I cut him a sharp glare, but my hips sway to the music as I do exactly what I’m told. I notice he’s playing his part as my sweet date very well, but that tension is still lining those smooth hard shoulders of his. Cold blue eyes scan from one side of the room to the other while he lounges casually, one leg crossed over the other.
Like him, I discreetly pick apart our surroundings. My gaze swipes to the stage first but, instead of finding my brother tangled up with his many lovers, the oval bed is vacant, the covers tucked in tight and untouched.
It’s . . . strange. He should be here. He’s always the first in this room and the last out. The last to pass out naked and in a drunken haze that he’ll sleep off for the next four days. And while he does that, his lovers will quietly close the thick red curtains around his bed, secluding him in peace.
And not check on him until he wakes.
Which makes tonight the perfect night for my plans.
Without much care, I slosh some Rain Tonic into a cup from the glass pitcher that ornately displays the clear sparkling liquor. Its wafting odor hits my nose, but it’s a pure scent. The smell of fresh nature instead of the pungent drinks humans have. Not that I’d turn away a bottle of whiskey right now if Catherine gave me reason to.
I’m still skimming the crowd when I make my way over and slide the drink into Zaviar’s hand. A high fae with a sharp chin and even sharper purple eyes is at his side, and I lower my head as they speak around me.
“She your first? You got to break them in hard. Set an example. They’ll give you the power of their magic for as little as a trick of a glamour or a taste of your soul, but to keep them you have to work at it. Show them who owns them.” The stranger says in a nasty tone that slithers over every exposed part of my skin.
His fingers reach out, and he barely skims the curve of my ass when Zaviar snatches the man’s hand in one twisting grip. The fae yelps in pain, and I barely look up from beneath my lashes to see Zaviar wrenching the asshole’s wrist back at an unnatural angle.
“Seems demons aren’t the only ones you have to break to set an example. Do not touch what’s mine.” Zaviar’s jaw isn’t tight like it always is when he speaks to me. It’s open, and he holds himself as if threatening someone with more magic than him is the most natural thing in the world. The fae cuts his beady attention toward me, and he looks like he might simultaneously apologize and piss himself all at once. “Do. Not. Look at her with your nasty fucking gaze. If you so much as think about her again, I’ll shove that hand so far up your ass you’ll be your own puppeteer for the rest of your fuckin’ life. Faefucks like you give us all a bad name.” Zaviar shoves the man back, and he stumbles for several seconds before skidding to the tile floor near two demons double penetrating their handler.
I’ll admit I’m pleased, but my drifting attention does get a little caught up in what those two demons are doing to that woman. I didn’t even know a vagina could take that much demon sausage.
The more you know, I guess.
Zaviar straightens at my side, and he looks down at his half-spilled glass of alcohol I fetched him.
I smile at him anyway. He’s cruel but amusing.
And also…
Do not touch what’s mine.
Why the hell did that make me shiver so fucking hard?
Barbaric claims are what get me off now, huh? I’m going to have a real talk with my ovaries’ incredibly low standards.
Zaviar points swiftly to his drink.
“No ice.” His tone is a flat sound of discipline. “That’s one strike, Pet.” He takes a slow, predatory step toward me. His palm is a shadow of a touch that caresses down my ribs before his fingers dig into my hip.
My body reacts despite my narrowed glare.
He smirks like dark sin.
I feel the asshole fae man still watching us, but I don’t think Zav is performing for him at all. He likes this game. I hate it.
But I did ask for it, didn’t I?
“Well, it’s a good thing I have two more strikes then, isn’t it, Remorseless?” I force my hand up and slide my fingers down his chest. It starts as a conscious effort to seal our performance, but my greedy fingertips seem to have other plans.
“Actually, you’re on a no-bullshit system,” he whispers, his tone catching in a rasping way that makes my thighs shift while my hands slip a little more.
“Oh, really?” I ask with big, innocent eyes.
He nods, licking his lips in a more languid way. “Just one strike for you, Pretty Pet.” His big hand slides up, and his fingers twist through my hair, jerking my head sharply up to him, almost brushing our lips but not quite.
I hum a sound of understanding, but it comes out more like a moan than anything.
Are we playing a game still?
Farther and farther down the delicious lines of his stomach my hand trails. His muscles tick beneath my every move. His eyes are hard on mine, but our bodies don’t act like enemies at all. My breasts push against his chest, and he doesn’t bat an eye when the flat of my palm grinds down against the new hardness beneath his jeans.
Oh. So Zaviar didn’t sell his erection for Corva’s magic. Good to know. Really good.
Good.
I swallow dryly, and his gaze flickers to my lips as he carefully sets the drink down on the table.
“Tell me what my punishment is.” My head dips, and he releases his hold on me as I start trailing hot kisses down his smooth neck, his shoulder, down the curve of his pec. I feel his chest heave for a breath beneath my sliding tongue. “Tell me how I can make my mistakes up to you,” I whisper seductively as I shove him down on a nearby couch that I can only call a sex couch. It’s curved in all the right places for all my right places to align with all his right places.
A glorious sex couch.
But he grips my collar, and once more he jars my head up to look him in his brooding blue eyes. His fist holds my leash tightly in place.
“You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m going to let your sharp teeth anywhere near my cock, Crow,” he says with that familiar hint of hate in his tone.
I blink several times to stop myself from giving him the hooded look of left-over lust that’s still lost in my eyes.
We aren’t playing games, it seems. We really are just performing. And I took it too far.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Before I can step back from him and put space between his disgustingly perfect body and mine, he takes me down. He literally kicks my legs out from under me as if he’s fighting me instead of . . . oh, my fuck, he’s grinding his dick against my clit.
Lines carve in his arms as he holds himself above me on the glossy arm of the couch as he looks down to appreciate the surprise still clinging to my features. His hips are perfectly between my thighs. And he takes his time, thrusting against the thin material of my panties.
“You do deserve punishment,” he says, his words kissing my tongue.
There’s a fire in his eyes, and deliberate force in the way he rocks his hardness against my center, and I can’t think of a single thing to say to him right now. This, this right now is real. Maybe it was kindled with pretend touches and fake whispered words, but flames are lashing between us now, and the scorching heat of it is very much real.
Before I can think better of it, I slam my mouth against his. I part his lips and slide my tongue along his in the most urgent, wanting kiss of my entire life.