Page 24 of Wicked Chains (Serpentine Academy #2)

Twenty-Two

Soren

I keep close, ready to catch her if she stumbles, not too close, though. In my entire existence, I've never wanted to devour someone quite like I want to devour Rose Smith.

"Almost there," I say, watching the delicate sway of her hips as she stumbles forward. Her dress clings to curves that have occupied far too many of my thoughts lately. Boundaries be damned.

"I told you, I'm fine," she insists, though the way her hand trails along the wall for support tells a different story. "Not even that drunk."

I arch an eyebrow. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, little witch."

"You could help me sleep at night," she says, looking over her shoulder with a smile that's all champagne courage.

I swallow hard. She has no idea what she's playing with.

When we reach her door, she fumbles with the key, dropping it twice before I take it from her fingers. The brief contact sends a jolt of need through me; the witch is brimming with untapped sexual energy, so potent. The kind an incubus like me could feast on for days.

"Here," I say, unlocking her door and pushing it open. "Drink some water and sleep it off."

I'm about to step back when she grabs my wrist.

"Stay," she says, and it's not a request. She tugs me forward, backing into her room. "I don't want to be alone."

"Rose."

"Everyone else has someone today," she continues, her voice catching. "Families. Parents. I've got no one, and I'm tired of it."

This isn't just the alcohol talking. It's something deeper that I recognize all too well. Loneliness is an old friend of mine.

"You should rest," I say, but I don't pull away.

She kicks the door shut behind us and releases my wrist only to place both hands on my chest, pushing me back against the closed door.

"I don't want sleep," she says, her eyes lifting to mine. They're glassy with alcohol but clear with intent. "I want you."

My body responds instantly, of course it does. I'm an incubus. Desire is my element, my nature, my curse. I can smell hers, rich and heady, mixing with the champagne on her breath.

"You're drunk," I remind her, my voice tight.

"So?" Her hands slide up my chest, tangling in my hair. "I still know what I want."

She presses against me, her body soft where mine is hard, and rises on her tiptoes to bring her mouth to mine. I turn my head at the last second, and her lips miss, landing on my jaw.

"No," I say, though it’s fucking painful. "Not like this."

"Why not?" she demands, frustrated. "Don't tell me the demon professor suddenly developed a conscience."

I place my hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. "Right now, what you need is water and a nap, not me."

She pouts, actually pouts, and it would be funny if it weren't so tempting. "You're no fun."

"I'm incredibly fun," I tell her. "When my partners are sober enough to remember it the next day."

Her hands drop to my belt, fingers teasing at the buckle. "I promise I'll remember every detail."

I grab her wrists, firm but gentle. "Rose. Stop."

She looks up at me, her bottom lip between her teeth. My restraint is hanging by a thread. "Why? I know you want me. I can feel it." She presses forward, against the evidence of my desire. "Right there."

"What I want," I grind out, "has never been the issue."

"Then what is the issue?"

"You're not in a state to ask me for what you’re asking. And I've already told you that I won’t do this unless you ask. Properly."

She pulls back slightly, studying me with narrowed eyes. "Wait. You're actually turning me down? You?"

I can't help the bark of laughter that escapes me. "Try not to sound so shocked. It happens occasionally."

"But you're an incubus." She says it like she's reminding me of my own nature. "Aren't you supposed to be, like, all about the seduction and feeding on sexual energy?"

"Yes, and when it’s freely given and taken, the energy tastes better," I say dryly. "Like free-range chicken versus factory-farmed."

Her face scrunches in disgust. "Did you just compare me to poultry?"

I sigh. "The point is, you're drunk. Get some water. Sober up. Then, if you still want to make bad decisions, I'll be overjoyed to help."

She steps back, crossing her arms, her lips pursed in thought. Then, suddenly, her eyes widen with what I can only describe as unholy glee.

"Oh my god," she says. "I'm so stupid. I can just magic myself sober!"

I blink. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm a witch!" she exclaims, throwing her arms wide. "I have magic! I can just..." She wiggles her fingers in front of her face. "Poof! No more drunk Rose!"

She closes her eyes, her face screwing up in concentration. A soft glow emanates from her skin, her wild, untrained magic stirring. It's fascinating to watch. Most witches need rituals, implements, focus. Rose just does it. She taps into the source.

A full-body shudder comes over her, then her eyes fly open, now clear and sharp.

