She'd sat perched at the end of the bar, after entering alone, and had gigglingly flirted with a blue-eyed goblin who’d bought her a drink. A fast glance back to the pool tables had shown her a tiefling in a low-cut top attempting to win Tate’s attention, lacquered nails grazing his bicep, and she’d turned away quickly, cheeks coloring, not needing or wanting to see any more. She could hear his musical voice and lilting laugh, his voice a note higher and his accent a drop heavier than it normally was . . . he’d slipped on a different skin easily, paying her no mind, and rather than be annoyed about it, Silva had decided to follow his example.
He’d been upfront about the nature of the trip, after all, had reminded her that she didn’t need to come with him, could stay in the hotel room or avail herself of the small nail bar and spa adjacent to the marble check-in counter. It had been tempting, but the thrill of accompanying him to the seedier bar and slipping on her own new skin had been too great to pass up.Better to be here instead of going mad wondering. She’d grit her teeth at the thought of the tiefling, turning back to the goblin with renewed resolve, determined not to let her jealousy derail the weekend.
"Your friend is already halfway to the moon," she whispered conspiratorially to the goblin, giggling as he bent his head to hers. "I’ll bet I can outdrink him, though."
"Is that so? That’s a bet I’ll take, tiny thing like you . . . what are you going to give me when I win, princess?"
"Hmmm . . . a kiss? A kiss against whatever you won at the tables." She straightened on the barstool, preening beneath the unflattering overhead light. "I’m very high maintenance, so you’ll be winning even if you lose."
His laugh was a rough rasp, the hand that had been pressed lightly at her shoulder sliding down to rest at the small of her back.
"Oh, I’ll bet you are, princess. Your daddy know you’re out slumming it in a place like this? I’ll bet you like getting just a little dirty every now and then. A kiss from you? I’ll take that bet."
It’s fine, she reminded herself, feeling her heart rate speed up.Tate is just over there, and the bartender is probably his friend.The troll on the other side of the bar had a lilting brogue that nearly matched Tate’s, and she’d suspected he was the source of intel for this weekend’s little outing, watching the man’s smile twitch when she’d called for a bottle of Drarda, the golden Orcish spirit that was so similar to Mirúlvin.
"You know, little girl," the goblin had smarmed into her ear, several drinks in, his breath hot at her neck, "you weren’t very specific with this little bet of yours. I think that means I get to pick where I get my kiss . . . how does the tip of my cock sound?"
When Tate finally slithered up to the bar seemingly hours later, asking if he could buy her a drink, she’d declined.
"You’re welcome to join me, handsome stranger," she’d giggled, proudly displaying her winnings, "but I can buy my own drink. MaybeIshould buyyours."
He'd almost laughed himself sick as she relayed the story of her bet, clinging to the side of her scuffed stool with his face buried in her neck as the troll clicked his tongue from the other side of the bar. She'd fisted his shirt victoriously as his shoulders shook, feeling his teeth scrape at her neck, incredibly pleased with herself.
"Should’a realized two cutthroats like you would be together," the bartender huffed, earning a fresh peal of laughter from Tate until he was left wiping his eyes. "She played that fucker like a seasoned pro."
"I think she did better than me! She’s a regular Aine O’Roisin," Tate wheezed, and the bartender hunched, pounding a fist on the bar as both men howled in laughter before shaking his finger in Silva’s direction.
"Careful lad, I heard that one’s back in the clinker. Don’t go letting this little kitten get into that sort of jam."
"Never," he assured, helping Silva slip into the jacket she’d draped over the back of her stool. "Fucking rich that you let her get up to this, Einan, right under that giant nose of yours. If you’d let that langer hang about any longer—"
"Ahh, enough," the troll interrupted, scowling, although his eyes were still lit in merriment. "This one can handle herself just fine. Away wi’you both," he shooed them from the bar. "If you’re back tomorrow, I’ll at least know where to expect the trouble."
"Did you think she was pretty?" she'd asked when he'd pinned her to the bed in their surprisingly posh hotel room that night, sliding the short skirt she wore down her hips. "That girl who was talking to you, the tiefling?"
"There was a girl?"
His voice was far too innocent as he lowered his head, kissing just above the waistband of her lace panties, and she scowled unseen. She wondered how he knew the bartender, if he frequented the pub regularly, imagining him meeting the same cervitaur there, far enough away from his own businesses to prevent gossip. The needle-like points of his teeth grazed her skin in a teasing bite, and she squirmed under his ministrations.
"Silva, whatever you’re thinking of that has you screwing your nose up that way, why don’t you stop."
Her cheeks heated as his long fingers slipped beneath the scalloped lace, ignoring her mental distress, tugging gently until the scrap of fabric followed her skirt.He’s right, you’re being ridiculous, you’realwaysridiculous.She didn’t especially want to be placated though, wanted to force him to answer her question; wanted to ask him what they were, what she was supposed to call him, if she was ever going to be anything more than an occasional weekend distraction . . . but the feeling of his nose nudging against her inner thighs, his warm lips kissing over her delicate skin, and the wet heat of his tongue sliding over her cleft completely wiped her mind, and her head dropped back with a breathy sigh as her legs stretched open.
When the sex is so good you let him get away with anything, the sardonic little voice in her head whispered as his tongue dragged against her in wide licks, his lips closing around her clit in small, sucking kisses that alternated with the steady movement of his tongue. Tate knew exactly how to pleasure her, knew just where to angle the two long fingers he pressed into her, stroking her inner walls and making her arch; knew exactly how to lick her, where she needed the undulating pressure to come undone. He knew just how to leave her a needy, panting mess, bringing her ever closer to her climax before slowing, maddeningly, starting the whole process over again, distracting her from the less than pleasant thoughts until she pushed them into a dark corner of her mind where they continued to fester and grow.You’re proving to him that all he needs to do is give you that little smirk and lick your clit, and he can get away with murder,the voice piped up once again, drowned out by the way she moaned, pushed away by the mounting pressure of his stroking tongue. When he began to suck her steadily, exactly the way she liked, the voice was forgotten and her tentative control broke, her hips lifting to grind against his mouth as she came. She reached out for him as her body pulsed, deftly curling her fingers around his bicep to pull him close . . . just as, she remembered suddenly, the tiefling had at the bar.
"Did she give you her number?"
She shifted, her mound connecting with his face, and he'd pulled back, cursing.
"That was my chin, Silva."
"Did she?" she’d persisted, unable to help herself. She’d never considered herself the jealous type either, but Tate managed to upend something inside of her, forcing her thoughts to the worst of scenarios, her imagination filling in the gaps of his reticence with imaginings of other women and carefree nights without her. She disliked herself when she acted this way, but it was his fault for bringing it out in her, she was sure of it.
"Dove—"
She'd clenched the sheets in irritation, twisting away from his lips as he climbed up her body, unwilling to be placated with his sweet talk.
"Didyouthink she was pretty? Is that why you’re asking?" His smile was sharp and glinting as he knelt on the bed, straddling her body and looming over her. The long line of his sternum pulled her eye down, following over the hard plane of his abdomen and the deep cuts of his hipbones, a sharp V that ended where his stiffened cock bobbed, pink head peeking from its green sheath, momentarily distracting her again, until his next words. "Do you want me to call her for us?"
