Темнейшее поражение

Still. How had he repaid her? He’d dumped on her, time and time again. Shame exploded through him, a bomb he’d built all by himself. Well, no more dumping. As long as they were together, he would treat her with the care and concern she deserved.

“You’re glad?” She blinked at him, her warm, sweet breath trekking over his neck. His pulse leapt up to meet every exhalation. “But if I beat you at anything, you’ll hurt.”

“So you’ll kiss me and make me better. Right?”

Her nails dug past his shirt and into skin. “I—I—don’t know what to say.”

“Say you won’t purposely challenge me to something I can’t hope to win.”

A moment passed in silence as she considered his words. “I’ll try not to, but I can’t promise. Sometimes you bring out the worst in me.”

Ha! He brought out the best in her. No ego check necessary. The truth was the truth, no matter how you sliced it. “Either way, we’ll work it out.”

“Yes, we’ll work—” Slowly her eyes narrowed, her nails sinking deeper into his flesh. “Well, well. Finally I meet Mr. Agreeable. Are you buttering me up like a breakfast muffin just so I won’t hurt Haidee?”

So suspicious, but that was the nature of the beast. They were very similar in that respect. “You can hurt her if you still want to hurt her, but then Amun will be pissed and he’ll attack me. I’ll have to hurt him.”

“Fine,” she said on a sigh. “I like Amun, so I won’t hurt Haidee.”

“Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth. She liked Amun?

She retracted one set of claws and flicked her hair over one shoulder. “So what do you like about me? You never said. Feel free to get wildly descriptive and maybe throw in some poetry. Or one of those limericks you mentioned.”

Gonna make him work for it, huh? Even though she’d already decided to give him what he wanted. All the privileges of a consort, the uncertain future be damned. Oh, she hadn’t said so yet, but then, she didn’t have to. He knew. She was here, in his arms, demanding he romance her.

Typical Kaia. Never a dull moment, but a ton of fun. More than that, she had very nearly mastered the art of pleasing Defeat, offering little challenges here and there to feed him. Challenges Strider could win, no problem.

Win.

See? She’d done it again; she’d challenged him at something easy. But would he take this victory home with poetry? Gods, no. “Well, let’s see,” he began huskily. “I like your smart mouth. I like your pouty mouth. I like your potty mouth. I like your whiny mouth. I like your shrieking mouth. I like—”

“My mouth,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes. Eyes bright with arousal. She wiggled against his shaft, rubbing him perfectly, just the way he liked. “Tell me why.”

“No. I’ll show you why.” He moved one of his hands to her nape and urged her the rest of the way forward. Their lips met, opened, and their tongues thrust together. She tasted like mint and cherry, and he decided that was his new favorite flavor.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her claws digging into his scalp. Desire pumped through his veins, pure, undiluted, blinding him to everything else. To the people around them, the circumstances, the consequences. He held fire in his arms and he desperately wanted to be burned.

And he wanted to burn her. Burn his essence into every part of her, reshaping her into his woman. Everyone who looked at her, neared her, would know who she belonged to.

Mine, she’s mine. Damn, she excited him. Their tongues dueled, even that a battle. Such a delicious battle. He dominated, claiming her mouth as his territory. He felt her nipples harden against his chest and wanted to tweak them. Wanted his fingers between her legs, deep inside her, thrusting over and over again.

“Strider,” she rasped.

“Baby doll.”

“Don’t stop.”

Won, Defeat said on a sigh, shooting more of that pleasure through him and driving his need even higher.

Strider walked her forward, every jarring step rubbing her more firmly against him. When he reached the nearest table, he leaned down, swiped his arm across the beer bottles littering the surface and distantly heard them shatter on the floor. He pressed Kaia against the wood.

He wanted to do things to her. Bad things. No, good things, he told himself. He had to do good things to her. Had to be her best. But maybe he’d push her for a few of those bad things, make her take everything he had to give, make her beg, need him, crave him like a drug.

“Woohoo! Yeah, baby, yeah!” Anya, the minor goddess of Anarchy, called, her voice dragging him kicking and screaming from the fog of desire. “Rip his clothes off, Kaia. Show us what he’s got!”

Strider straightened with a snarl, his gaze scanning, his mind buzzing. Destroy the crowd, return his mouth to Kaia’s. As he realized every single person in the bar was watching them, the heat inside him cooled. Some were watching with grins, some with exasperation, some—namely the humans—with lust.