Caine tries to jerk his hand back, but I hold on, my fingers tightening around his wrist. No way I’m letting him pull away now. The strange current between us is back, and I’m determined to figure it out, damn it.
Otherwise I can’t hold Bun.
“It’s too dangerous,” he snaps, but his resistance is already faltering. Though his muscles remain taut with tension, he stops trying to break free of my grip.
“I’m never going to learn to control whatever this is if you don’t touch me,” I say, my voice far steadier than the lack of certainty in my head. I can feel it, but it doesn’t mean I’ll be able to control it. Still, I want to try. “You can’t protect me by keeping me in the dark about my own power, Caine.
He groans, dropping his head forward until his dark hair falls across his face. “Look at yourself, Grace. You’re exhausted. Weak. You need rest, not… experiments.”
“I feel fine right now.” I straighten my spine, trying to look stronger than I probably appear. “You just need to stop if I start looking… bad.”
A corner of his mouth twitches up despite everything; I can see it, even from this angle. “You’ll never look bad.”
I blink, momentarily thrown off balance. “Are you seriously flirting with me in the middle of this conversation?” I push indignation into my voice even as I fight the smile threatening to form. Butterflies dance in my belly. 1
He looks up with a sigh, but his mouth is still half–quirked in amusement. “You’re killing me, Grace.”
Goddess. Every time he says my name…
Dear and darling do it, too.
Basically any time he looks at me like that, I’m drowning in a sea of tingly, throbbing feelings.
“I thought you were the one killing me, though?” I counter, trying to make the atmosphere a little less… seductive.
140 Grace: Zero to Sexty
He growls low In his throat. It doesn’t help the throbbing down below, damn it, that not what I mean.”
Okay, Better not to talk at all.
“Hush. I’m concentrating” I turn his palm around, my heart racing as I slide my hand against his. Even the slide of his callused palm against mine sends frissons of excitement through my skin, and I fight the urge to wiggle. If I do, my reaction will be obvious, and the last thing I need is to be obvious..
I lock our fingers together, squeezing slightly as I focus on the strange sensation flowing between us and not the throbbing between my thighs. This time it’s easier to feel. Not just sense, but actually feel the current passing from me to him.
My eyes squeeze shut as I concentrate harder. My face scrunches. I probably look ridiculous.
Whatever this energy is, I need to grab it, control it. But it’s like trying to hold water- completely fluid, passing through my mental “hands” no matter how I try to grasp it.
Then, behind my closed eyelids, I see it–a glowing golden thread. No, not one thread- countless threads, pulsing and alive, connecting our joined hands. I can see our fingers, or at least strange, luminous outlines of them, like x–ray images dunked in a sea of iridescent rainbows.
Fascinated, I mentally reach out, stroking the threads with my consciousness. They respond, vibrating like harp strings. 1
Caine groans–not in my mind but out loud, the sound rumbling from his chest and shaking the bed a little.
My eyes snap open, but I don’t lose the sensation. The golden threads remain visible in my mind’s eye even as I focus on Caine’s face. His jaw is clenched, cheeks flushed with
heat.
I stroke the energy threads again, experimenting, and his whole body goes rigid. His eyes darken, pupils expanding until there’s barely any gray left, and they drop to fix on my lips.
The intensity he exudes steals my breath.
“Um, I think I-” The words die in my throat as he lunges forward.
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148 Grace. Zerb to Sexty
His mouth crashes into mine, desperate and hungry. The force of his movemen me falling backward onto the bed, his weight pressing me down into the mattre energy between us explodes from controlled threads Into a raging river–wild, untamable, impossible to grasp.
But i can’t focus on that anymore. Not with his lips devouring mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth with bruising urgency. His hands move down my body with frantic need, finding my breasts and squeezing them through my shirt, fingers digging in hard enough to make me gasp against his mouth.
The air around us suddenly smells sweet. My skin’s on fire. One of his hands shoves up my shirt as I try to wrest his off; we’re a tangled mess of kissing and shirts and oh my Goddess, his hand is in my bra and he’s pinching my nipple hard enough to hurt.
