She was aching for him. Bastian could smell it, sense it in the sounds she made, so much better than the ones she'd made eating his food. Then, she nodded. His restraint faltered. He cupped her breast, gripping, pushing, while his other hand swept beneath her panties.
His fingers slid into the folds of her pussy, and he hissed. "So wet for me, Sugar? Did I do this to you?" She whimpered, pushing her hips against his hand. Answer enough.
He dragged his fingers along her slit, back and forth, then circled her clit. She felt like a fucking sin, a forbidden fruit, smooth and warm. His dick throbbed, pressed tight in the confines of his jeans, desperate to bury in deep where his fingers played. She groaned again, head falling back against the wall, pink wisps of hair framing her face, eyelids fluttering, struggling to remain open.
His gaze stayed fixed on her face, feasting on every expression that flashed over her features. So fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect.
Humans weren't supposed to appeal to his senses, not after everything in his past. He was crossing so many lines, and for once, he didn't give a single fuck. After he had time to process, he'd likely regret this.
But not now, not in this moment.
Desperate to see what she felt like inside, he slipped a finger in. She sucked in a breath. Her eyes opened wide, locked on his. That look had his balls tightening, stealing his breath. He wanted to rip her leather mini skirt right off, turn her against the wall, smack her ass for being such a fucking tease, hard enough to see the outline of his hand, then fuck her until she screamed.
No. He wouldn't go that far. This was where it stopped. His hand—nothing more. It was better that way. He'd make her come, then leave, get control over himself, and move the fuck on.
She'd be too much of a distraction, otherwise. And too much of everything else. Everything he couldn't have and didn't want.
"Bastian," she gasped. That one word had those thoughts sliding right out of his mind.
"Say it again, baby girl," he begged.
"Bastian," she whimpered, grinding against his finger, showing him exactly how she'd move those gorgeous hips if it was his cock instead. He pulled out and replaced the one with two, dipping in and out, fast and then slow, scissoring them inside her.
"Oh, fuck!" she moaned.
"You're drenched, Sugar. So fucking wet. This pussy has been desperate for me all night, hasn't it? Desperate since you first laid eyes on me?"
"Mmm..."
"Answer me, baby girl. Let me hear you say it."
"Yes. All night—since yesterday."
He groaned and didn't care that he did. If he wasn't careful...
He clenched his teeth until they ached. That didn't matter, it didn't keep him from grinding against her, grinding to the rhythm of his fingers. He pressed his palm into her clit.
"Oh, God, I'm going to—"
He halted, stopping the orgasm that nearly swept her over the top. "Don't say, God," he admonished. "God doesn't have his fingers in you right now. I do. God isn't making you feel good. I am. You got that, Sugar?"
Her eyes focused and unfocused. He expected her to argue. Instead, "Please don't stop, Bastian," she begged.
He could deny her nothing. His fingers moved, sliding back in, fucking her harder than before. The wet sounds left him panting.
"Yes," she hissed, grinding against him, against his thigh. She tightened around him, little kitten mews slipping from her throat.
He crushed his mouth against hers, eager to swallow every sound, while his free hand slipped beneath her top and found her bare breast. The feel of her nipple against his thumb, soft to the roughness of his finger, made him groan. His tongue claimed her, memorizing the feel of her mouth.
Her hands clenched him tighter, fingers digging into his shoulders. A strangled cry built in her throat. He couldn't decide what he wanted. Kiss her to orgasm, or watch her expression as she came? Both. Everything. All of it.
This single orgasm would never be enough—he'd been stupid to think it might have been.
Kiss her, he realized, mostly because he couldn't pull his mouth away, couldn't give up the taste of her. She tightened around his fingers, tighter, tighter, then jerked and cried out against his lips. He kissed harder, swallowing up the sound of his efforts, imagining it was his cock she was milking instead. Heated desperation seared him straight to his center, followed by a sense of success, and then...pride. Of all things. He'd had many victories over the years, but damn, this one felt better than most.
Their heavy breathing punctuated the quiet. He pulled his lips away just enough, but kept his fingers buried. She was unusually tight around him, as if holding on, keeping him there. "This tight little pussy needed that. You needed that, didn't you, Sugar? I wonder," he managed, "do you taste like sugar, too?"
Her mouth opened, then closed, brows knitting. A cute little crease formed between them. He'd seen it before, when he'd said something particularly shocking. He freed his fingers, loathe to do it, then lifted them to his lips. Her eyes widened, lips parting.
