Inspire (The Muse #1)(74)
Author: Cora Carmack

Her arms start to shake, drooping again until her body falls closer to the wall. I pick up the pace, pressing more firmly against her clit as I go.

“Wilder, oh, Wild—” she gasps, almost forming my name again. “I love you,” she whispers, and then her body grips me hard, pulsing around me tighter than I’ve ever felt. I push in deep, and when I circle my fingers on her again, she cries out, begging for something. Whether it’s to keep going or stop, I’m not sure. Her muscles contract again, and I give in to my release. I let out a hoarse cry as my body jerks forward, and for a moment, everything blanks out except the feel of my body inside hers. It feels like a miracle, and I know what she meant our first time together about never wanting me to not be inside her.

We just fucking fit.

I ease off that bundle of nerves, and her body pulses in time with mine, slower now, but each one curls around me, sending a rush of heat through the rest of my body. I lay my forehead against her back, slipping out of her as she leans more fully against the tile. I kiss up her spine, until I push her hair over her shoulder, and find the back of her neck. With my lips resting there, I say, “I love you, Kalliope.”

She starts to turn, and I lift up my sluggish body long enough for her to maneuver around to face me. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she places a kiss on the center of my chest. “We’re going to be okay.”

I don’t know whether she’s saying it for her or me, but either way I’m glad to hear those words from her mouth. I lace my fingers through her hair, and pull her in until she rests against my chest.

“We’re going to be better than okay.”

When our heartbeats slow back to normal, we step under the showerhead again. The water has gone cold, so we rush to clean ourselves up. Kalli shuts the water off, and I pull open the curtain.

I take my time drying Kalli off, pausing every few seconds to taste a stray droplet on her shoulder or breast or stomach.

“We’re going to need another shower if you keep that up.”

I wrap a towel of my own around my waist, and follow her out the door. “I wouldn’t mind another shower. After a couple hours in your bed.”

I run into her just outside the bathroom and have to wrap my arm around her waist to keep us broth from falling.

“Kalli, what—”

Her posture is stiff against me, and I follow her gaze to what should be her empty living room.

Instead, an old man is standing there, long gray hair, gnarled beard, and the strangest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Kalli

“Wilder, go in my bedroom.”

His hands settle over my shoulders, long fingers covering the bare flesh above my towel.

“Who are you? What are you doing in here?” he asks the watcher, and I wince at his growled tone. I turn to him, even though putting my back to the watcher makes me queasy.

“Please, Wilder. Go dry off. See if you can find something to wear.”

His hard eyes meet mine. “And what about you? Come find some clothes with me.”

The man behind my back speaks for the first time, and I whip around to face him.

“I was kind enough to wait for you before,” he says, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom, and my cheeks flush. “I find that I’m not much interested in kindness anymore.”

I’d wanted to attract the Watcher’s attention, but now that I had it I was terrified. I never intended for Wilder to be anywhere near him. It was one thing to risk myself, but the man I love? My focus from the very beginning has been about keeping him safe.

“You know why I’m here?” he asks, his dangerous eyes flicking to Wilder.

I’d thought I would have to make a big splash to bring the son of Argus to me. I should have known better. Known he would see even something small like my confession to Wilder.

“I do.” I swallow. “If you could just let him go home, there’s something I’d like your help with.”

He drags a hand through his beard and smiles at me. My stomach turns ice cold. “You know that’s not happening, pretty one. And if you think I’m here to help you, you’ve not been paying attention.”

Wilder’s hands tighten on my shoulders, pulling me back against his chest.

“What’s going on?” he whispers against my ear.

“What’s going on,” the watcher answers, “is your little muse broke the rules. And I already warned her once.”

“This wasn’t like last time. There’s no one else around. And he’ll never say anything. There’s no risk.”

Those double irises flash. “You and I see risk differently. You can only see what’s right in front of you. I see it all. And now I see a foolish goddess who thinks she can keep a mortal. What happens when he grows older and you don’t? Will he stay with you then? Will he keep your secret? When he dies, will you find another little pet to keep you from getting lonely? Will you tell that human too? When I look at you, all I see are risks.”

“Not if you help me.”

His eyes narrow. “Does this have something to do with the little trips you’ve been making?”

I stiffen.

He continues, “I told you I’d be watching. Perhaps I should have stopped you before it ever got this far, your foolish attempts to pretend you’re something you’re not. But what can I say? I like to watch.”

I force myself not to react to his taunts. I’d been prepared for this. I needed to present my case, try to strike a deal. Before I can get a word out, he snaps, “I see you, mortal. You’re even more foolish than she if you think you can slip something past me.”

I whip my head around to see Wilder has inched to my side to lean on the kitchen counter, his hand creeping toward a knife. My eyes widen, and I grab his hand. “You can’t. He’s like me.” Scratch that. “He’s more dangerous than me.”

The watcher flashes his teeth at me in a mockery of a smile. “That’s right, pretty one. Keep a tight leash on your pet.”

“Enough,” I say. “If you’ve been watching me, you know I’ve been searching for other deities.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Is that what you were doing? I thought perhaps you’d gone mad after all.”

“I need to speak to my father. Or any of the originals. I’d like to give up my immortality.”

He laughs, a low chuckle that crawls over my skin.

“All for a pet?”