Waking The Serpent. Jane Kindred
had left him suddenly.
Phoebe opened her eyes and took a step toward the bed. “Rafe?”
“He desires you, as well.”
“Dammit, Jacob. That’s enough.”
Jacob lifted Rafe’s shoulders in a shrug. “I’m only telling you what this body is telling me.” His eyes flicked downward and back at Phoebe, just enough to draw her gaze to the obvious erection in Rafe’s jeans.
Phoebe yanked her gaze away, heat radiating off her skin. “I thought you wanted to tell me about the necromancer. Does he have a name?”
“Tezcatlipoca.” Him again. “That’s the name he calls himself. It’s a stolen name. He imagines himself a god.”
“And the reason he wants Rafe’s power is because of Rafe’s affinity for the Aztec deities? His family’s ancestry?”
“His family’s legacy.” Jacob withdrew his arms from the headboard and leaned forward. “Come. I’ll show you.” She’d heard that one before. Jacob turned away, looking over Rafe’s shoulder. “Touch the serpent.”
Phoebe let out a sharp laugh. She’d definitely heard that one before.
Jacob smiled. “I don’t mean anything by it. It’s the source of his power.”
Phoebe’s eyes threatened to fall right out of her head, they were rolling so hard at the double entendres. But Jacob merely waited, his hands propped to one side as if in a yoga pose. Quetzalcoatl’s feathery scales did seem rather luminous despite the low light in the room.
She closed the space between them, sitting on the edge of the bed so she could reach Rafe’s back, and placed her hand against the tattoo. It was oddly cool, though his flesh was warm. And Rafe smelled like the coming rain. His muscles rippled under her hand. Only it wasn’t muscle. It was the tattoo.
“What the hell?” Phoebe drew back, but Jacob caught her wrist and tugged her into his lap.
“The quetzal awakens, charmed by the evocator. And it will soon take flight.”
“Let go of me, Jacob.” She managed to rise onto her knees, straddling Rafe’s muscular thighs as she tried to climb off and tangling her skirt in the process, but the grip on her arm was like steel. He pulled her down closer. Between her thighs, she could feel Rafe’s heat against hers—nothing between Phoebe’s flesh and his jeans but the thinnest of microfiber. “I don’t think Lila would approve of this.” Her lungs seemed to be having trouble taking in a full breath of air.
“I can’t help what this body feels. What it desires.” He bucked lightly against her, and Phoebe knew he could feel how damp her panties were. The last time she and Rafe had been this close, she’d been in the grip of Lila’s control, unable to exert her own will. Now she had complete control over her own faculties. And she was moving in tandem with the gentle rise and fall of Rafe’s pelvis.
What was she doing? It was one thing to have entertained even for a second the thought of bargaining her body to Lila in exchange for the necromancer’s identity, or to have indulged in the fantasy of having Rafe at the mercy of Jacob’s desire for her. But she couldn’t participate in this—whatever this was—no matter how hard up she was.
Rafe’s lips were against her throat.
“Rafe.” Her voice came out hoarsely. “You have to tell Jacob to go.” He paused in his caress. “I know you can hear me in there. It’s your body. Tell him to leave.”
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