Page 181 of Harbinger

“I thought you didn’t want to go back to the party,” he says, but he doesn’t try to stop me.

“I don’t.”

“Then I have bad news for you, because you’re heading right for it.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and it lifts my own lips.

I wish it could always be like this. Effortless and light and … easy.

But the things worth fighting for never are.

Bishop is worth fighting for.

When we reach the kitchen door, the lights inside are dim. The party has already moved on. The guests have Turned the Threshold without us.

“I’m glad we waited for everyone else to go through first,” I murmur. Bishop eyes me warily as I swallow hard and continue. “But I’m done waiting.”

I take both his hands and back toward the door. Bishop follows, pressing me gently against it.

“Are you sure?”

“Will you just shut up and kiss me?” I say with a soft smile.

But he pauses and searches my face like he might find a clue that will help him understand me better. “I meant what I said earlier. I will wait. There’s no rush.”

But there is. Because I only have one life, and even if it’s painful, and even if I’m still a bit broken, I need to start living it.

I slide one hand from his. Reaching behind me, I turn the knob, then push the door open with my backside, my other hand still locked with his.

And we step through the door together.

Bishop’s nostrils flare as we stumble into the dark kitchen, my back colliding with the wall that leads to the narrow servant staircase. He plants his hands on either side of me, creating a cage I never want to escape from. “Is the invitation to kiss you still open?”

“I think I might die if you don’t,” I breathe.

His mouth crashes into mine.

There’s nothing gentle about the kiss. Only hunger and relief and the sweet edge of finally giving in. His hands grip my hips, shoving aside my skirt as he lifts me off the floor. His jacket hits the ground behind us, and suddenly I’m acutely aware of all the clothing that we’re still wearing.

My hands slide to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling to unfasten them, needing to feel his skin on mine, needing nothing left between our bodies, between our souls.

He smirks against my lips. “Can I take you to bed before you start ripping off my clothes?”

“Only if you’re quick about it.” I tug his lower lip between my teeth, earning a growl.

Bishop hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, our mouths crushing together as he starts up the back staircase. Every step makes it harder to breathe. Like my body knows what’s coming and is already begging for it. We only make it a few more before he pivots and we slam into the wall. He plants his knee between my thighs, pinning me in place as his tongue works deeper into my mouth.

His hands are everywhere. Skimming over my breasts, pushing my skirt to my waist, shoving aside the scrap of lace that’s a barrier to what he really wants. He brushes a finger along my swollen sex, snarling with approval at the wetness he finds. “This …” He pushes the finger inside me, and I nearly arch off the wall as pleasure bolts through me. “This is all I want for Twelvetide.”

That’s a request I’ll happily accommodate.

I choke back a moan as he continues to pump that single finger.

“What happened to going upstairs before we started ripping clothes off?” I tease breathlessly.

Bishop starts to draw away like he’s going to comply. But who needs a fucking bed? I hook my arms around his neck and drag him back to me, unable to wait a minute longer. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Smart man.

He reaches between us, swiftly unbuckling his belt, then his trousers, and a tiny whimper escapes me as he strokes his newly freed cock. One arm circles my waist, hoisting me just high enough to bring us together. He slides inside me, and everything else falls away. His hips rock hard and fast. I lock my ankles around his waist and just enjoy the ride.