart,” I cry out.
He looks a little startled at my outburst. A sad smile flickers briefly over his face, then fades away, and it has those tears in my eyes rolling.
“It’s not …” He meets my eyes. “It’s what I want. I want to kiss you, Briony. I want to touch you.”
We gaze at each other over a distance. A distance that feels so vast. A distance that neither of us can close.
“I know,” I whisper. “I want that too.”
The pain spirals in his eyes again and then he’s turning and walking away.
“Thorne,” I cry, rushing forward, but Beaufort catches me in his arms.
“Don’t Briony,” he says gently, “you’ll only make it worse. Just let him be.”
“It isn’t fair,” I sob.
“Nothing is in this life,” Beaufort says, holding me tight.
Beaufort lets me sob into his chest, wrapping his arms around me and gently shushing me as he glides his warm palms up and down my spine.
All the intimate things we’ve done together and none has felt as intimate as this. It makes me cry even harder because as I do, I realize I’m not just crying about Thorne, about this twisted situation, I’m crying about it all. The loss of my sister. The loss of my dad. All the cruel, nasty things Muriel ever said or did to me. How alone I felt. How lonely I’ve been.
All of it comes rushing to the surface and I ugly cry against Beaufort, leaving a wet mark on his shirt.
When there are no more tears to cry, he guides me gently to a chair, lowers me into it and swipes all the wetness from my face with his thumbs.
“Better?” he asks, resting his forefinger under my chin and tipping it upwards so I’m looking up into his face.
“A bit,” I confess.
“Want some ice cream? A hot chocolate?”
“Something with a bit more kick?” Dray asks, from where he’s watching us from the other side of the room.
“Ice cream, please,” I say. “I’ve never had one before.”
Beaufort pinches my chin affectionately, then pads away and Dray comes to sit by my feet.
“You really wanna touch Thorne that much, huh?” he asks, his vibrant eyes dancing over what must be my messed-up face.
I can’t help giggling. “It’s just been a lot. Everything that’s happened, I mean.”
“But, you do want to touch him?” he asks me, tugging off my boots and taking my feet into his lap, beginning to massage the soles with his thumbs.
“Jeez, that feels good,” I say, sinking further into the armchair.
“I’m exceedingly talented at making you feel good, Kitten,” he purrs, and I can’t help smiling again. “But, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes,” I confess. “I want to touch him. I want to touch all of you. Does that make me messed up?”
