Shadow Boxer: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 2) (21 page)

Leaning forward, his cheek presses against mine, and then his lips are on my skin, igniting it on fire. He rakes his teeth across the crazy-sensitive skin at the base of my neck. He hasn’t shaved today, and the thousand piercing quills of his beard incite a chill across my body. I squeeze my thighs and run my hands across his shoulders and into the thick curls at the base of his skull. His skin is hot and smooth.

He’s hard beneath me, and I grind my hips against him. Another taste of my nipple and I dig my fingers into his scalp. Soft chunks of hair fall over my knuckles. He rocks his hips forward and up, pressing his fingers tight on my back. I’m shaking with need. I grip his shoulders and tug at his tunic. “Please, Constantine.”

He stills and lifts his head from my left nipple. A slow smile curves his damp lips. “Say it again.”

“Please,” I plead.

He shakes his head, scratching my cleavage with his stubble. “My name. I want to hear it on your lips again.”

“Gaius.” I circle my hips to the left, grinding him against me. “Titus.” I spread my hands over his chest. “Pomponius.” I lick his ear and murmur, “Constantine.”

He grinds his hips upward and I slur the end of his name. “Constantine,” I say with a sigh.

Bending forward, he grabs a handful of his tunic and rips it over his head. “Constantine,” I whisper. In the soft firelight, his skin glows. Blond curls cover his thick chest where dark shadows split the muscles and beg exploration. I drop my lips to his shoulder. Taste the scar on his collarbone. Bend so I can lick his nipple. His hands fist in my hair and he feels his way to the end of my braid. While I work my way across the golden ridges of his chest, I draw my thighs closer around the hard shaft in his lap.

His deft fingers make quick work of my braid and my hair spills forward, cloaking my face.

He brushes it to the side and tucks a finger beneath my chin, lifting my face. I straighten, and his cock bumps against my wetness. “Oh!” I moan. His fingers trace the line of my jaw, down my neck and spine then curl around my ass. Thick fingertips press against me, and he fits me against him and slowly rolls us forward onto the floor. The rug is warm from the fire, and the stone plays the light onto his face. His eyes are shuttered and he drops them to a single freckle between my breasts. I whimper and wiggle against him, thrusting my hips upward, but he ignores me and continues his slow perusal of my ribs.

“Constantine, please.” I moan as he dips his tongue into my belly button. My insides twist as a spiral of heat radiates through my limbs. He chuckles against my skin, and the sound nearly brings tears to my eyes. I love that sound.

His breath is warm on my skin, and I’m going to shatter. My hands wander across the expanse of his shoulders and explore the ridges and fullness of his muscles, quivering as he moves over me. Finally his mouth lowers and I arch up against him. Stars and lights explode behind my eyes and he lifts my legs over his shoulders. Waves of an orgasm crash over me. Over and over he thrusts his tongue against me and I lose my grip on this now.

When I stop shaking, he lifts his head and leaves a trail of kisses up my stomach. He tastes my nipples again and pauses when our faces align. “You are my everything,” he says as he positions the thick head of his cock against me.
 

One hand slides the length of my leg until my ankle rests in the small of his back. He repeats the motion with my other leg and I lock my ankles. He drops his forehead to mine and pushes forward.

I lift my hips and bring him home.

Our names mingle as they burst from our lips.
 

He is the only thing that exists. I forget everything but his body against mine. He loves me with the same passion we fight with. I can be raw… real… unjudged. Here, I am just me.

He thrusts with me until I’m on the verge of shattering. His big hands hold me against him and we move together like we’ve never been separated by centuries. I dig my nails into his back and scream his name one final time as I climax.
 

Two more thrusts and he throws his head back with a roar. He bucks against me, and I smooth my hands along his shoulder blades. He drops a kiss beneath my ear and whispers something in Latin. I don’t hear it well enough for it to translate, but it didn’t need to. I pull him close and he slides to his side next to me. His fingers circle my belly button and he kisses my temple.

