The Medium's Possession Page 12

  Sitting up in bed, propped against his pillows with his arms crossed, he looked to Zander, still sleeping beside him.

  What had made him think, when they’d met, that he had any business launching into a long term, committed relationship?

  He didn’t even know what that was supposed to look like...

  But he did, didn’t he? At least he thought he did.

  Because as much as he could remember the time that his mother hadn’t been okay, he could remember a time when she had been. When she had been happy and had loved him. And he could model, not the romantic part of his relationship with Zander, but the loving, supporting side on that foundation his mom had built, couldn’t he? The rest he could fill in with what he’d always wished he had. He could be what she needed because, if nothing else, his early life had taught him how to be what other people wanted him to be. For better and for worse.

  But with Zander, it was better. He knew what she needed, and he could provide it. And in return, she did the same.

  And they were so fucking happy.

  What if this was the beginning of the end?

  Callum had pushed the thought away, earlier. But now, with the house quiet and nothing to distract him, it was too loud to dismiss.

  What if that happiness he and Zander had shared was as fleeting as the happy time he’d had with Miriam? What if something about him was what took that happiness and warped it?

  What if the reason Zander thought she couldn’t stop hurting him was really because of him all along?

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  “You okay?”

  Cecily looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring into space, to see Scott standing in front of her. His short, dark hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it, but his eyes were bright and full of concern.

  “Yeah,” she said automatically before revising herself. “No. I don’t know.”

  Scott’s soft sigh of a chuckle was gentle and laced with understanding. “Yeah, I’m with you.”

  He sat down beside her, so close she could feel the warmth of his arm against hers. Without thought, she leaned her weight into him and let her head fall to the side to rest against his shoulder. A breath later, she smiled when she felt the weight of his cheek against her hair, but even that didn’t stop her mind from spinning on everything that had happened today.

  Zander had always been the strong one—the one above the fray. Even when their parents’ relationship had been dissolving, and everything had been up in the air, and nothing felt like it would ever be normal again, Zander had been solid. She’d been unwavering in her calm-collected exterior, almost aloof in her detachment.

  The only thing she’d done in response to the whole thing was cut off all her hair. And it looked kick-ass, so even that had been a well-thought-out reaction.

  So what the hell was going on in Zander’s head now to make her act the way she had? To make her hurt herself?

  Cecily had to say something about it or she’d keep living it all over and over in her mind, a fast-forward slideshow of horror: “I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of those bandages on Zander’s wrists out of my head.”

  He nodded without lifting his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get the look on your face when you saw them out of mine.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “That bad.”

  She hadn’t been aware of making a face—only of the sinking sensation in the middle of her chest, and a rising terror in her stomach.

  She and Scott had spent the hours Callum had been gone working on the house, not saying a whole lot of anything. They’d listened to music too loudly while they packed, exchanging comments back and forth about a song, or to solicit or provide suggestions for the next. It had been light, a good distraction. Nice. And productive. They’d gotten a lot done—though there was still a lot to do. She was just too exhausted to keep going tonight.

  “Can I sleep with you again?”

  She was relieved to feel Scott’s nod. Smooth and unhurried, he laced his fingers through hers and a warm, meandering kind of electricity ran under her skin, lighting a slow-burn fire as it went.

  “Absolutely.” Something in the way the side of his face moved against the top of her head made her think he was smiling.

  “Do you think they’re asleep yet?” Cecily asked, her voice low and private.

  “Asleep enough.”

  Cecily smiled to herself despite everything. “Good. I’m not interested in explaining...whatever this is to anybody tonight.”

  “Amen to that.”

  Ten minutes later, teeth brushed and face scrubbed clean, Cecily sat in Scott’s bed while it was his turn at the nighttime routine. She listened to the water in the pipes and focused on that instead of letting her mind wander into darker territory. A few minutes later, Scott’s door opened and the sight of him, his bare chest, and low-slung sweats sent Cecily’s blood ringing in her veins. For all the stress over everything to do with Zander, she still wanted him. In fact, she wanted him more now—wanted the escape his skin would provide.

  “I thought you might be asleep by now,” he said, his voice low, after he closed the door behind him.

  She shook her head. “Not yet.” Not before you got here.

  His smile was crooked and questioning. “What?”

  It was then she realized she was staring. She shook her head again and forced her eyes away from him. “Nothing.”

  Was it wrong of her to want to use his touch as an escape? Especially after everything he’d heard her say to Trey? But then, it wasn’t only the escape she was after. It was him. She wanted comfort—and she wanted him to be the one to give it to her. It wasn’t just the escape—it was an escape through him she craved.

  Next thing she knew, he was sliding between the covers beside her and putting his hand on her arm. “Come here,” he said when she didn’t look at him right away, in a low, private tone she loved .

  Without a second thought, she slid deeper beneath the sheets until they were face to face, where he stroked her hair back from her temple and she watched his eyes roam from her mouth, to her neck, to her ear, her jaw, her hair, before landing on her mouth again.

