Sins of the Soul

“Don’t expect me to let you even if you offer.” Again, that cool, dismissive look that she managed so well. For some reason, it made him feel anything but cool. The more she rebuffed him, the more he wanted to grab her, haul her against him, push his tongue in her mouth and taste the heat she worked so hard to conceal.

Blatantly ignoring him now, she headed up the stairs. He followed, arriving on the landing just as she disappeared into the bedroom. Through the open door, he watched as she pulled a dark-red T-shirt over her black tank top, then pulled open a drawer and began to collect clean socks and…panties. As she piled things neatly on top of the dresser, she lifted her head and caught him watching her.

Holding her gaze, he walked toward her and slowly pulled a pair of panties from the top of the pile. White cotton panties. So unsexy that they were sexy.

She froze. Then her gaze shifted beyond his shoulder, her expression locking down. He didn’t need to turn to guess at what she saw.

“Spider,” she said. “The size of a Hummer.”

She picked up the pace, pulling out leggings, a sports bra, a long-sleeved shirt, underwear and socks. She rolled each of them into a tight cylinder, tucked them all in a freezer baggie and stuffed it in the bottom of the pack.

“Preparing for a tsunami?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You never know. I like to consider all possibilities.”

“So competent,” he murmured. “I like that.”

She ignored him.

“I like the way you can switch gears, screaming my name while you come, then pulling it together, all business.”

His emotions were unsettled while she appeared cool as a cucumber. He wanted to shift the playing field, put her squarely on the side having trouble with control.

She glanced up, night-dark eyes and thick, straight lashes. He waited for her to react to his teasing. Instead, she asked in a calm, even voice, “You have any idea of climate? Terrain? Anything you can tell me about Izanami’s territory?”

As he watched her lush mouth form the words, he imagined her on her knees in front of him, her gorgeous lips wrapped around his cock.

He glanced away. Took a slow breath. Right, then. None of that.

It had been his choice to stop earlier. The right choice.

He couldn’t say what had come over him, what had made him kiss her and taste her…

Yeah, he could. She had come over him. The scent of her hair. The bravery she’d shown in the alley. Her wit. Her guts.

He watched her push those thrice damned panties into another Ziploc bag.

“Izanami’s territory?” she prodded.

“Never been there,” he said into the growing silence. “Know nothing about it. I’d suggest layers, that way you can peel off whatever you don’t need.” Wrong choice of words. They only made him think of peeling off her clothes and laying her on the bed and taking her over and over again for hours. Days.

She stared at him, frozen, her hands deep in the bag, her lips slightly parted.

Bloody fucking hell. He’d like to keep her in bed, naked and panting, for a week.

And maybe she knew that, or maybe her own thoughts were running along the same lines, because she spun away and pulled a gray, long-sleeved lightweight fleece from her drawer, rolled it into a tight cylinder and tucked it in the bag.

“You’re yanking my libido like a chain,” she said, her head bowed. “You need to stop.”

“Or what?”

“Or you might not like what I do in return.”

She closed the pack, hefted it onto her shoulder and strode toward him. He expected her to turn sideways and sidle past him so their bodies touched as little as possible. Instead, she walked straight toward him and, when she reached him, pushed full against him. He felt the connection like a jolt of electricity.

“I like to keep things even,” she said, head tipped back as she stared up at him. “Right now, I feel like things aren’t so balanced.” She leaned a little closer, dropped her voice a little lower. “You had your mouth on my clit. Seems only fair that I wrap mine around your cock.” Her nails scraped him through the cloth of his slacks. The cock in question lifted its head and waved. “Unfortunately, someone has other ideas.”

She jerked her head at the wall. He glanced over and saw that the spider had been replaced by centipedes, and they were multiplying. There had to be thousands, skittering up and down from floor to ceiling.

Illusion? Possibly. He had only to walk over and touch one to know for certain. But either way, it didn’t matter. They were an expression of the Shikome’s—and Izanami’s—impatience.

Time was running out.

Naphré pushed past him and headed down the stairs, leaving him to adjust himself in private. Again.

This was going to be an exceptionally long trip.

Bloody hell. He couldn’t think straight around her.

“You can still back out,” he offered.