Page 78 of Soulbound

"That's it," he breathed, bringing her right to the edge. "I can feel it rushing through you. Are you ready?"

For what?

His thumb speared flat over that sensitive little nubbin of flesh between her thighs, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. Cleo cried out as everything within her turned molten.

"Come," he whispered down the bond. "Now."

And she screamed into the cup of his hand.

* * *

He'd never experienced anything like this in his life. It went beyond the earthy thrust and pull of flesh. Sinking into Cleo's arms felt like coming home, to a place he'd never known. It was powerful. Defining. Soul-shaking.

Each kiss felt momentous. To kiss her like this was strangely freeing. His choice. His desire, unfettered and furious. For all his vast experience with a woman's body, he was ridiculously naïve when it came to this sweeter seduction. Kissing Cleo was the simplest, purest task he'd ever committed himself to, and nothing could tarnish it. Not even the blunt demand of his cock, heavy and aching against her hip.

He wanted to take her.

Sweet goddess, how he ached.

But fear lived in his heart too. Fear that he'd break, and forget where he was, or whom he was with. Fear he couldn't live up to her expectations. Fear that this untarnished moment would somehow be consumed by more blatant desires.

It was perfect. Utterly perfect. Like an arrow straight to the heart. Sebastian drew back from her mouth with a gasp, shaking slightly. The evidence of his arousal jutted between them, bolstering his nightshirt like a mast on a ship.

Cleo's night-dark gaze slid between them, and he sensed her sudden nervousness. "Do you wish me to—"

"No."

Cleo cupped his face with her palms, and he could just make out her eyes in the dark. He could sense her mind stroking his through the bond, an unusual feeling, almost as if she were trying to tell him she knew. That it didn't matter.

"We'll take it slow," she whispered, as her palm slid over his nape, dragging him toward her.

He sank into her trembling embrace, closing his eyes as she gently stroked her palms over the back of his nightshirt. Burying his face against her throat, he tried to think of other things to still his pulsing desire.

"I've been in many beds," he whispered. "But the only one I've ever truly wanted to be in is yours."

And he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to her cheek, one so sweet it ached.

Chapter 17

THE NEXT DAY Sebastian went hunting with Bishop, trying to track down the demon, Julia Camden, or even Morgana. His expression had been cool and locked down over breakfast, but as Cleo reached for the jam, their eyes met, and he smiled the faintest smile. Suddenly she was blushing.

He'd been there in her bed this morning, gently stroking her arm. She didn't know if he'd gotten any sleep—to fall asleep beside her and not know her seemed to be his greatest fear, and she knew something horrible had happened in his past—but he'd stayed the night and her heart felt strangely light this morning.

Until she turned to the book again.

Madrigal Brown arrived for a sparring session in Lady Rathbourne's salon. Cleo wasn't ready to even attempt to future-walk again, as her mind still ached, but she watched as Madrigal showed her how it was done, and went through the theory of the process. No matter the walk of life, every sorcerer she'd ever known loved to speak on the theory of sorcerous gifts, and assassin or not, Madrigal was no different. It was clearly the first time the woman had ever come across anyone with a skill set even remotely similar to her own, and though she'd been wary at first, as Madrigal opened up, there was a hunger there to connect that she hadn't expected to find.

If Farshaw's theory was correct, then Madrigal had to have a demon's blood somewhere within her veins too.

She didn't ask. She couldn't. But it was all she could think about.

Did the gift pass down through child after child? Was that why some sorcerers were strong in the divination arts, but others were barely amateurs? How many generations could the gift sustain itself?

And if she was considering strength as a particular pinpoint of how far in the past the demon had mated with a female in her bloodline, then she shouldn't be looking too far. A shiver of dread ran through her at the thought. Her mother had died when she was very young, and she couldn't even recall her, but Cleo knew she was the strongest seer in the Empire.

Her father—sweet heavens, was he even truly her father?—had seen that she was named Cassandra of the Order at the age of twelve, when her Foresight truly bloomed. It was an honor at the time, and it made him so happy he even threw a party for her, but the memory felt warped now.

She had to know the truth.