Page 121 of Liminal

Jasper’s lips part as my phantom fingers traces a delicate line down his sternum.

“Keep going,” I order, drifting forwards to lean against the bedpost in some semblance of a casual pose that keeps me safely out of his reach.

Distance and control. That’s the only way I can do this.

ShouldI even be doing this? First Lambert, now Jasper? This is guaranteed to make a mess of things but…

He asked me to stay.

Jasper’s hand moves, slower than before, but the way his hips jerk tells me he was already on the edge before I interrupted.

“Are you close?” I ask, wanting to hear him say it. “Answer me.”

“Aye, Mistress.”

Once again, he freezes, watching with barely concealed panic for my reaction, and I can’t help but arch one eyebrow at him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s automatic. If you don’t?—”

“I wasn’t complaining,” I assure him, voice dropping an octave. “But I didn’t tell you to stop.”

If Jasper likes someone else taking control in bed, I am more than happy to provide that. Five hundred years of loneliness and smut have given me plenty of opportunities to fantasise.

I swirl my magic along his ribs, following the ‘T’ of hair across his pectorals to circle one nipple. His abs really are a work of art, and they flex under my touch, his breath hitching.

Keeping myself glued to the bedpost, I continue taunting him as he strokes himself. It’s satisfying to watch the way the magic trails through the hair on his chest, then down to skirt around his crotch before starting again at his calves.

His wrist twists, the tendons in his forearm flexing as his hand briefly comes up to cover the crown before retreating once more. The movement makes him shudder, muscles trembling, and I suck my lower lip between my teeth at the sight. His eyes fix on the captured flesh, then dip down to my breasts.

I brush my magic across his mouth and cup his balls at the same time. In my head, I imagine I can taste him, and that the kiss I grant him is soft and sweet. I fool myself for a second into thinking I can feel the weight of his balls, sense the barely leashed violent tension beneath his skin. His strokes lose their rhythm, and in a moment of inspired genius, I murmur a spell for warmth under my breath.

“Come for me,” I murmur, just as I unleash it over the crown of his dick.

Jasper obliges with a whimper. Throwing his head back as ropes of white seed spill out to catch in the dark fur of his abdomen. The light from the window seems to dance in the droplets as his abs rise and fall in soft gasping pants. All of the strain on his face melts away, leaving only an exhausted and replete fallen angel with hair plastered to his forehead.

Beautiful. Mine.

My fingers clench as the foolishness of the thought hits me.

No. Not mine.

His future isn’t here. This was just an inevitable and onetime-only consequence of the attraction that has been simmering between us. It was probably extremely unethical, given that he was once my patient, and he still hasn’t recovered his memories. Not to mention, he relies on me for sanctuary, which makes it an abuse of power.

Magic, what was I thinking?

With my own self-reproach ringing heavily in my ears, I retreat, passing through the furniture on my way to the door. Jasper’s still catching his breath, his eyes still closed as he reaches blindly for me, tugging at heartstrings that should’ve known better than to expose themselves.

This was…

I don’t want to say it was a mistake…but it certainly wasn’t sensible.

It only gets worse when I float through the door without looking, and then realise I have an audience.

Dakari and Eddy are both playing a game of chess in the snug beyond, and when they catch sight of me, they break out into knowing grins.

I barely resist the urge to float back into Jasper’s room. I’ve not spoken to Dakari since that night when I broke down and begged him to accompany me into the Vault. It’s been two days, but he gives no sign of offence at the distance I’m carefully rebuilding between us as he scans me before settling back into his seat with a lingering smile.

“I take it the sock rule wasn’t a thing back in the fifteen hundreds?” Eddy asks, giggling, as she gestures to where one has been placed over their doorknob.