Page 31 of Enchantra (Wicked Games #2)

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QUITE PERSUASIVE

March 23

It is the eve of my birthday and I completely forgot. Right now, I’m supposed to be enjoying an opera at the Teatro Argentina back in Rome. My sister bought the tickets as a gift. And instead I decided to come to this accursed place. For the very first time in my life, I will be spending my birthday without my mother and Ophelia. There will be no celebratory andouille gumbo for dinner, no white chocolate bread pudding. If Rowin had not reminded me of the date, it might have passed without me even realizing.

Rowin has insisted that I let him and the others throw me their own sort of celebration tonight—mostly because there is no guarantee I will survive the next round of the Hunt so we can celebrate tomorrow. It’s morbid, but if there’s cake, I won’t complain.

Apparently the Silvers have rigid family traditions when it comes to birthdays. Since his siblings have celebrated all of theirs in Hell the last few years, he’s missed their festivities. He assured me that dinner will be nothing short of marvelously entertaining .

Of course, all that excitement pales in comparison to the fact that we will soon be ripping each other’s clothes off in the hallway for all of his family and Knox’s spectators to see. Hopefully whatever display we put on will be exciting enough to satisfy Knox’s depraved audience. And the unsatisfied craving I can’t seem to shake.

X, Genevieve

Genevieve locked the tiny heart-shaped closure on her diary and shoved it back at the bottom of her trunk. As she carefully shifted her things around to cover it up, she caught a glimpse of the book she’d taken from the library, the one with the section on Crimson Rot, and vowed to look at it before the next round of the Hunt. Or at least take it with her so when she and Rowin were holed up somewhere, she’d have some sort of entertainment.

Which meant she would need to mention to him that she wanted to help. Even when the Hunt was over, if she managed to keep surviving, she wanted to help.

And speaking of things I need to mention to him … eventually I’m going to have to bring up the letters that he wrote to his family , she thought. As well as the envelopes from Grimm Manor …

She was sure those envelopes were the ones for the letters she’d written to Barrington…but what possible reason would Rowin have for keeping them amongst his things?

She had definitely done the right thing in insisting that there could be no more “no strings” encounters between them. It wasn’t just his unnerving ability to be caring with her in one moment only to claim it was just sex in the next. No, it was more than that. She had opened up to him, laid out her darkest truth for him, but he was clearly keeping secrets from her.

“Ready, trouble?” Rowin asked from the threshold.

Genevieve startled at the sound of his voice, her nerves buzzing with annoyance as well as anticipation of what they were about to do. He’d left her with Umbra while he prepared whatever it was he had in mind for her birthday celebration with the others in the dining room—right after their little performance .

Everyone will head to the dining room for dinner at seven sharp. Which means we need to be out there by at least a quarter till.

She was not ready. Not just for their impending act, but she still wasn’t entirely dressed either.

The gown she’d chosen was the one she had told Ophelia she would wear to the opera. It was made of a teal velvet that matched her eyes, the drop-waist bodice tapering to a point just below her navel. A deep-cut sweetheart neckline showed off plenty of her décolletage, but its long sleeves restored a little modesty—voluminous at the shoulders before tapering in around her biceps and all the way down her arms. Its corset laced in the back, and she wasn’t able to tie it on her own.

“Genevieve?”

“I need help,” she sighed as he stepped into the room. “Can you lace this for me?”

He strode across the room to take a look at her dress, remaining silent as he began to tug at the ribbons. When she felt his fingers accidentally brush against the bare skin of her back as he wove the strings through the silk eyelets, she shivered.

“Deep breath,” he directed her, and she obeyed as he pulled the ribbons taut before tying them in a neat bow.

She stepped away from him and did a small twirl. “How do I look? Overdressed?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his golden eyes roaming over every inch of her in a way that set those damned butterflies off in her stomach.

“No. You’re not overdressed.”

She made a face. That was not what she was looking for. Perfect , gorgeous , or flawless was more her speed.

“Ready?” he asked again.

Again, no, but she nodded anyway.

He seemed to realize her hesitation. “It’s just you and me, trouble. Only a few days ago you loathed me because I’m a ‘fucking brute,’ remember? Just channel that passion and no one will know the difference.”

She had said those things, hadn’t she? But that was before everything that happened in his bed. It didn’t feel right to say she loathed him when he’d made her feel quite the opposite just hours ago.

She loathed Farrow. The color of green olives. Humidity. Crows.

Rowin, she felt…vexed by. She didn’t really know what box to keep him in within her mind anymore. They weren’t husband and wife, not really, but they weren’t friends. Were they?

“Just don’t get too carried away,” he reminded, cutting through her thoughts.

She scowled. “What makes you think I’m going to be the one to get carried away?”

He snorted, as if the notion that it would be him was ridiculous. Which sounded like a challenge to her.

As soon as Rowin led her into the foyer, he pulled her over to a dark crook between one of the pillars that bookended the entrance to the ballroom and the adjacent wall. He positioned their bodies so that she was backed up against the wall and he was leaning down over her, across from one of the enormous mirrors.

As much as she tried to remain unaffected by his proximity, the memories of his mouth on her just hours ago filled her with anticipation. She’d kissed plenty of people before—twenty-seven, to be exact—but, aside from Farrow, she had never thought about any of those kisses twice. And despite the fact that this was supposed to be pretend , her body had clearly still not grasped that concept. The way her heart skipped a beat as Rowin ran the tips of his fingers down her jawline and beneath her chin, to tilt her face up to his, was verifiable proof.

