It takes me a second to recover from the shock of his answer.
“Besides, he’s left the house with Gia and Riccio.”
“How convenient that no one with a cock is available.”
His leather armor creaks again, and although it’s surely my imagination, I think I hear his molars gnash.
“But hey, you’re right. I’ve got ten functioning digits and a fuckingsplendidimagination.” I lie back in bed. “I’ll just conjure Antoni’s tongue and scratch my own fucking itch. You may want to step outside. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” My tone is viciously brittle.
“I’m not leaving your bedside, Behach Éan, but I applaud your creative attempt at making me flee.”
Of course, he doesn’t take me seriously. “Fine. Stay for the show. Watch me fantasize over the man you’re so desperate to keep me from, the Cauldron only knows why.”
The Cauldron and himself. And maybe Bronwen . . .
What if Antoni alters my future? What if she’s seen something—
“Go back to sleep, Little Bird.”
His dismissal sparks my rebellious streak. I’m not going back to sleep as long as he sits in my bedroom. I’m probably not going back to sleep at all considering how alert I feel. So I decide to make him squirm and show him that I’m not some gutless child full of silly plans and sillier threats.
Thirty-Six
As I lower my hand down my body, I glower at Lore, willing him to explode into his five crows and flap out of my bedroom.
He doesn’t.
Damn him.
I close my eyes and conjure the sailor’s face, then slip my index and middle fingers beneath the silken lace and swipe at my sex. I haven’t pleasured myself in what feels like months. It probably has been months.
After all, I was sort of busy these past few weeks.
Also, I’m not very good at it.
Concentrate, Fallon, I chide myself.
I hook Antoni’s face and drag him back to the forefront of my mind.“Don’t hesitate to peer inside my head, Mórrgaht.”
Something creaks. Perhaps the arms of the chair Lorcan sits in. Perhaps his neck.
Wood splinters. The chair it is then.
I picture Antoni sitting on the pier in front ofBottom of the Jugthe night he suggested I follow him into his boat’s cabin. In hindsight, I should’ve taken him up on his offer. It may have changed things, but I can only imagine for the better.It would’ve spared me from sleeping with a selfish and disingenuous Faerie.
Dante’s face ruins what little heat I’ve stoked between my thighs.
I think about Antoni again, about his blue eyes and brown hair and tanned skin. I think of how hard he pursued me and how hard I resisted him because I was so blinded with love for a princely prick.
Another piece of wood splinters. I can only imagine that Lorcan has penetrated my mind and is displeased with the reel of images I’m showing him.
“Don’t you wish you’d flitted away when you still had the chance?” I keep working my fingers but no heat builds. I could be wiping down dirty tables atBottom of the Jugfor all the pleasure this is bringing me.
My jaw squeezes as tight as my heart. I try one last time, but the backs of my lids fill with another face—one adorned with a small feather tattoo and too-bright eyes. A sharp tingle shoots up my core and warms every corner of my body.
Before Lore can catch me thinking of him, I jerk my hand from my undergarment and turn onto my side—the side Lorcan is not on—and bury my burning cheeks into my pillow.
My attempt at making the Crow King squirm has epically backfired. The only one squirming is me. Why in the three kingdoms and one queendom did this feel like a sensible idea?
