Croe smiled a little at his expression – that look he got when he was weighing how much he could get away with. She had seen it many times. In this case, though, she knew he wouldn’t argue the point; a sad reminder of just how delicate those eggshells were, that they needed to tip-toe over.
She bent to kiss her daughter’s forehead when Mallos lifted her, doing her best to give the toddler an encouraging look. That sad little lip wobble was almost enough to shatter her resolve. It would have been easier if Croe weren’t so grateful that Ángela loved them – loved her – so fiercely. She knew the baby could be spoiled and bratty and difficult, but at least she wasn’t distant or cold. Croe wasn’t sure she would have been able to endure her child’s rejection.
Before she could waver, Mallos and Ángela vanished, leaving her to gather her thoughts; without the baby’s plaintive look, Croe’s mind quickly returned to her lover’s plans and her feet were moving back in the direction of the bedroom. She pulled a black button-down and trousers out of her wardrobe, glancing through her choices only long enough to select the ones that would be easiest to remove. Then she pulled on boots and strode out of Mallos’ chambers, neglecting her usual gloves in the interest of having one less thing that might be lost when their clothes ended up all over the place. Her smirk was difficult to suppress.
But she did suppress it, carefully arranging her features into a mask of calm and patience. If there was anything that would guarantee a hard “no” from The Law, it was a whiff of anxiety about skipping town. Croe suspected that explaining that anxiety wouldn’t go over well, either.
In the time it took her to walk to the barracks, meet with her parole officer, and return to Mallos’ living room, the anticipation had gotten under her skin. Croe paced for the remaining minutes, wondering and not wondering what was taking him so long. She allowed herself some uncharitable thoughts toward her daughter, tried to ignore the building tension in her body. The clock ticked loudly. Croe had never paid it much attention, before.
When she thought she couldn’t stand waiting any longer, she felt the familiar buzz of his magic in the air, and turned. He was upon her in the next instant. Croe met his urgency with her own, clutching his shirt with a vise-like grip and crushing herself against him, desire lancing through her like a lightning strike. She had a vague sense of time and space folding, bright morning light, then the hard wall behind her. She dragged him along with her, hands sliding up to tangle roughly in his hair, her hips arching against him, grateful for the leverage that the wall provided.
Mallos had her shirt collar in his teeth, his hands slipping under it, his eyes dark and fathomless as he smoldered up at her. She wanted to tell him to hurry up, impatient as she was to feel his mouth on her body. She pushed his head down with a growl, to illustrate her point. His cocky smile was infuriating as he resisted her, undoing her blouse button by button while she clawed his own shirt up his back and over his head. They had, what, ten hours? It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. When he traced her navel with his tongue she actually cried out. Her nails left long red marks across his shoulder blades. Too slow, she thought, since her mouth could form no words. I’m going to devour you.
Deftly, she switched their positions, and yanked his jeans down with more efficiency than grace. Then it was her turn to smolder up at him, as she gripped his hips and slid down to her knees.
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