"Whoa," she says, blinking rapidly. "That was intense."

"Did it work?" I ask, genuinely curious.

She touches her temple, then nods slowly. "I think so. My head feels clear. And I'm not dizzy anymore." Her gaze locks with mine, and now it’s more focused, more aware. "I'm sober."

"Congratulations," I say, stepping back. "Now I should go."

"No," she says quickly, reaching for me again. But this time her movements are deliberate, precise. "Don't leave."

I watch her carefully. "You're sure you're sober?"

"Completely." She takes a deep breath, and I see the way her earlier bravado wavers slightly in the face of clarity. She's less certain, more vulnerable. "But I still want you to stay."

The hunger in me bubbles up, clawing at my insides. She's beautiful, powerful, and so perfectly uncertain.

"Rose," I warn, but my voice has dropped an octave.

She steps closer, her eyes never leaving mine. "You said when I was sober." Her hand comes up to my jaw. "Well, I'm sober now."

I should leave. I should walk away. This can only end in complications neither of us needs. The connection that opened up before, it leaves us both vulnerable.

Instead, I lean down and capture her mouth with mine.

She makes a small sound of surprise before melting against me, her hands grabbing my hair. Her mouth opens under mine, eager and demanding. Her tongue slides against mine, and the taste of her makes me groan. I feel my control slipping as I pull her flush against me.

She breaks the kiss, gasping for air, her pupils black and wide.

"Finally," she breathes, then dives back in, kissing me with an impatience that matches my own.

Her hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my shoulders, sliding down to grab my ass with a possessiveness that makes me growl against her mouth.

I pull back. "You don't know how close you are to ruin," I warn her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, her lips swollen from my kisses, her cheeks flushed. She doesn't look scared. She looks aroused.

"The last time," I say, struggling to form coherent thoughts with her pressed against me, "when I fed from you. It created a connection. I can feel your energy, your desires. And others, others like me, they might sense it too."

Her eyes widen slightly. "What kind of connection?"

"A bridge," I explain, one hand coming up to cup her face. "Between your energy and mine. It's why I can sense you across campus, why I feel when you're in danger or distress." My thumb traces her lower lip. "It's dangerous, Rose. For both of us."

"Because Ash could use it against us?"

I nod. "If he realizes the extent of our connection, he could exploit it."

"Then why are you here?" she asks, her voice soft. "Why risk it?"

"Because I'm selfish," I admit. "Because I've wanted you from the moment I saw you. Because I've spent my existence taking what I want when I want it, and the very fact that I've resisted you this long is nothing short of astonishing."

She stares at me, her eyes searching mine. Then, a slow smile spreads across her face.

"You told me once," she says, her fingers playing with the buttons of my shirt, "that you wouldn't be with me until I asked you." Her gaze holds mine, challenging. "Well, I'm asking. I want you, Soren. Now."

My restraint snaps like a thin twig. I pull her to me, my mouth crashing down on hers with all the want I've been suppressing.

She responds eagerly, matching my intensity, her body arching against mine.

I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed, then lift her, hands gripping her thighs as I lay her down.

The dress she's wearing, black, tight, perfect, is in my way.

I grab the fabric at her neckline and tear it down the middle with one clean rip.

"Hey!" she protests. "It took me twenty tries to get that dress right."

"I'll give you twenty new dresses," I growl, pushing the torn fabric aside to reveal her body underneath. "But I need you naked. Right now."

Her skin glows in the afternoon light of her room, pale and perfect.

I run my finger down a line from her collarbone, between her breasts, watching her shiver, enjoying the view.

Her nipples stand up for me, so I can see them in all their glory.

The little peaks are tight and rosy, begging for my mouth to suck them.

I bend to take one nipple between my lips, flicking my tongue over it, while my fingers roll the other between them.

She arches up, a breath escaping her, and she’s so responsive, so alive, every reaction confirming her hunger for me.

“Soren.” The way her breath catches on my name, the way her body moves under my hands, is better than any drug.

I know what she wants, and I tease her with it, tracing my tongue from nipple to nipple, letting my teeth graze her just enough to make her squirm.

I savor the tremble that goes through her when I bite down, careful not to mark, but leaving her with the memory of my mouth.

Each gasp, each moan, each whispered curse feeds the hunger in me, stokes the fire that's been burning since I first saw her. She's intoxicating, addictive. And for tonight, at least, she's mine.

And I plan to savor every moment.