Except it doesn’t.
It does, but it doesn’t.
I give up on pulling his shirt off and grab at his other hand, shoving it down to my pants.
“We can’t-” Caine murmurs against my lips, even as his fingers fumble for the zipper. “Can,” I say, even though energy’s surging through me at an alarming rate and I have literally zero control over it. But if he doesn’t touch me, I might actually die. My entire body’s strung tight, going from zero to sexty in one kiss.
His lips slant over mine again, his tongue shoving past my teeth in a crude and way–too–sexy–for–these–sloppy–noises enactment of what exactly he wants to do to
my body.
And he’s taking too damn long to get my pants off.
So I help him, popping the buckle and jerking them down my hips, kicking them off in panicked need as he rips off my panties. Just rips them off. It must be a thing for him, because he destroyed Lyre’s shirt the last time, too.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he mutters against my mouth as his fingers slide through it all.
I whimper, my entire body ready to explode. He leans back, pressing gently against my core with a finger as he growls, “Do you have control, Grace?”
The lie feels natural. I should lie. Say yes, let him do whatever he wants to me, and
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to
148 Grace: Zera la Sexty
damn the consequences. I want it more than anything.
But… those consequences aren’t small.
So I shake my head slightly as he stares down at me with arousal–darkened eyes and whisper, “Not yet.”
“Take control, Grace.” His finger slips in with the slightest stretch, and I arch my hips with a moan. “Now.”
66
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!!!!!!!!!!
Lenaleia
147 Grace: Squeeze
a
His finger pushes deeper, hitting a perfect, toe–curling spot. Inside me.
I can’t think, can’t breathe–can only feel. The energy between us rushes like a freaking tidal wave; it’s become millions of threads, impossible to contain as it overwhelms every rational thought.
He curls and drives his finger just right, dragging moans out of me with every slow grind, and it’s absolute madness in my head.
My hips buck against his hand with a will of their own. I’m grinding down, chasing the pressure, the friction, desperate for more. The golden threads connecting us pulse brighter with each movement, multiplying until they’re all I can see behind half–closed
eyes.
“Do you have control, Grace?”
Fuck. I was supposed to be focusing.
His voice is strained, as if he’s hanging onto his restraint by a thread.
Me, too.
I shake my head–wildly, desperately, honestly. The confession burns my pride, but lying now would be catastrophic.
I’m trying–I swear I’m trying–but every time he curls his fingers–fuck–my brain goes
blank.
He growls, the sound rumbling through the room and straight to my clit. His free hand grabs my chin, fingers digging into my jaw as he claims my mouth again–wet, open, demanding. His tongue sweeps inside, commanding rather than asking, and I surrender willingly.
The energy surges between us, doubling in intensity. I feel it everywhere–not just where his finger works inside me, but racing along my skin, crackling through my veins, setting fire to every nerve ending and diving into him at every goddamn opportunity.
His finger curls, pressing hard against a swollen spot deep inside, and I cry out ag
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147 Grace: Squeeze
his mouth. He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, working me with ruthless precision.
pressure, the tension, the way
I arch. I can’t not. My back arches hard, and I clutch the sheets as if they’ll anchor me can’t even tell what I’m reacting to anymore–the everything slick and perfect keeps winding me tighter, the magic racing wild beneath my skin.
OF
I should be doing something–anything–but my brain’s gone completely sideways,
No control.
No thought.
Just sensation, heat, pulse, and more. Too much and not enough all at once. I think I’m panting. Or maybe whimpering. Goddess, he’s going to kill me with this.
The golden threads in my mind’s eye are so bright I can’t look directly at them anymore. They’re searing white at the center, blinding, overwhelming. I try–really try -to grasp them, to contain them, but it’s impossible.
It’s like trying to hold onto an orgasm on the edge of freaking heaven, and I might actually explode if I try. But also I might die if he doesn’t…
No.
It’s too much.
