Page 12 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

Chapter Ten

Rhodes

Getting soaked running to an empty villa holds little appeal. Still, if I were back home in San Francisco, I’d be out the door. Nothing quite says relationship like staying the night and not having sex. But I’m not in San Francisco, I’m on vacation.

She hasn’t yet Googled me. It’s not possible.

She hasn’t had time. And we hit it off before she learned my last name.

It’s rare to meet someone who has zero knowledge of my accomplishments or net worth.

It’s the reason my circle is suffocatingly small.

Sex or not, I could use a friend outside of Silicon Valley.

“Tell you what. I’ll stay and keep you safe from the storm, on the condition that tomorrow we hike together.”

“Where do you want to hike?”

“The beauty picks.”

“Deal.”

“I'm going to brush my teeth and…” The domesticity of my statement pummels the confidence in this decision and renders me incapable of completing the sentence. The words ring of my seven years with Sara and I’ve no desire to repeat mistakes.

I grab my phone, a purely instinctual move, and step into the bathroom.

Behind the closed door, I break open the plastic wrap on the hotel-provided spare toothbrush, and with my other hand, swipe my finger down the glass phone panel to scan the notifications.

Daisy Jonas

Need a little more to go on. 206 Sydney Parkers in the US

Figured. I’ll get her more info tomorrow.

Evie Thompson

Heard you’re coming to town. Time for drinks?

Interesting.

What does a newly minted assistant attorney in the US Attorney General’s office want with me? I’ve met her a few times. Her father’s a client. A good guy. She’s in the criminal division if I recall correctly.

I hold the phone up to my mouth and dictate: “I get in Friday. I’m open after four.”

I double-check the message and hit send.

One annoying email from Alex about a meeting I declined.

Nothing from Miles. Seems he’s still forcing the holiday on me. It’s just as well. I’m enjoying my break.

When I finish up in the bathroom, I exit and find Sydney is beneath the comforter.

A crack of thunder shakes the room. The rain lashes the glass, but the storm might be lessening.

It’s been years since I experienced the wrath of a southern quencher.

As a kid, I’d sit by the window and watch mesmerized as bolts of lightning lit the darkened sky, and I’d imagine Zeus high above, furious at the wicked minions below who failed to meet his expectations.

“Do you think there’s flooding?”

“Probably not here,” I answer with authority, although the truth is I’m not an expert on this section of North Carolina.

But I did read about the catastrophic flood that happened after Hurricane Helene, and while all of western North Carolina felt the impact, Asheville took a much more significant hit than the Highlands.

“Do you have an extra charger?” I wiggle my phone. If she doesn’t, then it’s the fates intervening and I’ll brave the storm.

“Yeah.” The sheet pulls tight over her breasts as she rises to point to her luggage. She’s still clad in only her lace thong and that knowledge has far more appeal than it should. “There’s a small, zippered bag beside my cosmetics bag. Should have extra chargers.”

Open on the luggage rack, zippered bags fill both sides of the open suitcase. Impressive organization.

After plugging my phone into a wall outlet and leaving it silent but charging, I flick off the lamp and head over to the far side of the bed.

“What?” she asks as I pull back the covers, let my slacks fall to the floor, and climb into the plush bed.

“This seems remarkably domestic,” I admit.

It’s one thing to hook up and crash. It’s another to climb into bed beside a gorgeous woman one barely knows and talk .

She settles into her pillow, rolling on her side to face me, her expression a mix of knowing and amused.

The cool sheets surround my legs and torso and as my body relaxes into the cocoon, I mimic her position, facing her.

With the rain pattering outside and the wind howling, lying here like this with a stranger strikes me as eerily similar to summer camp.

Only then, we were in bunks separated by a narrow galley, and I talked to dudes.

Now, I’m across from an insanely attractive woman who I’m apparently not going to fuck tonight. Or possibly this week.

“Domestic? Is sleeping over in my bed giving you flashbacks of past relationships?”

She’s perceptive.

“And summer camp,” I add defensively.

“What?” She laughs and I grin.

Beneath the covers, my leg strays seeking heat. Our legs tangle, removing any similarity to camp.

“Are you scared of storms?”

Minutes have passed since lightning struck, but I can’t help but wonder. She invited me to stay, after all.

“No. I moved around a lot, saw all kinds of weather. I’ve never been scared.”

“No fear?”

“Hmm.” A low vibration emanates from her throat as she considers. “I’ll admit this one is unnerving. I’m not scared, but the way the lightning lights the shadows is eerie. But again, I’m not scared. Tornados frighten me. But not much else.”

“Earthquakes?”

“No. But I haven’t lived through a big one.”

“Why’d you move around a lot?”

“My dad was in the military.”

“Is he still?”

“Yes. Coast Guard. Based in Alaska.”

The drum of rain becomes the only sound. In the darkness, I can make out her silhouette and sense her gaze.

“Just think…” she says, almost dreamily, “There was a time when a storm like this would inspire theories about what angered Zeus.”

“Or Thor, or Indra.” Everyone thinks of Zeus and lightning, me included, but there’s so much more to the old religions.

“Indra? I've never heard of her.”

