Necromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 6)

“Alice … so goddamn hot.”

Her channel contracted around him. She was going to orgasm, again. He let go of his control and gave back with the same intensity she took. Their bodies slammed together with frantic need, pushing them both over the edge. Little tremors shook her body as she came. He pumped twice more, and then his own release scorched the tip of his cock and filled her body. There was no possession more satisfying than coming inside her.

He took a much-needed minute to catch his breath before pulling out. Alice still trembled underneath him. He didn’t know if it was from cold, exhaustion, or pushing her to the limit of her pain tolerance, but she could do with a warm shower. After adjusting his jeans, he picked her up in his arms and headed for the stairs. There was no resistance from her, only acceptance as she rested her head on his shoulder.

On the landing, he stopped between two doors. “Which one?”

“Left.”

The contented little sigh she uttered made him smile inwardly.

Like the rest of the house, her room looked warm and comfortable with a colorful quilt on the bed and a rocking chair in the corner. In the en-suite bathroom, he turned on the shower and washed them both before wrapping first her and then himself in a towel. While he dressed, Alice took a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from the dresser and turned her back on him to pull on the clothes. He grinned at her modesty. When she turned unexpectedly, she caught him red-handed, ogling her ass. She blushed a little, which always gave the rainbow around her face a pink undertone.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Back in the kitchen, he watched her heat up some leftover dish but paid no attention to what she was eating. All of his senses were focused on the way her lips worked as she chewed dainty bites. Even if he was turning hard again, Alice was yawning.

He waited patiently for her to finish her meal and load the dishwasher before he headed back to the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“To bed.”

“Ivan.”

The panic in her voice had him grinning.

“Ivan, you can’t stay here.”

He didn’t break his stride. “Why not?”

“If someone sees you…”

He paused in the middle of the stairs and turned with a raised brow. “So what if someone sees me?”

“It’ll be all over the news. I don’t want to be caught up in that.”

He went back down and stopped in front of her. “No one will see me.” He cupped her cheek. “Only with you, the voices are quiet.”

Her demeanor softened with a slight drop of her shoulders.

“Let me stay.” He offered his hand, waiting to see what her decision would be.

After a short hesitation, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her back to the bedroom. He settled behind her on the bed, pulling her back to his chest and circling one arm around her waist. Kissing the top of her head, he closed his eyes.

Images of the last time he’d been in her bed assaulted him. How easy it would’ve been to manipulate her spirit, to make her defy her parents and to choose him over everything. Back then, he’d already known his power. A single thought, a simple command, and she would’ve walked to him through snow, hail, and fire. He could make her obey him now, if he wanted, but not like that, not by using his art to manipulate her. He wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge. It was too late for love, but he’d take everything else left, including her body, her pride, and her defenses. That was the only way to ensure she’d always belong to him. It was the only way he knew.

The first thing Alice became aware of upon waking was Ivan’s warm body wrapped around hers. His arm was thrown over her stomach, and his head rested on her chest. A feeling close to happiness spread through her, until she remembered the reason why Ivan was in her bed.

The ever-present voices in his head scared her. She worried for him. He said it was better when she was around but for how long? Was there a cure for what he had? What did he suffer from? She couldn’t even name it. Sometimes, Ivan was like Jekyll and Hyde. He’d be suffering and helpless in one instant and dominant and seductive in the next. If she didn’t understand what was wrong, she couldn’t help him. Was he schizophrenic? Instinctively, she knew a psychiatrist wasn’t what he needed. She didn’t know what he needed to heal him from the voices or the suffering of his past.

With a weary sigh, she looked at the alarm clock and shrieked. It was half past seven. Ivan’s long lashes lifted, his gaze immediately fully present and attentive as he blinked at her.