Page 36 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)

Normally, he might have worked up to the moment, built anticipation as he dropped to a knee.

But, honestly, he was way past finesse. He pressed his mouth against her core first as a kiss, a gentle reverent slide of his lips to let the shock reverberate for a moment before truly savoring the taste of her, working tongue and lips in equal parts pressure and pattern.

His hands were locked on the edge of the table, knuckles white.

He wasn’t surprised when she clawed into his scalp, when she squeezed with her thighs, and used her strength to move him to her liking.

Fuck. He was not going to last. He had been close enough when she was touching him, but the wanton, brazen way she was grinding into him, was more than even his stamina could endure.

He lifted her hips for a better angle and the reward was her not-at-all-quiet-curse.

When her breath hitched and her body clenched, and he felt the waves of her release start and then slowly recede, only then did he allow himself relief.

It didn’t take much. Not even two pumps of his hand and he finished just in time to save his clothes.

Out of breath, Devin swiped a rag from one of the lower shelves and cleaned himself.

He fastened the draws of his pants as he got back to his feet.

As the stupor of her climax began to lessen, he attempted to fix the cold, rather unromantic setting.

He lifted her from the table and set her on one of the cots.

He was lost for a moment, captivated by the disheveled mess of her hair, the glow of her skin, the smile of satisfaction on her lips.

Light haloed her body. The stronger colors of proud and determined cerulean, passionate ruby, and adventurous tangerine held a shimmer of canary yellow bliss wafting like the tendrils of her hair in a breeze.

Normally, his Aura Sight would send him reeling for a bottle, seeking the quickest way to snuff it out before he could dwell on it for too long.

“What?” She asked, her smile growing, though she shifted her arms as if to cover herself. He fished his shirt from the corner of a bookcase and handed it to her.

Words escaped him. For the first time, there was no impulse to goad or jest, no insistent need to hide himself behind flirtation and false confidence.

“You’re being a little too quiet for comfort,” she said, a spark of nervous violet streaked through the more grounded colors.

Moving faster than intended, he channeled the one certainty he could find amidst the chaos into a kiss.

Her arms hooked around his neck and yanked him over her, a tricky feat on the narrow cot.

He supported his weight on the wall and on a knee pinning the canvas.

The attempt to maintain their balance forced them to pull apart awkwardly and holding in his laughter was impossible. In seconds, they were both laughing, limbs and arms tangled and bent and not sure who’s hand was where.

After a time, when the laughter had died away, Miranda fell asleep. The warmth of her body kept the flood of thoughts at bay long enough for him to doze, though fitfully, until he was jarred awake.

Distant noises. Innocuous alone, but startling in current circumstances: doors and metal and scraping and talking. Without the buffer of alcohol, Devin felt the loss of the moon even through the brick and concrete.

Slipping free of Miranda, he stumbled to the door. He opened it a fraction and Gideon Blair was at the base of the stairs, talking with Rachel. The entire walkway to the office was exposed to the lower floors. They risked being seen if they left together.

Miranda shot upright. “Oh shit, it’s morning?”

“It would appear so,” he said, wincing.

She blinked, looking at the mess, the evidence of their indiscretion.

He tried not to read into the pulse of garnet panic or how she pulled his shirt tighter over her shoulders, like she wanted to hide.

He searched for shame or regret, but just because he couldn’t see it didn’t always mean it wasn’t there.

She would never admit to you, she’d rather hide than let them know your dirty hands were on her.

“Here.” He began to scoop up her clothes, forcing the doubt in his head down. Her panic was not unreasonable, given her social status. Not unreasonable because you are beneath her social status, lower in every way . He closed his eyes as he said, “I’ll head him off. Follow when you’re ready.”

She threw his shirt, hitting him in the face, and dove for the floor. Devin only had to return two layers and comb his fingers through his hair to tame what Miranda had pulled. There was a clear difference between disheveled and sex teased, and Blair would spot the difference easily.

Checking quickly to make sure Blair was still occupied, Devin slipped from the room and sprinted for his office.

He kept away from the railing, but the Watchmen below were too occupied by their own conversations and morning routines to notice.

Devin dared check only once, blinking against the kaleidoscope of colors that spanned in front of him.

It had been so long since he’d used his sight he couldn’t remember how to control it and with the onslaught of color came the bombardment of the various meanings.

He shut himself in Blair’s office, grateful for the moment of peace. His brain was functioning with more clarity than it had freedom to in recent memory. And while that voice continued to taunt him and needle at his insecurities, something new warred with his self-loathing.

He couldn’t name it yet, never having given too much thought to emotions he was familiar with, this was entirely other.

Blair’s stock of brandy caught Devin’s eye, drawing his attention. Yesterday, he would have already taken a sip. Today, he remained rooted to the spot, staring down temptation until the Captain himself burst through the door.

“Shit, it’s way too early for this,” Blair groaned. “Rachel didn’t think I could get here early. Well. Who’s wrong now?” It couldn’t have been long past sunrise, Devin had only just started to feel the sun before sprinting over here.

“Long night?” Devin asked, squinting against Gideon’s strong navy band of confidence and dedication and a fuzzy restless streak of obnoxious vermillion with the barest thread of anxious violet weaving through.

“You could say that,” Blair said, crossing to the brandy. He lifted a glass in offering.

Take it, Miranda is a road to misery and pain. She does not want you , only what you can give her.

Devin stared at the offered glass, hands at his sides.

You’re already miserable, what does it hurt to try?

Devin declined. Relief and terror flooding him as the offer rescinded.

“Suit yourself.” Blair tossed back a glass and then fell into his chair and balanced the empty tumbler on his forehead.

He’d declined a drink. With Blair’s aura slapping him in the face with its obnoxious glare. Why on earth would he do that?

“So—” Blair started.

Miranda’s small knock interrupted, drawing Devin’s attention and the sight of her eased the flood of doubt.

Her. It was all her.

Blair fumbled to catch the glass as he sat upright.

A strong, crimson pulse of desire flared through his aura.

His drawn, overtired frown vanished instantly, replaced by the charming grin he threw at every pleasing skirt in his vicinity.

Gideon smoothed some wayward strands of his hair, charm exuding from him as he went to meet Miranda at the door.

He took her hand in his, kissing it gently. “You must be Miss Wilde.”

And Devin’s fury was immediate, focused, and drowned out everything else.