Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(47)

And when she had taken that gorgeous, succulent penis of his into her mouth, he’d hissed between his teeth, a quick, inward drawn breath. It made his long abdominal muscles tighten into a rippling cascade that bunched and flexed underneath his golden skin.

She took in deep, even breaths. She didn’t need to be able to see him to know that his long body had tightened. She could sense it, like the crackle of electricity in the air. He rolled onto his side, propped his head in one hand, and growled very softly, “We’re going to enact that bargain soon.”

Part of her catalogued just how romantic the scene was. Starry night, oversized full moon, and that long, arched stone bridge stretched out as a backdrop for the dark silhouette of one of the sexiest men she had ever seen.

She didn’t have a romantic bone in her body, and she was not affected by any of it. Well, not much. Sure, maybe the sky. She was always a sucker for a beautiful sky, especially when she could fly up into it. And the scene was pretty enough. Certainly the man was sexy, especially when she had him hogtied to a table.

None of that led to romance.

She scowled and told him, “Our bargain is null and void at the moment. No electricity, no clocks, no way to time a half hour. And I’m not trusting you without some kind of an independent timekeeping device.”

He laughed under his breath. The deep sound was witchy and wicked. It wound its way into her mind, like the brush of a black cat along her bare skin, and it enticed her to do things she would never otherwise consider doing, like twisting to mirror him, drawing him close and kissing him.

She almost did it, but then she pulled back at the last moment.

“We can amend the bargain. I’ll bet we could find an hourglass in some kitchen when we raid for supplies.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in me,” she mocked.

“My interest in you is purely pornographic.” He reached out to trace her mouth with a finger. “Your tongue is very talented when you stop using it to talk.”

Laughter threatened to shake through her. She stifled it. She didn’t want him to think she found him amusing, and he sure as hell wasn’t charming. “Remind me to tell you that you say the nicest things—when you start saying them. Maybe that’s what I can use my half hour for, to compel you to compliment me.”

His teeth flashed in a shadowed gleam of a smile. “You think I couldn’t compliment you without being compelled?”

“I don’t care about the compliments,” she told him. “I just want to watch you struggle.”

He slipped his forefinger between her lips and penetrated deeply into her mouth. Not only did she allow it, she sucked him. His breathing deepened.

“You’ll have to find some other way to do that, then,” he whispered. “I’ve hated you, and you’ve pissed me off more than anybody else I’ve ever met. You’re also one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. I watched you every time you were in the Arena during the Games. And I was too mad to admit it at the time, but what you did back in Prague, when you pinned me against the metal door, was crazy awesome. And of course then there’s your mouth. Your wet, warm, extremely dexterous, tight mouth.” He pulled his finger out slowly until just the tip rested between her lips. Then he pushed it back in, f*cking her in an almost leisurely way. “See how much better things are when you shut up?”

She had known hate sex with him would be hella good. It was even better in this … place they had come to, this not-quite-hate-but-something-else place. If you find an hourglass, I’ll consider it. But next time I go first.

“What if I don’t want you to go first?” he murmured, sliding his finger along her tongue in a slow, intimate stroke. “What if I want to bargain for something else?”

Behind the silhouette of his head, something moved on the bridge.

It was a quick black streak of—something.

She rolled to her feet and drew her sword in the same motion. In one lightning-fast, fluid motion, Quentin sprang upright and whipped out his sword too. He spun to put his back to hers, and only then asked telepathically, What is it?

Whatever else she might think or feel about him, his instincts as a fighting partner were dead-on accurate. She approved. She said, I saw something move on the bridge.

What?

She could feel him at her back through the thin material of her T-shirt. His body heat radiated against her skin, and the back of his shoulders brushed hers. She said, I don’t know.

They watched and listened. Nothing moved except for leaves in the wind. The only noises she heard were normal night sounds. She scented the air and smelled nothing out of the ordinary, and, because she was who she was, she looked up. There was nothing in the sky that didn’t belong there.

All the while, Quentin stayed at her back, hot as a burning ember and steady as the earth underneath her feet. She had the time and the space to think, all of that coiled danger at my back, and for once it’s on my side.

It felt strange, good and even exhilarating.

He didn’t relax, but after a few moments, he asked, You’re sure.

Yes, I’m sure I saw something, she told him. No, I don’t know what it was. It was a streak of something black. It didn’t look like it was connected to anything, and it moved independently of everything else. It was almost like—

She looked up at the night sky again. The entire scene radiated normality. She didn’t trust it. She stared at the bridge, and studied both ends where it disappeared into the darkness under the trees. It was empty.