“Or the right one, depending on which way you look at it.”
He grins, seeming unbothered by the gash I left on his arm. Crimson liquid flows freely from the wound, the pitter patter of rain sending the vibrant colour scurrying over the artwork painting the right side of his body.
Running my knife over the hard lump of his traps, I nick the soft flesh of his throat before scraping his Adam’s apple teasingly. The wolf tattooed along his neck snarls back at me, the archers surrounding the animal almost as deadly as the press of my blade.
“But now that you’re caught, what am I going to do with you?” Purring softly, I flash my teeth at the beast trapped beneath me, “So many options with a pretty boy like you.”
“Letting me go sounds like a viable one.” Tilting his head, he doesn’t shy away from the sting of my blade, “Although I’mquite enjoying our current position. I do my best work from below, you know.”
“Is that so.”
Leaning down, I brush my lips across the tip of his ear. I’m still straddling him, and a slight shift of my hips has my spandex shorts rubbing against the wet material of his cargo pants, “And if I were to take you home and tie you up, just for a little fun, what would you say to that, Devil?”
“Lead the way, darling.”
I stare down at him, at the chiseled jaw and the impossibly dark hair plastered against his forehead. Rain drips from my nose onto his face and this man doesn’t so much as blink.
Until I start to laugh.
The curse I was born with flows out of my mouth and into the sky. Crows shriek and take flight, the neighboring peasants slamming their windows shut for fear of the witch the cackle belongs to.
It’s not a pretty sound, but it is an honest one. A laugh that speaks to all parts of my soul, not just the bitterly sweet layers on the outside.
“Holy shit.”
Christopher’s mouth drops open, his eyes crinkling with surprise and something that looks an awful lot like horror.
How tragic it must be to realize beauty only goes so far beneath the surface.
“Is that your real laugh-
“Don’t make me remove your tongue so soon after your arrival.” The threat cracks like a whip between us, “I would hate to miss out on that accent of yours.”
He blinks slowly, scattering the droplets clinging to his lashes. A callused thumb brushes the outside of my thigh, a fleeting warmth that quickly disappears beneath the rainfall.
“Wouldn’t be the only tongue you’re keeping in your pocket.”
Harold’s tongue flies through the small space between us and lands limp against the thin cotton of Christopher’s t-shirt. The flimsy piece of flesh immediately starts to bleed through, but not before the British bad boy attempts to disarm me.
Attempt being the key word.
Bucking beneath me, we go rolling through the mud as Christopher tries and fails to gain the upper hand. An elbow to the face has him swearing, the curses growing louder when we stop exactly how we started.
With me on top.
“You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?” Grinning like a madwoman, I bend down and run my tongue along his bottom lip, “Once you’re caught, Devil, you don’t get released until I say so.”
“If you’re waiting for me to ask nicely, that’s not going to happen.”
“Ask nicely? Who said anything about asking nicely?” Smearing the blood from his nose, I paint it solemnly across his cheekbones, “I’m more interested in hearing youbeg.”
“Darling, there’s something you should know about me.” His dark eyes flicker as a temper sparks to life, “I don’t beg. Not for anyone or anything.”
“You will when I’m through with you.”
Instead of struggling against my hold, Christopher lifts his head and kisses me.
As if a kiss was going to distract me.
