Page 56

Like an incentive, Wonder makes a tiny, tremulous noise. And on second thought, fuck this intellectual scavenger hunt. Malice chucks the book over his shoulder, the hardback striking the floor with a thud, and scoops her ass in his hands. “Why read or talk about heat when we can demonstrate it?”

Wonder sighs as his tongue licks the seam of her mouth, then pitches inside, flicking against hers. The vellum book also hits the ground. Yet she reluctantly peels her mouth away, so soon after they’ve begun. Far too early for Malice’s appetite.

Despite those eyes growing hazy with arousal, she swallows. “We should—”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Malice growls.

“Everything I confessed last night, everything you learned… the past… the present… and we have the legends to figure out… a mission to accomplish.”

“All in good time. Once I’ve finished spoiling you rotten.”

“No nightmares?”

He stalls, her concern probing another tender spot he’s not about to analyze. Instead, he swirls a lock of her hair around his pinky. “None.”

“How do you feel? Did anything I say ring a bell? Any clear memories?”

Something in her voice strikes him like a mallet.

He stays his finger, a vicious possibility knocking him off balance, a disturbing thought that sharpens his canines.

Wonder’s investment in the subject should endear her to him.

Instead, her avid features incite the opposite, a possibility Malice hadn’t considered surging to the forefront, the notion chewing a hole in his head.

Has he been too whipped to realize? Is he a fucking idiot?

Deliberately, Malice unwinds the chestnut strand from around his digit. His knees punch craters into the velvet. Tamping down the sudden boiling in his blood, he slants his head, about to strike like a viper.

Wonder sees it coming. “Malice, that isn’t what I meant—”

But his voice slices like a blade. “Are you hoping to cure me or resurrect him?”

She stalls, falls silent, unable to answer.

Malice’s jaw ticks. He moves to disentangle himself from her, but Wonder seizes his biceps before he can pluck her off his lap. It takes effort, but she tugs him around to face her, then clasps his face. “Are you hoping to exonerate or punish me?”

Shit. Fair enough. That’s no more an easy question than the one he tossed at Wonder.

He craves and admires her. But does he forgive her for his history?

Also, can he blame her for waffling between the past and the present?

She’s barely had a few months to know him, whereas his ghost has been haunting Wonder for a hell of a lot longer.

This can’t lead anywhere good. However much they fuck each other in the next ten seconds, in addition to the next few weeks, it’ll probably end badly.

But then, Malice has never let recklessness stop him, even if he risks crashing and burning.

The gambit is part of the thrill. And with Wonder, that takes everything to another level.

His nostrils flare. “I’d call that a draw.”

Wonder nods. She scoots into him, her eyelashes fanning, mouth opening on a small, awed noise as her clit skids against his thick cock. Between them, her pink pussy glistens like the holy grail, a religious rite of passage that has Malice as solid as a javelin in seconds.

Despite the tension, he makes no excuses here. His dick has a mind of its own. It’s a permanent condition that won’t be satisfied until he’s spreading her in front, under, behind, sideways, and upside-fucking-down.

She rocks back and forth, slowly churning their pelvises together and stoking his char-black blood. Goddammit. This female has barely gotten started on his lap, but already he’s on the brink of turning into a sexual psychopath. And for him, that’s saying something.

“What are we doing?” she implores while grinding, then whines as Malice hisses like a beast and rolls his cock upright, the wide head prying her cunt apart.

They’re getting ready to fuck again. They’re getting ready to let loose in this library underworld and see where it takes them. They’re getting ready to pulverize those walls to dust.

That’s what they’re doing.

Arousal floods Wonder’s complexion. But while her flushed face is one thing, those green irises are another. The shade is even more vibrant than when they met, as if the original color is finally leaking through centuries of deprivation and self-torment. Another thing they have in common.

Pleasure isn’t all she needs. This goddess requires a pedestal, a throne, a dozen botanical gardens, and a thousand autobiographies written to honor instead of slander her. She needs to unwind, laugh, come hard, and fling herself off the edge without guilt. The Goddess of Wonder needs to live.

Although death is his chief expertise, revelry is a different matter. And what a coincidence that Malice excels in that prerequisite.

The thought recharges his conniving side. He presses their forehead together and runs his mouth along hers. “We’re making another deal.” Then he smirks like an evil bastard and positions his cock. “Now open wide for daddy.”