Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

At her surrender, a growl escaped from deep in his chest. Pulling her thigh higher over his ass, he gripped her hair and held her to him as if he were afraid she’d escape.

Moans filled the air. The erotic sounds drowned out the noise of the engine until nothing existed but Joss. The rocking of their bodies drove a tide in her, a wave that was about to fold in on itself and crush in a chaos of mauling water and foam.

She gripped his shoulders, regretting the fabric that prevented her from feeling his skin. She wanted nothing between them. When she arched her back, he cursed. He kissed a path to the hollow of her throat. She offered her neck. If he asked, she’d give him her blood. Tightening his grip in her hair, he brushed a thumb over the seam of her shorts. He didn’t break the kiss as he traced her folds through the fabric.

The pressure built, pleasure tightening her body. When he pressed the pad of his thumb on her clit, she nearly came apart. With deft fingers, he massaged in circles, finally pushing her over the edge.

Spots dotted her vision. Heat singed her skin as an orgasm contracted her muscles. He’d conquered and wrecked her body with nothing but the pad of his thumb. Aftershocks prolonged the pleasure. Arching her back, she rubbed against him to relieve the ache, to make it stop.

“Yes,” he said, his voice warm with praise as he finally let up and folded his arms around her.

How could she feel like this without shedding a piece of clothing?

“Fuck, Cle.” He raked his teeth down her neck and bit down softly on the hickey he’d left.

She was panting, deliciously satisfied and dissatisfied simultaneously, feeling sated but empty.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I didn’t even take off your clothes. Imagine what I’d do to you when you’re naked.”

A shiver ran over her as she imagined exactly that.

Lifting up on his arms, he cupped her face. The silver of his eyes swirled with emotions—guilt, need, and conflict. Regret.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, the heat vanishing from her body and leaving her skin cold.

He rolled away from her and sat up with his elbows on his knees and his fingers interlaced behind his head. “I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”

She blinked at his back. He was right. Then why did the rejection feel like a shard of glass in her heart?

He dragged his hands over his head. “I need to catch this pyromancist.” Glancing sideways at her, he asked, “Do you understand?”

They were enemies. They could never be anything else.

“There’s no future for us,” she said, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees.

His expression became pained. It was the same tormented look he wore so well when he was younger. “It’ll be so easy to break you.”

Was that what he thought, how he saw her? Weak? She pushed off the bed. “Go to hell.” Pointing at the door, she said, “Get out.”

He got to his feet. “I’m already in hell.”

She watched his back as he moved to the door, her whole body shaking. She wanted to both call him back and kick him out. Her heart wanted to beg him to stay while her mind said it was better this way. When he opened the door, she almost faltered.

“Maybe Cain was right,” he said, pausing in the frame with his back to her. “You best call Maya if you need anything.” He left and shut the door with a bang.

“I do need something,” Clelia whispered to the closed door, “but I can’t have it.” Neither her freedom, nor his love.Chapter 15For all of ten seconds, Clelia stood frozen on the spot, staring at the door through which Joss had vanished. When a knock fell, she couldn’t help the pang of joy or the irrational hope that surfaced through logical reason and wrongs.

Yanking the door open, she said, “Joss, I—” and then swallowed the rest of her words.

Maya stood on the threshold. “I saw Joss leave in a bit of a rage. Is everything all right?”

Her grip tightened on the door handle. “What do you care?”

“Listen, I’m trying.”

“Trying what?”

“Never mind. Cain wants to see you.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Let’s go.” Maya turned and made her way to the stairs.

Knowing it was futile to resist, Clelia followed Maya to the upper deck. Bono leaned on the rail, staring at the islands they passed. As they rounded the starboard, Clelia’s foot hooked in a coil of rope. She stumbled.

Just as Bono jumped forward, grabbing her arms to steady her, Joss manifested as if from thin air, all but growling as he took in the scene.

Bono smiled, the gesture warm and genuine. “Careful. The deck is slippery.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Joss took a wide stance. “Get your hands off her.”