Chapter Thirty

Will knew what she was seeing. He knew what she must have been thinking. In that crazy moment of blessed bliss, he felt like if he’d wanted to he could have delved into her mind and read the thoughts like a vampire. Or something more than a vampire.

Like a god.

Her touch so warm, so gentle, was a salve on a soul he hadn’t even realized was wounded. It had laid open and bleeding for what felt like eons. But the moment she tenderly took him in her hands and gazed into his eyes, he began to heal. And he knew he was right.

All he wanted in the multiverse was this woman right here. He would do anything for her. She made him complete. Whole. Even invincible.

There in the heat of his empowered gaze, he knew she saw something frightening. He could feel it infiltrating his form, sinking into his muscle and bone, flowing through his blood. He heard something distant like the ticking of a million clocks, and he could have sworn they were ticking away inside him. And he didn’t care.

Only Helena mattered.

As he rose above her and opened his eyes and captured her with ages of longing, he knew this was the telling moment, the deciding factor. This was zero hour.

What would she do? Would she run from him? Would he let her?

She said nothing as she stared up at him, wrapped in the literal magic of his emerald fire gaze. Her throat worked that beautiful swallow again, and her lips parted, her breath panting softly, her glittering claret-colored eyes making him feel equally intoxicated. She was lost to him, and he knew it. He could have laughed darkly, grinned in triumph, crowed in victory. If he’d had the patience. But he didn’t.

So he straddled her narrow waist on his knees and sat up in one swift motion, grabbing his shirt and yanking it over his head just as quickly. He wanted to feel her on his skin, needed to feel it. He tossed the shirt to the side and caught the hitch in her breathing as she stared up at him. He smiled, leaned over, and cupped his hand behind her neck, gently pulling her into a sitting position in front of him, his legs still straddling hers.

“Raise your arms, Helena. I want these clothes off of you.”

She did as he said, raising her arms over her head as if in a dream. Will curled his fingers under the hem of her shirt, brushing them against her skin as he lifted it up along her ribcage, exposing her inch by delicious inch. His own breath caught, his body tensed, and his chest felt strange as he exposed her to his hunger.

When the shirt was over her head, he sent that flying as well, and then slowly, tenderly, ran his hands around her rib cage until he’d encircled her, and his fingers worked the clasp of her bra. He held her gaze as he deftly unhooked it, and she wordlessly went still in his arms. She knew this was it. Her final barrier of defense was about to come crashing down.

His hands spread at her back, moving the straps over her shoulders and down her arms until she was fully exposed, and he could have stared down at her forever. No matter how long that was.

His teeth were bared now, his gaze on fire. He was aching all over, breaking out in a sweat, rock hard with need. “Now the jeans,” he said. It was not a request; he was simply telling her what was going to go next.

Her breathing quickened, becoming a rapid-fire response to his assault on her senses. She hesitated, so Will moved in, wrapping his arm around her again and pulling her against him.

Her body against his, skin on skin, set him alight like a bonfire. He could almost hear the inferno catch and raise to the heavens, radiating enough heat for the universe. His fingers curled into her back, and he had to fight not to leave a mark. She made a soft sound against him, but whether it was in pain or pleasure he could not know. He was lost in the mounting berserker madness of intolerable lust.

He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her head to capture her eyes. They were glassed over, nearly unseeing, her brow furrowed with climbing frustration. Just how he wanted her. He bowed his head until his lips were against hers, then commanded, “Lay back, Helena.” He kissed her gently, just the slightest brush of his lips against the plump softness of hers. “And help me take them off.”

Or I will rip them off.

As if she’d heard the after-thought, her eyes widened. She placed her hands to his chest, and he inhaled shakily, hissing through clenched teeth. Her touch was bliss, warm and tentative and precious. And when she pushed against him to lay back, he almost didn’t let her. But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?

So he leaned over, lowering her to his bed, and kissed her gently once more, lingering on the taste of her before he finally let her go to sit back up. He leaned back, reached behind his bent knees, and grasped the laces of her boots. Sweat glinted off the ripped contours of his chest as he did, and Helena broke eye contact, her gaze wandering. He almost laughed. But instead, he just absorbed the attention, his head – and other things – swelling.

Her boots were easy; they were lace-up leather combat, and wardens almost always wore them. He could have laced and unlaced them unconscious. He undid them, slipped them off her feet, and tossed them to the floor.

Then his fingers were curling into the waistband of her jeans. They flexed there, and he fought with the tremendous urge to simply shred the impeding garment from her body. Her eyes raced back to his and he stilled.

It would have taken immense strength to rip them apart, strength he knew he shouldn’t have. But it was strength he knew he did have, and he was beyond ready to use it.

For her sake, he didn’t. Instead, he held her beautiful, ruby gaze and un-snapped the top button. The zipper lowered tooth by tooth; he tortured himself with the slow and steady release, displaying his control over time. Finally, he again curled his fingers over the material and pulled.

At once, he felt Helena’s fingers on his grip, sliding over the backs of his hands to his wrists, where she held tight and used him as leverage to lift herself off the bed – helping him rid her of the jeans. He smiled darkly, never taking his eyes from hers. He lowered the jeans down the length of her legs, revealing ever more delicious, edible beauty with every second. She was smooth, slim, tight and perfect.

Will felt drunk with some alien emotion – happiness, joy, hope – and his head was light as her jeans hit the floor along with the boots and shirts. All that remained between them were her tiny white cotton panties.

Those he did shred. Helena cried out in surprise, but there was no stopping him, and they were gone in an instant. In the next, he was leaning over her again, only needing to be closer to her. Her warmth engulfed him as his body pressed into hers. He went to his elbow, his free arm snaking beneath the small of her back to wrap entirely around her. She was so small, and he was so tall, it was easy to encase her completely.

But there was still too much between them. His own jeans barred him now.

He claimed her lips with determined strength, impatient and hungry, and bit down in warning until she parted them for him. Then he delved deep, pulled his hand out from beneath her, and ripped open the front of his jeans, freeing himself at last.

His arm slid free of her waist so he could grasp her legs, his grip just shy of bruising but overtly possessive. His hands curled around, his fingers digging in firmly. He used his grip to pull her legs apart inch by inch. “Open for me,” he told her, breathing the words across the taut skin of her neck beneath her ear. He touched her pulse with his tongue, then his teeth, and felt it jump in response to what he was doing.

“Will…” she moaned again as he won the small struggle, and she granted him entry. He tried like the devil not to grin in victory, and failed. He laughed against her ear, nipped her lobe gently, and turned his face to kiss her temple. “That’s my girl.”