I have to tell him…
Fuck, it feels so good. The way his fingers slam inside, how his thumb rubs at my clit, the way my entire body’s coiled and about to-
“You have to stop,” I gasp, tearing my mouth from his. “I can’t–it’s too much-
He pulls away like he’s been burned, yanking his hand back and rearing up on his knees above me. “Fuck!” The curse rips from him, his chest heaving as he stares at me like a wild man.
It’s awkward.
Of course it’s fucking awkward.
I was a literal half–second from glory and he hasn’t even gotten a hint of release y
147 Grace: Squeeze
and I slammed the brakes right in the middle of my whimpering puddle of
almost–orgasm.
For a moment, he just stares down at me, eyes wild. Then he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly, deliberately licks them clean, his eyes locked on mine
the entire time.
My core clenches painfully at the sight. It’s a claim, pure and simple. An ownership of my pleasure, my taste, my desire.
Shit.
I want him to do it again.
I’m wrecked beneath him–thoroughly undone, breathless and flushed. My shirt clings where it shouldn’t, and my whole body feels like it’s been rung out and left wanting. I throb in all the wrong places, desperate and unsatisfied.
The broken current between us leaves tingles skimming over my skin. Magic jitters in my veins, sparking and seeking release, trapped just beneath the surface as it makes my fingers twitch and my legs weak..
He probably feels the same. Maybe even worse, judging by how the bulge in his pants
strains.
My gaze flicks up to his face, only to find him now staring directly between my thighs. The heat in his eyes could melt steel. Shit. That’s hot, too.
Everything about him has me on fire.
He holds out a hand silently, offering connection again. I hesitate only a second before reaching up. Our fingertips brush–and a spark slams through me, forcing
reconnection. My body jerks on the bed, back arching involuntarily, but I force myself -to maintain contact.
It’s not a rush anymore, but a steady stream of a few threads. It’s fine. I can
do this.
I need to get control of this. Need to understand it. Need to master it. @ Slowly, we link our fingers again, palm to palm. The arcane surge builds once more- slower this time, but no less intense. Strong. Erotic. Inexorable.
I try again to control it, focusing on pulling the energy back toward me, trying to yank
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147 Grace: Squeeza
it into submission. Nothing happens. The flow continues unabated, moving between us, a current I can’t redirect.
Caine’s face is tight with strain, his body trembling. His knuckles are white where he grips the sheets with his free hand. I’m not doing any better–my body’s tight as a bowstring, every muscle clenched in anticipation.
I want more.
Need more.
A kiss can’t be that bad, right? I should be able to handle a kiss without losing control completely.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, the words escaping before I can think better of it. Stupid idea. Bad Grace. I can’t even handle holding hands, what makes me think I can handle a kiss?
But I want it.
“No,” he growls, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut tight. The tendons in his neck stand out like cords. “If I do–I’ll lose control.”
Damn him and his responsibility and smart choices. Must be nice.
Frustration and arousal build in equal measure. I shift on the bed, wiggling just slightly to ease the ache between my legs.
The effect on him is immediate and devastating.
Caine groans, his head tilting back to expose the strong column of his throat, his hands fisting in the sheets beside my hips. “Don’t move like that,” he rasps. “Don’t smell like
that.”
I freeze, but my mind races, desperate for a solution. Pulling didn’t work. Maybe… This time, I stop trying to pull the energy back. Instead, I imagine squeezing it–like gripping a garden hose to slow the water flow. I focus on compressing the golden threads with my mind or whatever the fuck I’m using, applying pressure rather than direction.
The energy flow slows. Not/stops–but definitely slows. My eyes widen. Holy shit. It’s working.
147 Grace: Squeeze
Caine’s reaction is immediate and visceral. A groan tears from his throat, his hips jerking forward Involuntarily. A low snarl escapes him, primal and uncontrolled. “Whatever you just did-” he pants, eyes flying open to fix on mine, “-don’t do that I stare up at him, chest heaving. “What if I do it again?”
His eyes narrow in warning, but I’m not deterred. I squeeze again, applying more mental pressure to the energy flow.
This time, Caine drops to all fours over me, his face buried against my neck, his body caging mine. The snarl that vibrates against my skin is barely human.
And then he bites me.
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