“Relax, trouble,” he murmured right against her ear as he began to summon his shadows, curling them around their bodies, brushing them into her hair, circling them loosely around her waist. “Don’t worry about whoever might be watching. Just focus on me.”

She locked her gaze onto his.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “And remember that you can snap if you want to stop. If anything is too intense and it isn’t something you’re comfortable with others watching.”

“Right back at you,” she whispered.

He smirked. “I don’t think that’s something you’ll have to worry about, trouble.”

There was that challenge again.

The smile that curled onto her lips was innocent at first. Sweet. She settled her shoulders back into the wall behind her, lightly tilting her pelvis forward, in a way that wasn’t overt, but simply her making herself comfortable. She had pinned up her curls into a loose French twist, so the only tendrils she had to twirl around her fingertips were the pieces that framed her face. She made do.

“You know what I think, Mr. Silver?” she hummed as she looked up at him through her thick lashes, tapping her index finger against her bottom lip as if she were being thoughtful. Purposefully trying to draw his eyes down to her mouth. It worked. Every time.

“What do you think?” he asked, his voice deepening ever so slightly.

“I think we should show everyone how willing you are to get on your knees for me,” she crooned, shifting her hips forward until they pressed into his a little firmer this time.

She wiggled her body back and forth, as if she were adjusting her stance, but when she saw his pupils dilate, and felt the hardness growing beneath his belt, she knew she had him exactly where she wanted him.

“You want me on my knees, trouble? Then I’ll get on my knees. But first…”

He used his shadows to slip around her thighs, pulling her legs up and around his waist in one fluid movement without lifting a single one of his fingers. In fact, he placed both of his palms flat against the wall on either side of her waist, as if to prove a point that he could fluster her without even using his hands.

He leaned down to press a searing kiss against her exposed clavicle as other wisps of his shadows plunged into her hair, placing soft pressure at different points of her scalp, her temples, the sensitive hollows on the back of her neck. By the time his mouth started up the side of her throat, the ring in his lip scraping deliciously against her skin, her entire body was vibrating with desire. And when his lips got to the delicate spot behind her left ear, she felt his shadows slowly brushing up her inner thighs toward the throbbing apex between her legs. She found her body writhing closer to his. Her nipples were peaked, dying for friction. Her arousal soaked through her underwear as her core searched for the pressure it craved. He ground the hardened length within his trousers right into that sensitive bundle of nerves beneath her skirts, and in the same beat he tightened a collar of shadows around her neck, making her choke on the heady moan that was clawing its way out of her throat.

“ Fuck ,” she choked out, practically panting as she felt him smile against her cheek.

“Quiet,” he ordered as his shadows squeezed a bit tighter around her throat to emphasize his words.

“I’m being as quiet?—”

His shadows tightened in punishment at her disobedience, and she whimpered, wishing that they would tighten in other places as well. She’d never felt so many overwhelming sensations in her entire life, and she needed more .

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders as his mouth shifted down to her jaw, pressing kisses there as he ground himself forward once again. His shadows climbed even higher beneath her skirts, brushing over her underwear with a feather-light touch. She accidentally let out another moan, and all the pressure he’d been giving her pulled away except for the punishing squeeze around her throat.

She’d had enough teasing.

She gripped the front of his shirt and ripped his mouth up to hers, their lips crashing together with hunger. As their tongues tangled together, her hands slipped up to his hair, twisting the longer tendrils around her fingers and tugging as payback for his teasing. He tasted just like the honey in his scent. He grunted with pleasure, and she swallowed the sound, pulling harder as his body responded with enthusiasm, grinding her further into the wall. When he pulled back ever so slightly to let them both breathe, she bit onto the little gold hoop in his lip and gently tugged on it with her teeth.

By the way that every muscle in his body tightened, and the curse he let slip out of his mouth, she guessed he had enjoyed that.

She giggled, and he recaptured her mouth with his, muffling the sound as he finally, finally , put his hands on her. One hand began to hike her skirts up to her hip while the other splayed on the side of her face to angle her mouth into a better position for him to deepen the kiss. The muscles in her stomach tightened the closer his hand got to the source of her arousal, and it took all her self-control not to beg him to touch her there.

When she pulled back to gulp down another shaky breath, his lips didn’t miss a beat, trailing over her cheek until they were at her ear, whispering, “I…I’ve always been right about you, you know. You’re going to be nothing but trouble for me.”

“It’s time for you to get on your knees,” was all she managed to say.

He steadied her on her feet and did exactly that. And she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t the most incredible sight she’d ever seen.

He slowly pushed up her skirts, raising them to her navel as he placed a kiss to her inner thigh.

“Are you sure—” he began.

But the rest of his words were cut off as someone cleared their throat, and that was the moment Genevieve realized the ring around her finger was burning . The two of them whipped their heads to the side to find Ellin, who looked intensely disturbed, and Sevin, who was grinning around the sucker in his mouth. And just behind them? Grave. A look of utter disgust on his face.

Genevieve scowled right back at the man. As if he had any right to judge her.

“Happy birthday, indeed,” Sevin said before giving their performance a slow clap and strutting away.

Rowin untangled himself from Genevieve while Ellin remained planted in place, letting Genevieve fix her skirts as he eyed his sister warily.

“Interesting,” Ellin told Rowin, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Genevieve wasn’t sure what that meant.

When his siblings finally disappeared in the direction of the dining room, Rowin turned back to Genevieve with an approving dip of his chin.

“Good job, trouble,” he muttered before following after the others.

As she watched him walk away, without a single backward glance, she realized he’d been absolutely right—she’d gotten carried away. And she wanted nothing more than to do it again.