  Without his horn-rimmed glasses, she could see the mahogany color of his eyes in the dim lamp that was on across the room.

  He was being so amazing through all of this. So supportive of her, so there and present for Callum and Zander alike. Ready to help, even when he was still angry with the things Zander had said—before they’d realized there might be something supernatural happening and his anger had turned into pure concern.

  She thought she’d trusted him before—and she had—but compared to the way she trusted him now, that had been nothing.

  There were things they still needed to talk about—a continuation of the conversation they’d begun on their way home today. But not now. Not when they were here, in his bed, and she needed his skin against hers like a tether to the earth.

  “If you kiss me, I won’t stop you this time,” she breathed.

  “You didn’t stop me from kissing you last time.”

  “I won’t stop you at all.”

  His eyes glazed and in the dim light she thought she saw his jaw flex. “Not at all, huh?”

  The movement when she shook her head was tiny, but then—he was so close, and his hand was on the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the skin in front of her ear—the movement didn’t need to be any bigger than that.

  “Except,” she breathed the moment the desire came to her lips, “I want it real—I don’t want it sweet.” She didn’t want first-time slow and gentle. She wanted to exorcise all the worry spinning in her head with his body.

  The way his lips parted and the breath was pushed from his lungs left no room for misinterpretation; he was so ready and willing to follow that request.

  And she loved him for it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I want it real—I don’t want it sweet.�
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  Scott almost lost it right then and there. He felt himself chuckle, the sound deep and dark. It had been so long since he’d let go in this way—and he couldn’t think of anybody he’d want to let go with more. “Oh, Ceelee. I can so deliver on that.” Then he brought his mouth down on hers and the fuse was lit between them.

  She gasped against his lips as his hand turned firm on the side of her neck, pulling her to him. She snaked her arms around him in return and her short trimmed, painted nails turned to claws biting into his back, the pain a sweet surrender he hadn’t ever expected to make.

  They rolled so he was on top of her with a thigh between her knees, their kissing hard but not aggressive, fast but not frantic.

  He lifted himself so he was on his hands and knees and looked down at her, admiring the way the color was high in her cheeks, her lips parted and kiss-swollen.

  She reached for the hem of her tank, but he took it from her. He started to wrench it up, but remembering the fresh tattoo, he forced himself to go slow and gently peel it up instead, holding it away from that sensitive skin. She arched her back, then lifted her shoulders, bringing her hands over her head. He tossed her shirt away into the dimness around them, but when she reached to touch him, he caught her hands.

  She gasped when he brought them up over her head and pinned them to the pillow. Then she stared up at him, her eyes urging him onward, daring him to continue, begging to know what was coming next.

  He pushed his face into her neck, where he kissed her hard, nipping at her skin like he’d imagined doing so many guilty times.

  But there wasn’t room for guilt here—not between them, not when she looked at him like that. He nipped at her collarbones, her shoulders, then his gaze swept downward—and landed on her breasts.

  Thank you, universe, for letting me forget to turn off the lamp when I came to bed! Her tits were fucking fantastic.

  Keeping her arms pinned with one hand, he brought the other to one of her round, pale breasts, the pink nipple taught. Her breathing changed as he massaged her for a moment, careful not to touch the straining tip, just relishing the weight and fullness, the softness of her skin. Then, deliberately, watching her face and listening for her reaction, he ran his thumb over the taut bead of her nipple.

  Her head pressed back into the pillows, her mouth falling open and her chest rising from the bed as the most delicious whisper of a moan escaped her.

  He brought his mouth down onto her breast, rolling her between his lips and against his tongue until her gasps turned the corner to painful need. Then he went to the other, where it took only moments for her to turn that corner again, her legs pedaling beneath him but unable to make friction because of the knee he had between them—but not against her.

  He pressed his face between her breasts and drew a breath, pressing a kiss to her sternum.

  This was so much better than anything he’d dreamed up alone in his bed at night.

  Looking up at her, he pushed her hands deeper into the pillow. “These stay here.”

  The way her lips pulled into a hell-yes kind of smile as she panted told him just how turned-on she was.

  And oh, he had every intention of showing her how turned-on he was in return.

  He let go of her wrists and let his palm skate down her arm to join the other on her breasts. Then he continued on, his fingers sliding beneath her so her back arched as she inhaled deep. He kissed her ribs, her stomach.

  He feather-light kissed the tattoo he’d inked into her skin.

  Then he went lower, past her navel, until his palms were pressed against her backside, and his fingers grazed over an edge of fabric, almost as soft as her skin. He pulled back as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of what he expected to be shorts, like the night before—

  His breath caught in his chest.

  They were panties.

  She’d been sitting in his bed in nothing but a thin black tank and her black panties. And something about that was so fucking hot his cock strained, begging to get through that thin layer of damp fabric.

  But not yet.