Hands on either side of my head, he pauses and waits for me to open my eyes. I slide my gaze and fingers up the ridges in his stomach and over the mounds of his chest. I link my hands behind his neck, and when I’m ready to face the scrutiny, I lift my eyes the final inches to his face.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I tug his face to mine and curl my leg around the back of his thigh. He chuckles against my lips and gives in to my assault, drawing my lower lip between his teeth and nibbling it gently.

Tugging me upward, he carries me to the bedroom and snuggles us deep beneath the blankets.

In the silence, we find a solid space to exist and I drift off to sleep.

C
HAPTER
23

M
ORNING
COMES
TOO
early, and the trilling melody of the forest birds calls me awake. Beside me, Constantine snores softly. A sunbeam slices the ceiling in half, and I follow its path down the wall until it catches the tips of his hair on fire, bathing his entire face in golden light. My dreams didn’t bring me a single solution, only a few hours of peace. He stirs and flops an arm around my waist and pulls me tight. I turn and settle against the warm, hard spoon. His contented sigh brushes the strands of hair at my ear, and his hand traces a slow path back and forth over the curve of my hip.

The cot squeaks as he rises to one elbow and kisses my shoulder. “As much as I delight in waking like this, I have to meet men this morning.”

“I need to go, too.” I roll to my back and lift my hand to his cheek. He lowers his face and kisses me sweetly. I link my hands behind his head and deepen the kiss, searing it on his memory in case it’s a year before he gets another.

His fingers wander up my ribs and slip around my back until he’s propped on his elbows and draped across me. Ending the kiss, he raises his head. The question is there again, but he doesn’t voice it.

Instead, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and cradles my face. “I miss you.”

I turn my face into his palm and kiss it. “I miss you, too. I hope you know that. Even when I’m gone I think about you all the time.”

“I hope so.” He traces my eyebrows and the bridge of my nose.

I open my mouth and close it. I don’t know what to say to him. I’d like to figure out how to not be gone so long, but my arcs are as erratic as ever.

“I wish you would just stay,” he says.

I tug one hand free and lift it to his cheek. “I know.”
 

What else is there to say? I’m not capable of existing without my lightning. Staying here would mean giving up who I am—who he wants. Even with the confusion surrounding Nikola’s alteration, I’ve finally found my place in the world, the space that’s my perfect fit. I snuggle closer to him and he wraps his arms around me. His heartbeat beneath my cheek feels so right. Because this is my place, too. There has to be a way to make them fit together.
 

He wraps my hair around his wrist, fingering the frayed ends like a toddler with a blanket. Maybe I can find a way to be here every night. There has to be a way to bookmark this now so I can come see him whenever I want, not just when it fits with Aurelia’s arc or my training.

“It won’t be a year,” I say.

“How do you know?”

I smooth the hair back from his forehead, but don’t insult him by lying. He leans into the pressure of my strokes.

“I thought you came to talk,” he says.

“I thought so, too, but since I never know how long we’re going to have, talking seemed like a lousy way to spend the time.”

He kisses me and rises from the bed. I follow and we dress in silence. Bits of my clothes are strewn everywhere, pants in the corner, two halves of a bra, my borrowed tunic. As I fold the tunic, I finger the soft fabric, replaying scenes from yesterday.

Then he’s in the doorway, and our time is over. I set the outfit on the end of his bed, stretching every possible second.

As if catching an injured bird, he cradles my hand and leads us into the front room. He stops by the door and turns, drawing me close enough to brush his fingers against my cheek. I look away.

I wrap my arms around him, holding him as tight as I can. Tears sting my eyes and I press my face into his chest. He squeezes me back.

Beyond the room, the camp wakes and warriors are on the move. His hands fall away and I take a step back.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” I say, and even to my ears it sounds lame.

He nods and the muscles in his jaw clench. “Be safe.”

Before I do something stupid, I knead a strand of lightning into a ball and think of Papi.

Constantine’s intense gaze escorts me out.

My return to Papi’s house is uneventful, though I’m constantly amazed at how loud it is here. Everything buzzes—lights, cords, the atmosphere—Constantine’s time is so quiet in comparison. Or maybe I’m just making up reasons to go back.

