I know full well he’s aware of what I’m asking, but he plays innocent. “Do what again?”
In reply, I take his hand and guide it from my waist up my chest, settling it over my breast. “Stretch me.”
His cock twitches again, his nostrils flaring and his tail flicking my calf. The pad of his thumb brushes my nipple through my sweater, and he squeezes it softly.
Then he abruptly clears his throat and drops his hand, making me pout.
“No. We’ve got more mulching to do. And raking. Mulching and raking.”
Mother Nature must have a soft spot for me, because no sooner have the words left his lips than thunder rolls, long and deep, the rumble rattling the windowpanes. Cairn’s eyes meet mine, and then he takes me by the waist,lifts me as if I weigh no more than a loaf of bread, and sets me on my feet. He pushes up, and his hooves clop along the wooden floor as he strides to the kitchen window and looks out.
Even from where I’m standing, I see the flash of lightning illuminate his face.
And then the rain starts to fall. It’s a light patter at first, a gentle dance across the thatched roof. But it doesn’t take long for the storm to arrive in full. It’s a loud thrum across the roof, and the view outside Cairn’s kitchen window is already becoming obscured by rain and fog by the time he pulls away from it and shoots a look at me.
“Are you sure you’re not a storm witch?”
“I’m sure.” I give him an innocent smile. “But one of my roommates is.”
He leans back against his kitchen counter and crosses his arms. “Did you plan this?”
“Of course not.”
That’s not a bad idea though . . .
He snorts. Maybe he doesn’t believe me.
Socks whispering across the floor, I ease toward him. He looks at me warily as I stand before him, so small compared to his height and width.
“So... I guess the mulching and raking will have to wait.”
He arches one brow.
“And I’d hate to get soaking wet walking back to the castle in this storm. Plus, I could get hit by lightning. And you said yourself you missed me, so I know you don’t want me to get fried out there. Guess I’ll just have to stay, wait it out. The headmistress would understand.”
“Please,” Cairn grumbles, shaking his head, “let’s not speak of Lysandra.”
“Okay, no more talk of Moonhart. How about,” I say as I take one of his hands and start to tug on him, trying to guide him toward the sitting room, “we talk about what you’re going to do to me, hmm?”
His eyes narrow further, and though he resists me for a moment, he does eventually push away from the counter and start slowly following me toward the sitting room.
The fire has burned low, and I hurry to toss another log on and shoot a few fresh flames dancing across the wood with my fire magic.
Then, before Cairn can give me another excuse for why we can’t do this, I hurriedly rush from window to window, pulling the curtains closed. When I’m done, the sitting room is dim, lit by the firelight as the rain pours and thunder rumbles above us.
“Lyra,” he says softly.
I know he’s about to tell me we can’t, that we have to stop.
Before he can, I reach for the waistband of my trousers—the ones I wear to work with Cairn, with the stained knees and muddy cuffs—and loosen the cord, then push the fabric down around my ankles.
Cairn watches without speaking as I step free of them and kick them aside with my foot.
Next, I take hold of the bottom of my sweater, and withone motion, I pull it off over my head. That, too, falls into a heap on the floor.
Now I’m just wearing my warm socks and cotton undergarments, the fabric so thin I know Cairn can clearly see the peaks of my nipples even from across the room.
Still, he says nothing. But there’s a straining against his trousers that he’s making no effort to hide.
