Page 202 of Commanding Blood And Bonds
“Did you think I’d actually go out the window? You live in the penthouse, Crew. Be so for real.” Even as she said it, she pulled her tank up, exposing chiseled creamy abs beneath, my hands buzzing in response. “Come on, playboy.” She rushed for the bed, telekinetically tossing the pillows aside and throwing the curtains closed.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hissed, hoping my voice was low enough the Wings in the hall couldn’t detect it.
“Getting busy, obviously,” she snipped. But she was moving—disheveling the sheets, plopping on the bed as she yanked her boots off and threw them at me. I dodged the first and caught the second, shaking my head and muttering curses under my breath as I chucked it under the bed, kicking the first along with it. Understanding dawned, and my mouth fell open in shock. Insane. The woman was insane.
Freya was back on her feet as I closed the distance, stripping the leather jacket from my shoulders to drop it beside my espresso bar and kicking off my shoes. Another rattling knock banged against the door.
“Dammit, Cyrus! I’m coming in!” Carr warned.
“Fuck off!” I snarled back. “Busy, motherfucker.”
A weighted pause. “Are you alone?”
“No!” I barked back as Freya fucking Porter—jailbait, in the flesh—climbed into my bed. That iconic flash of red had me snarling, “Your fucking hair. You couldn’t have been a brunette?”
She snorted but curled her fingers to beckon me forward. Shaking my head, I lost my damn pants and launched onto the bed to the thunderous knock of Nix as he bellowed epithets.
It wasn’t hard to swallow her tiny form beneath mine, yanking the blankets up and over my back as my body went to war.
Betrayer. Traitor. Defector...
Hunger.
White-hot need ate at my spine as my eyes scoured over a perfect female body—petite and tight, all muscle and subtle curves, with the world’s most elite tits, crushed into a bra I itched to unlatch.
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I growled, “You’re fucking insane.”
“And you’re honor-bound,” she snapped back. But she didn’t miss the way my eyes scraped down her exposed torso, or how I lingered on her breasts. “Enjoying the view, Prince?”
I scoffed as another fist slammed into the door. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wraith. You’re not my fucking type.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Busy!” I called over my shoulder. Freya tossed another pillow aside, knocking over the desk lamp in the process and smiling at the ceramic clink as it hit the wall.
“Rude.”
“The fuck is this?” She scowled, gripping my shirt and yanking it up. I scoffed and shifted so she could jerk it over my head. Her eyes skimmed over my chest, a coy smile curling her mouth.
Absolutely not. She wasn’t gonna come up with the worst cover known to man, then check me out while I played along. Flipping her over like a prop, I ignored the way my blood heated at her shocked laughter. Like the glitter of a lake, it seemed to draw me in. I pushed her torso down into the mattress and draped my body over hers, straddling her legs. I wrapped her hair into my fist, concealing it the best I could, yanking her face back over a shoulder until our foreheads met. I groaned as the door burst open, grinding on her ass as my mouth claimed hers, effectively blocking her from view. Heat exploded through my veins, her taste invading my senses as she stiffened beneath me before going pliant.
I didn’t have time to think about how my magic hummed beneath my skin, or the ten degrees my temp climbed. Didn’t get to think about how much I liked the feel of those silky auburn strands.
When the handle cracked into the wall, Freya cried out, and I fisted her hair tighter, keeping her in place and praying I was shielding her completely. I didn’t risk turning my head. “What the fuck? Get the fuck out!”
“Cyrus,” Nix protested.
“Door.”
“Cyrus!”
“For fuck’s sake, Nix, I said door.”
“We’re hunting for The Wraith.”
“Do you see a damn ghost?!” I demanded through gritted teeth, rocking against her in a mock-thrust.
“She called us in. Warehouse is toast.”