I wander through the house and find Papi and Tiana in the back room, but I hesitate on the threshold. A fight blares from the TV, and Papi’s stretched out on the couch, one of Mami’s colorful afghans covering him from chin to toes. Tiana’s tucked in his big orange armchair, twirling gum around her finger.

“Hi,” I say.

They both look up and Papi fumbles for the remote, muting the play-by-play. He winces as he sets it on the table, making my guts twist. The burns on his face are healing, but his hands are still heavily bandaged. My hands shake and I frantically swipe an orange off the counter to make them stop.

I trip my way down the stairs and will my knees to hold me upright. Tiana smiles at me from her perch on the chair, and I lift my fingers in a half wave then stop at the end of the couch. “How you feeling?” I ask Papi.

With painful movements that make him look twenty years older than he is, he sits up and sets his feet on the floor. “Like I got pummeled for the last three rounds.”

The orange falls to the floor and I crash to my knees beside the couch. “I’m sorry, Papi. I’m so sorry.”

He wraps me in a tight hug and pulls me against his chest. “I’m the one who’s sorry,
mija
,” he whispers. “It’s my own fault.”

I tremble and try to shake my head. Words won’t come. We sit like that for a long time. He presses his cheek against the top of my head and I finally stop shaking. He tries to help me stand, but as he sits, he winces and grabs his stomach.

“What have I done to you,” I whisper. Tears fill my eyes again and I sag into the couch next to him. He eases back and holds a bandaged hand to me. I cradle it between mine and gently rub the undamaged exposed skin I can find. Silence stretches and I manage to pull myself together.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me, too.” He laughs, but it turns into a cough.

“Are you always gone this long?” Tiana asks.

“How long?”

“Since last Tuesday.”

I sigh. “Seems to change every time.”
 

“Making any headway?” he asks.

I tuck my feet underneath me and twirl my fingers through the long threads of the blanket. “No. Penya still doesn’t know where Ilif’s keeping her, and this new alteration”—I untangle my fingers and smooth the threads—“is deceptively simple. I’m missing something.”

He stretches forward and pokes the remote, killing the TV. “Want to tell me about it?”

Tiana puts her hands on the armrests, and Papi turns to her before she’s completely out of the chair. “You get to stay.” He glances back at me. “You need to hear this.”

Her eyes dart to mine. I nod.

“Evy already told me about the time traveling,” she says, fidgeting.

“I know,” Papi says. “No more secrets.”

I grin. Finally.

He touches my knee. “No more chatting over e-mail either,
si
?”

I grin. If he can get better, he can start going with me on these things. I wouldn’t have half my issues with someone to bounce ideas off, or to rein me in before I go half-cocked and jack something up.

I breathe deep. No more whining. This job is turning me into a complete puss.

“What did the doctors say about your recovery?”

“I’m lucky to be alive. A direct hit like that should have killed me. I think they’re still trying to figure out why it didn’t.”

“Why didn’t it?” Tiana asks.

Papi and I exchange glances. “No secrets,” I say.

“Normally, riders heal quickly,” he says. “Before Evy took me back to Spain, I’d turned off my ability.”

“So why don’t you just turn it back on?” Tiana asks.

I raise my eyebrows. How did we not think of that? Why didn’t Penya suggest it? That should have been her first idea.

 
He lifts a bandaged hand to his face and we stare at each other. I silently plead with him to do it. “Okay, okay. It’s on the top shelf.”

I bounce off the couch like he hit an eject button and race to his office. The box that started this whole adventure sits unassuming, next to construction workbooks and travel posters where I left it. I get it down, stuff the remaining booklets in my back pocket, and grab the leather book. With it tucked beneath my arm, I sit beside him. Tiana takes the spot on his other side.

With a slight tremble in his hand, he turns to the back of the book and flips a few pages toward the beginning. He spreads his fingers wide across a page. “Here it is.”

Tiana and I lean forward. I skim the words, knowing most of what’s here.

“It’s in Spanish,” Tiana says, surprised.

Papi smiles.

“What—” Tiana squeaks as the words change.

“We get cool language accessories,” I say.

Now that the words have reformed into English, she mouths them.

Papi slides his finger to the bottom of the page. “This is the instruction to turn it off.”