  Instead, he kissed her hip bones as she lifted her ass off the bed and he tugged the soft fabric down. Then she lifted her legs so he could slide them off over her feet.

  He looked up her body to find her head up, her eyes blazing as she stared down at him with one leg stretched long, the other bent and fallen to the side so she was bare and open to him. Her hands were still obediently held above her head, but the way she pulled at the top of the pillow made it clear it was taking effort to keep them there.

  Good, he thought with satisfaction. That was the point.

  She didn’t want sweet, after all.

  “You good?” he asked, barely recognizing his own voice.

  Her nod was quick, her own voice breathy. “Hell yes.”

  He dipped his head again and her breathing turned to that fast rushing gasp that flexed her ribs as he kissed her hips, her thighs, staying so close but never going where he knew she wanted him.

  Then finally, when he heard the smallest mew behind her breath, he lowered his mouth to the apex of her thighs.

  Immediately, her chest shot up off the bed and her gasps turned to moans she kept locked in her chest.

  He didn’t go easy, didn’t take it slow. He dove in like it wasn’t the first time he’d tasted her, like he’d wanted to do the night before.

  And she went with him, rocking against his mouth, gasping and whining, until her gasping turned staccato and her rolling hips jerked—

  And she gasped his name as she came.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Cecily wasn’t sure she even had bones in her body anymore. Or muscles. She certainly had no desire to move them.

  She was laying with her head on Scott’s chest. His arm was tucked around her, holding her to him like he thought she might float away. Then again, she sort of felt like she might float away.

  How was it possible to feel at once heavy with satisfaction and weightless with giddy happiness?

  She opened her eyes, then brought her fingers to the tattoos that ran across his chest and shoulder. She traced the lines and images that usually sat underneath his shirt—the ones she’d wondered about so many times. Many of them were runes, the same shapes and symbols that he’d tattooed on her side, but simpler. His tattoos more resembled pencil sketches than the oil and watercolor effect of hers.

  “Did you do these yourself?”

  The way he drew a breath before he responded made it clear he was as relaxed as she was. His voice was low when he spoke. “Most of them, yeah. Some I had my boss ink for me—he has a different technique, you can tell them apart.”

  Damn. That was seriously impressive.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  He just hummed a sigh.

  When she looked up at him she expected to find his eyes closed, but no. He was peering down at her, a gentle smiling on his lips.

  Cecily smirked. “What?”

  “I’m glad you’re in my bed.”

  Her smirk pulled into a grin. “Me too.”

  She laid her head back down and settled in against him, and they laid like that for a number of minutes—just long enough for her mind to start working again. Start working on things outside of the two of them.

  “What are you thinking?” Scott asked, almost like he knew her thoughts had taken a step back toward real life.

  “Two things at once.”

  His chuckle reverberated in his chest beneath her ear. “Okay, what’s the first thing?”

  She looked up at him. “That was... so worth waiting for.”

  He laughed and, drawing a hand to the side of her face, slid down farther beneath the covers so they were face to face—just how the night had begun.

  God, this felt right.

  He’d made her come with her back on the bed. Then she’d flipped him over and taken him in her mouth. Then, minutes later, she’d crawled on top of him and they’d kissed while he let her
take control. At first she’d kissed him because she wanted his lips against hers while she rode him—then, as the pace picked up and she could feel herself climbing toward that precipice—the sister peak to her first climax—they’d kissed to muffle the sounds they wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet otherwise.

  When she’d come the second time, it had been a slow, building, driving kind of orgasm. Not the kind that jerks and rushes like an explosion, but the kind that rolls through like a tide—leaving her languid in its exit. And he’d gone right over the edge just as her tide was just starting to ebb, so she got to watch him come apart.

  He was even more beautiful in those most unguarded, most animalistic seconds.

  “My thoughts were along the same lines,” he replied, pulling her mind back into the moment of their afterglow conversation. “What was the second thing?”

  There was that dose of realism again. She paused, and, again, it was like he could feel the shift in her.

  “Ceelee, what is it?”

  Just say it, Cecily. If this is the beginning of what you hope it is, you have to start talking to him.

  “You were really cool this morning—about Trevor and everything.”

  He smiled, but there was question in his eyes. “I like to think I was just being a decent human being, but thanks.”

  She laughed. Scott would think that way—because he was a decent human being. “Just... I don’t know—tell me if you start to feel less cool about it. Okay?”

  He studied her for a moment. “I will. I swear.”

  “I just don’t want you to think I’m still hung up on him—”

  On the bedside table her phone buzzed with a text message, but she ignored it.

  “I don’t think that,” Scott said. “I get it.” Her phone buzzed again, and he smiled. “And, apparently, you should get that.”

  With a smile of her own and a generous eye roll, she untangled herself from Scott just enough to roll and pluck her phone from the table beside the bed. She laid on her back and lit the screen, ready to see a “how are things” text from her mom, or a drunk text from a friend back home—which she’d read, then set her phone to Do Not Disturb—but it wasn’t either of those things.