With a bewildered laugh, I take a page from Eve’s book and lift a single-fingered gesture over my shoulder. Ryc’s roaring laughter fills the lawn. If he’s trying to get a rise out of me, he’s going to have to try harder.
The guards at the door exchange a quick glance. One turns to me, opening his mouth—
A snap of light on my left blinds me, forcing my eyes shut as a hulking mass crashes into me.
For a second I free-fall, until the ground finds my back, knocking the air from my lungs in a painful crush with the sudden weight upon my ribs. Gasping, I force my eyes open, finding Ryc and the darkened sky overhead.
Pinned.
He has me pinned beneath him.
My budding irritation becomes utterheatedrage within the span of a heartbeat. Wrists trapped beside my face, his hands tighten, keeping me locked in place.
And he continues tolaugh.
I launch my teeth, aiming for the flesh of his neck. He reels back, but keeps his grip firm, and my bite snaps atair. He’s rendered me immobile—I can’t even kick at his crotch with the way his hips press into mine.
“You pompous, asinine creature,” I hiss the words.
As he continues to grin, I writhe against him, quickly finding the damp grass capable of soaking and chilling my sleeves. His grip remains ironclad, regardless of my struggling, cursing, and squirming.
The bulk of him is too heavy to shove away, not without an innate to help. And all of my struggling quickly takes a different turn. The weight of him grows distracting and my mind wanders—all too easy to do with the lack of space between us and his addictive scent.
Whether he means it or not, my heated anger becomes a heatedcraving.
Damn fae is no better than an incubi.
He lowers his face to mine, despite the prevalent risk of being bitten.
“An hour, little death,” he whispers, his lips brushing against mine as he nudges his hips into me.
Liquid darts of desire sear through my veins.
“Give me an hour every day. We’ll train and you’ll learn how to escape holds like this,” he says, his voice low as he smiles.
This game of cat and mouse is not one I’m new to.
It’s a necessary pursuit to survive in the hells.
Peering at him through my lashes, I drag my gaze from his lips and meet his stare, nearly drowning in his amber eyes.
“Are you sure sparring is how you want to spend an hour with me?” I purr. “I can think of far better ways to spend the time.”
With the smallest tilt of my chin, his lips meet mine, and I yield myself to him, offering him the temptation of taste. And with little reservation, Ryc answers the silent request.
His grip on my wrist tightens as my tongue sweeps against his in a gentle coax. I arch myself into him with a throaty moan, playing the part all too well.
Yet before I lose myself completely in him—I bite.
Hard.
The sharp tang of blood fills my mouth as he rears back, his howling laughter filling the lawn. He releases one of my wrists, his hand flying to his lower lip, and I take full advantage—landing a square strike against his ribs.
His laughter breaks, making room for a grunt as I shove him aside and pull myself to my feet. I straighten my now soaked cloak as he rolls onto his back, propping himself onto his elbows, revealing the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Are you sure you don’t want to continue?” he asks, arching a teasing brow. “There are a few other holds we can incorporate into how you want to spend the hour.”
I can’t help but laugh.
