“Is Dane okay?” I ask.
“He’s asleep,” he assures me. “He’s recovered well. Barely a mark on him. It’s the first time he’s gone through that, you know?”
“Have you?” I ask curiously, standing aside almost unconsciously to let him inside.
“A long time ago,” Warwick says quietly. “I was on my own and I fell from a cliff. Dane didn’t know about it until I came home and told him.”
He starts to walk, heading toward the bedrooms, and I pause before following, stepping after him as he ends up in the guest bedroom. Only then does he stop, staring down at the floorboards.
There’s a large, dark mark where Dane had been, the floor scorched by the fire. There’s also a thin trail of blood leading to it from the door, where the man had bled as we dragged him in there.
For the first time, I realise that Warwick, even while knowing his brother would be okay, had had to suffer watching his dead body. I’ve seen death before, and I know how the image of the corpse sears itself into the mind, until it’s all I can see every time I close my eyes. When David went missing, all I could do was imagine every awful scenario in which we might find his body.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Warwick says quietly, though we both know it’s a lie.
“Do you want to stay?” I try again. “I have other rooms.”
“Dane will wonder where I am,” Warwick says. “He won’t be happy that I’m here.”
He’s still staring at the scorch mark. I approach him slowly, much in the way that I have done to grieving loved ones in the past. Warwick got his brother back. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t suffered until that moment.
As my arm brushes his, I feel a little spark across my skin. This moment feels strangely intimate as we stand together. Close as I am, I can smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath; like me, he had also turned to drink to deal with what happened tonight.
Then Warwick turns away abruptly. The message is clear. He wants to be out of here. Wordlessly, I take his arm and lead him into the hall, shutting the door firmly. Then I look up.
He’s standing very close. I remember, suddenly, the moment earlier when he had helped me up from the floor. He had been extremely close then, and I had seen the way his body had slowly moved toward me. Heat had burned within me, almost as fierce as the fire that had burst from Dane, and I hadn’t been able to tell if I was disappointed or not that Dane had interrupted us.
It’s funny how a single night could change things. It was only earlier that I was thinking of how much of an idiot Warwick was, and scoffing at his stupid attempts to help me the other day. Now, everything feels so different.
Warwick leans in. Maybe it’s the warmth of the alcohol that I’ve drunk, dulling the voice in the back of my head that wants to know what I’m doing, but I don’t move away and, when Warwick’s lips touch mine, I wind my arms around him.
I know that this is probably just the left-over emotion of the night. But there’s no room, right now, to think about Dane or David or Supernaturals or mythical creatures. Warwick dives straight in and my lips part as our tongues touch and entangle, something burning deep within my stomach. I want him, I want this, and I press closer to him, feeling the way his body trembles against mine.
My back hits the closed door and my leg winds around his calf. I can already feel his hardness pressing against me, and fire is beginning to fill me as I gasp against his mouth, falling deeply and suddenly into a yawning pit of desire.
Then Warwick breaks the kiss and dips his head, nipping at my jaw, making me groan out loud.
“Fuck,” I breath, my head falling back. “Do that again.”
My hands are clutching his shoulders in a death grip, and his hold is tight on my hips. Needing more, needing to bring him closer, I loop my legs around his waist, trusting both him and the door to hold me up, and drag our groins even closer together.
This is spiralling out of my control. But that’s okay. I don’t want to be in control right now. I don’t want to think about anything. Alcohol has numbed my inhibitions and the emotional upheaval of the evening has made us both vulnerable to one another.
“Bed,” I force out as Warwick latches onto my fluttering pulse and sucks on it. “Bed, now, Warwick.”
His skin is blazing hot. Is it because of the heat that’s ramping up between us, or because he is a phoenix? I don’t know. I can’t even care as he stumbles backward, his hands dropping from my hips to under me, supporting me as I lean into him, breathless and overwhelmed.
“Which way?” he groans.
Not bothering with a verbal answer, I kick out at a closed door nearby and Warwick gets the message, fumbling the door open and stumbling inside. My room is cool and dark, the curtains still closed since I hadn’t bothered to open them when I dragged myself out of bed at a ridiculous hour of the morning.
Warwick heads straight for the bed and then I’m falling backwards, landing with a slight bounce on my mattress. I look up at him, splayed out on the bed, watching the fire in his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning over me and bracing himself on the mattress. “And amazing.”
I don’t have time to think about the compliments before he swoops in again, and then all thoughts are driven away as he captures my lips in a fiery kiss, pushing me down as my hands scrabble at his clothes, wanting them off, now. I tear at the buttons of his shirt, not caring if any of them break off, and he shrugs it off impatiently. When it’s gone, I slide my hand down his smooth, muscled chest, feeling the way his breath is heaving, and fumble with the buckle on his belt.
Warwick breaks away and tugs my shirt up, making me sit up slightly so he can pull it over my head, leaving me only in my white bra. I feel his eyes roaming me, and the desire on his face feels good.
The belt comes free and I tear it off before pulling his zipper down. Warwick steps back for a moment, then, pushing both his jeans and his boxers down, and I shimmy out of my own jeans, kicking them off before dragging my panties down over my legs and dropping them to the ground. Warwick looks up as I sit up and unhook my bra, allowing it to fall.
Then we stare at one another. I drink in his lean, strong body, eyes falling on the thick, throbbing penis between his legs, and I’ve never seen something I wanted so much. My breath catches.
Then we move, clashing in the middle, desperate to touch and taste. His touch is intoxicating, and I press closer, wanting more and more and more. I want to feel each callous on his skin, touch each scar that crosses his body, and feel him moving deeply inside me.
“Fuck me,” I gasp out.
Warwick pauses then. Something crosses his expression, too quickly for me to catch, and his hands still even as his hips rut against mine.
“Are…” He gasps and clenches his hands around my hips, hard enough to bruise. “Are you sure?”
I wind my legs around him and pull him in.
“Yes,” I hiss, not sure what he’s waiting for.
It was all the reassurance he needed. Warwick draws back and I feel his blunt fingers pressing against my entrance, circling and prodding, making me fall back onto the bed. I want so much more, but, for the moment, this is overwhelming and oh so good.
I barely register when he pulls his hand back, but I feel the tip of his cock against me, and my legs fall open, encouraging him in.