Her scent, now freed, made his magic falter. His glamor slipped for the barest of moments as he lost control. He leashed himself tightly, then slipped his fingers, covered in her, into his mouth. Her jaw dropped, scandalized. The taste of her exploded across his tongue. Just enough to make him regret not using his mouth on her. Fucking poor decision making—that. He should have tasted her orgasm in full. "Just like sugar," he growled, licking his fingers clean.
"Bastian!" she hissed.
His phone chimed, ringing in his pocket. He froze, then dropped his hand, letting a smirk cross his features. His eyes darted to the clock. "Well, Sugar, that's my cue. But first, you got that list I asked for?" He stepped back, shedding his arousal, making his voice sound tame and business-esque. The facade was necessary; he needed to put some space between them.
She scoffed. "Seriously? You just—"
"No time for complaints. I need the list. Where's your phone? You can text it to me." Her jaw clenched. Hazel eyes darted towards her room down the hall. "Well? Go and grab it." He motioned with his head.
"You're unbelievable," she muttered, stalking away. There was no bite to her tone, but incredulity, perhaps.
He tutted, waiting until her back was turned to exhale, to relax. Tension eased from his shoulders. Just her mere presence wound him up tight. He adjusted his pants, willing his dick to relax, though that wasn't as easy as he'd hoped. His gaze tracked the sway of her skirt, that cute little ass, as she disappeared into her room before reappearing a moment later. Fuck, she'd been so wet and soft for him. So ready—
"Here. It's in airplane mode."
"No need for that. As long as we're in here—" He motioned, indicating the house "no one can track you. Keep it on, in case I need to get ahold of you, or vice versa," he added, grinning. So what? Maybe he was curious to see if she'd text him.
Taking her phone, he programmed it with his number, then sent himself a text. His phone binged. "There. You've got my number. Send me the list."
She took her phone and clicked around. He pulled his out, looking over his notifications. Christian could wait. His phone binged again. He glanced at the text, quickly programming her number in before scanning through the contents of the message.
"I shared it from my notes app," she explained.
His brows knitted together as he scrolled. "Avon's Cup, keeps the drinker awake. Berrick's Belt, makes the wearer invisible, Fatima's Dagger—"
"Yes, yes," she snapped. "I don't need you to read them to me. I know what I wrote."
He glanced up at her, reading the irritation on her face. Damn, she wasn't one of those females who liked to fuck and run. Why would she be? She'd said she didn't do fuck-boys, and wasn't that a fuck-boy thing? He surged toward her, invading her space. Her breath hitched. She rapidly backed up until her back was against the wall again. "Don't worry, Sugar," he growled. "We'll have some more fun another time."
He silently cursed the moment those words came out. A lie. He absolutely did not intend to have any more interactions like this one. Couldn't afford to. And yet, her expression, the annoyance there, drove him to make the promise.
She tutted. "Whatever. That's everything—on the list I mean. I don't know if it will have any significance. If it will help to locate her killer, I mean. Like I said, she could have gotten rid of any or all of them over the years. Or they could have been stolen by her killer just because they were pretty trinkets—"
His lips were on hers before he realized what he'd just done. Fuck! He was kissing her, tasting her one last time. That's all this was. He needed to cement her kiss into his memory so that he could start fresh tomorrow, put this behind him. He swept his tongue through her mouth, then pulled away, giving her bottom lip a nip along the way. "It's fine, Sugar," he said, voice low, gravely. "I'll see if I can make anything of it. Let you know if I have questions."
He backed the fuck up before he did anything else utterly stupid. Like carting her up the stars. Tossing her on his bed. Telling Christian to go fuck himself so that he could fuck her instead.
No.
He strode over to the mat by the door and slipped back into his boots, shucked on his jacket. "I'll be back later, Sugar. Behave yourself. Get some sleep. Don't go outside the house. Got it?"
She nodded, watching him.
He didn't take the front door, instead, he walked towards the garage, leaving Eleanor gaping after him in the entryway. With each step, her scent grew fainter, but it didn't disappear entirely. As he rounded the corner, he didn't look back over his shoulder, either. Couldn't. If he did, he'd never leave her. He had work to do. So, he left her standing there, smelling like sin and sex and everything he wanted to devour, and told himself that he'd have better control next time. Only because he had to.