“Him,” I correct. “In the Hindu religion, god of heaven, lightning, rain, storms and thunder.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that.” Her words are soft, and I reach between us to caress her cheek. The muscles in my injured elbow tense, and I lower my arm, resting it against my side. It’s the oddest injury, mostly fine, but the wrong movement causes pain.

“As a kid, I studied mythology.” It’s not something I’m embarrassed about, but at the same time, it feels like a geeky admission, on par with admitting I aced a test that the rest of the class bombed.

“Inspired by Marvel? Thor?”

“Inspired by my grandmother.”

“Really? Was she a teacher?”

“Middle school math and science. But she didn’t have a lot of children’s books, so when I stayed over, she’d tell me stories from mythology.”

“Any favorites?”

“Oh, several. Cupid, for one. Mainly because everyone has the Hallmark version in their head, but the story is far more complex.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, let’s see. The way my grandmother tells it, it begins with three daughters, one named Psyche. She was beautiful. Stunning. So beautiful she was deemed a goddess among mortals. But yet her sisters married first and married well. She prayed for a husband, as you know, all women did.”

“Of course.”

I chuckle at her attitude. Something tells me the woman in bed with me would never pray for a husband. Thinking of her on the hike, she’s got what Nana would call an independent streak.

“Anyway, Venus became quite jealous. Her temples were falling into disrepair because the mortals were so taken with Psyche.”

“But yet no one married her?”

“No. These stories don’t always make sense.

Men came from far and wide, but they would fall for other women.

Now Cupid was a winged youth who did Venus’ bidding.

Jealous, Venus instructed Cupid to make the hussy—that’s my Nana’s word, we can assume Venus chose another—fall in love with the vilest mortal.

And he might’ve done her bidding, except Cupid had fallen under Psyche’s spell.

All this time, no one proposed to Psyche, which distressed her father. ”

“Naturally.”

“Her father traveled to an oracle of Apollo. The oracle told her father to take her to a distant hill, and leave her, where a god would descend and take her.”

“Let me guess. Cupid told the oracle to tell him this.”

“Yes. The wind lifted her to a home with servants and riches beyond imagination. She felt her husband but never saw him. And she was happy. Until her sisters came to visit. They were jealous and convinced her that this husband of hers remained hidden because he was a serpent. Afraid they were correct and doubting her love, she brought a lantern at night. When she saw him sleeping, he awoke and said that without trust, there could be no love.”

“That’s the story of Cupid? That’s tragic.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

A flash of lightning lights the room and for a brief second, I’m entranced by the amusement playing out on her face, the upturn of her full lips, her dark hair tousled over the pillow.

“So what? Does he strike himself with an arrow?”

“There’s no need. He’s already in love. He’s just devastated she didn’t trust him.”

“So what happens?”

“She goes through a series of trials and tribulations, proving her love and her trust.”

“I’m getting the abbreviated version?”

“Her journey involves fleeces of gold and the River Styx. Venus sent Psyche on a quest to find a box?—”

“Oh no, not Pandora’s box?”

“Not Pandora’s, but one she should not open.

But she’s prideful and believes she deserves to open it, and when she does, she falls into a deep sleep.

Venus had locked Cupid away, but while the door was locked, a window was open, which Nana said shows it’s impossible to restrain love.

Cupid flew out to rescue his wife with a tip of his arrow and by wiping away her sleep. ”

“That’s sweet.”

“It gets better. Cupid took Psyche before Jupiter and an assembly of the gods, and Jupiter declared them officially married and he made Psyche immortal. Cupid represents love and Psyche the soul.”

“I like that story. After their trials and tribulations, the gods declared love and the soul are forever joined.”

“Exactly.”

“My favorite mythology tale had been Icarus.”

“Flying too close to the sun?”

“Overly confident. Proud.” She fingers my chest and I close my eyes, loving the feel, the touch, the intimacy.

“Cupid dethroned Icarus?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Her lips press to my shoulder, then against my throat.

And fuck if I don’t want her.

I’m the brilliant one agreeing to lie in bed with a woman I can’t fuck.

Her palm flattens on my shoulder, pressuring me onto my back. Her lips trail down, the hard edges of nails lightly scraping as they explore, going ever lower. She palms my erection through my briefs.

Jesus .

“You don’t have to do this,” I grit, wanting her to do exactly that . Yes, I spent the time giving her a sensual massage and I did so without expectations. But now…I’m only human.

Her grip tightens and my head tilts back in ecstasy.

I hiss, groan, and hell, all resolve to make tonight all about her dissolves when she pushes my boxers down, releasing me.

She takes me with her hand and finally her mouth.

She’s not tentative. She’s observant, watching with rapt attention, learning what I like, and well, I’m a man.

I like it all. And she’s an expert. As she works me over, taking me deep, I relax into the pillow.

Absolute bliss. Her grip. Tongue. Mouth.

And to top it all off, when I warn her, my hips surging upwards of their own volition, because I’m that close, she doubles down and my tip hits the back of her throat.

She wants my release, and I give it to her in thick, heavy spurts. Fuck.

If this is what solo vacations are like, Miles was right—I’m way overdue.