The Immortal (Rise of the Warlords 2) - Page 57

Realization acted as a wrecking ball to her desire. Here she was, enjoying him, falling deeper into like with him, wanting and needing, even though she claimed to need nothing, and they might not be fated. Stinging disappointment set in, any remnants of the sensual fog lifting.

Halo noticed the change in her demeanor and heaved a sigh. “We’re done for now, aren’t we?”

“We are.” Maybe for good. She extracted from his force field of hotness and bent to retrieve her dirty dress. Um...maybe she would be better off returning to her bunkroom naked?

“Let me guess. You don’t wish to discuss it now or later.” A clean dress materialized in his hand. He tossed the garment her way, and she caught it with ease.

“You are correct.” Vulnerabilities were hitting her left and right. Another gamble, another loss. Things were getting complicated now, real feelings developing.

The third time might be the charm. But what if it wasn’t?

He stuffed his erection behind his zipper. “What changed?”

“Hard pass,” she said, donning her new duds. A sheer gown of the palest pink, with embroidered bloodred roses. Perhaps the finest, softest fabric ever to grace her body—and it fit perfectly. “I’ve got things to do. Namely, take a shower and study.” If she had to navigate the day saturated in his scent, a constant reminder of his touch, she would not survive. “We’ve done enough prattling. We have a task to dominate, yes?”

“We don’t. I do. And just to be clear, you are refusing to answer another question?”

“Ding, ding, ding.” We don’t, she mocked internally.

“Then I’m allowed another kiss,” he stated.

Um, what the what? She reared back from him, pressing a hand over her racing heart. “Don’t you dare.” Her defenses required repairs.

“Don’t worry. I will wait,” he said, rising, somehow turning the assurance into a threat.

“I can help you win, Halo. You just have to give me a chance.”

“There will be no chances. You will stay safe from this day forward.” His voice hardened. “There will be no more dying for you.”

Oh, there would be plenty more. He just wouldn’t know it.

Glaring at him, she anchored her hands on her hips. “Regale me with what it is you expect me to do while I’m staying safe.”

He spread his arms, as if he were the last sane male in the universe. “Enjoy the pleasures I heap upon you. That is your only job now, female. If you aren’t fully satisfied with the company perks, we can reevaluate after I ascend. But who knows? You might love your new career path.”

No need for a third try. This condescending prick soooo was not her consort or entwine. “I feel sorry for your gravita. I really do.”

16

Halo braced a hand on the bathroom sink, bowed his head and fumed. Ophelia felt sorry for his gravita.

Sorry. For herself. Possibly.

Meanwhile, the battle to control his desire for her was proving to be the most grueling of his existence. She showered only a few feet away. Naked. Wet. A living siren’s call he desperately needed to escape. Just for a moment. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave her side.

He hadn’t lied. He wanted her within his sights at every moment. Whatever he did today, tomorrow, and every day after, he did with the harpy. No matter the cost to his calm.

For the survival of his mind, however, he kept his back to her. Another new experience. He never put his back to anyone but the Astra. Never trusted anyone else enough. But here? Now? Risk stealing a peek at her luscious body? No. Listening to her was difficult enough.

First had come the rustle of her clothing as she’d stripped. Then the patter of water droplets as they sluiced over her skin. Now throaty moans of bliss escaped her. The same moans of bliss she released when he’d had his fingers inside her.

His hand quivered as he cleaned his torso with a soapy rag, removing any lingering evidence of his pleasure. He’d never climaxed so hard. And yet he still ached for the female. As if he were the nymph!

Each time he tasted of her desire, things inside him went nuclear. Thoughts, emotions, physical responses. Afterward, nothing ever quite returned to normal.

He examined his reflection in the mirror. Flushed, taut skin. But no lines of tension. Were his irises sparkling? A corner of his mouth lifted, as if he fought a smile. Which couldn’t be right. Because he was furious with her. Positively steaming, like the glass walls of the stall, shielding Ophelia from his view. His gravita—whoever she was—would be envied. No one would have cause to pity her. She would be protected, safe from harm, always. He would give her untold satisfaction. Never-ending satisfaction. Leave my embrace then, nymph. If you can.

A harsh punch of self-disgust wiped his smile away. What was Ophelia doing to him? Why did she shut him out after a climax? Why hadn’t he created stardust for her?

Tags: Gena Showalter Rise of the Warlords Fantasy
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