To say that his expression turns feral is an understatement. Never could Wonder have foreseen the smoldering effect she’s having on him. It might exceed the havoc he’s wreaking on her.
Despite every naughty thing he’s ever said, not once has she surmised his interest to be genuine. Routinely, she has branded his remarks as tricks, a means to undo her, no different from anyone else he’s gotten his claws into.
But this…can it be? Can that look be real?
Is her heart pounding for Malice? Or for the past?
What’s happening to her? What’s happening to them?
“If I forgot my weapons, you’ve forgotten your clothes,” she comments.
“Stuffed the latter in my quiver,” he says. “As to the former? It’s not archery that you forgot.”
“What, then?”
“The eyeful of my cock that you’d been hoping for.”
So he knows. Of course, he does.
“You’re an idiot for being out there. I’m aware this is redundant, particularly in your case, but what’s gotten into you?” she accuses.
“I’m more interested in how to get into you. Tell me what you were thinking.”
“I repeat: I was thinking you’re an idiot.”
Malice breaks from his stance while unbuckling her archery. He lowers the bow and quiver, his chest contracting and his tattoo jerking as he lets the weapons fall. She’s about to reprimand him for handling her possessions that way, but then he swaggers across the aisle, those hipbones rotating into her line of vision. It’s fortunate that she’s a multitasker, which enables her to resist peeking below his waist, to retreat from his advance, and to raise her chin.
Her spine hits a dead end. What’s boggling is that he doesn’t make contact, nor cage her in with his arms. He just looms there, within touching distance.
Somehow, this portrays him as unreachable. And somehow, his nudity pits her as the vulnerable one, like it’s silly she’s dressed at all, like she’s a coward. Add this to the list of reasons that she despises him.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Look at me. See what’s behind curtain number one.”
“There’s no curtain in sight,” she scoffs. “Even so, the view doesn’t make you special.”
“Tsk, tsk. Neither does being a prude. But then, I’d say you’re not as puritan as you let on. Otherwise, you’d be wimpy for a goddess. Or prove me wrong. Occasionally, I like being proven wrong.”
That will either deprive Wonder of her remaining power or resurrect some of it. In any case, what’s the use? She wants that eyeful.
Wonder permits herself a glimpse, skimming over his sopping curls and taut mouth. The whole time, he watches her as she travels to his pectorals, the hardened buds, and the grille of his abdomen. Her pulse quickens once her gaze topples down the lane of hair below his navel, between the slopes of his hips—down to the firmness between his pelvic bones.
Dear Fates. Her lips part of their own accord.
It’s sensual, the way it rises, twitching when her attention lands there. Its length solidifies, on the verge of extending more. There’s a straight column and a swelling peak, and it’s all his.
How profound, the pleasure that one anatomical part can elicit.
What does he taste like?
Malice hums. “Did you like what you saw in the rain? Did you want to fuck me?”
Wonder’s head snaps up. She gapes at him, feeling pink imprint on her cheeks, the same tint painted on his lips.
Before she can stammer a reply, he intones, “I bet we’d fit. I bet you’d be tight as a tube around me. I bet you’re wetter right now than I was outside.”
“How dare you!” she grits.
“I’m not the one who was peeping. You sound like a virgin, but you’re not one.”
“I’m two hundred and six.”
“And I’m one hundred and fifty-six.” He shakes his head in mock horror. “You wanton cougar.”
“My dalliances are none of your concern.”
“Meaning, it’s somebody I know.” Like a master of secrets, he checks her expression, examining it until his visage brightens. “Anger.”
Wonder’s nostrils flare, but not as wide as his do. He takes her silence as confirmation, his features hardening as though he’s about to go on a killing spree.
She feels compelled to voice a caveat. “He hadn’t met Merry yet.”
It was only one night, ages before they’d been assigned to the mortal realm. They’d been lonely and heartbroken over other people. Back then, Anger had carried a secret torch for Love, and Wonder had been dealing with her own unrequited feelings for a mortal boy. And so, she and her classmate had taken refuge in each other.
“Did you enjoy it?” Malice interrogates.
That’s a horrible thing to ask. “Let me pass.”
“You did, didn’t you?”
“Let. Me. Pass.”
“You enjoyed it a lot.”
“Yes!” she spits. “I slept with Anger eons ago, another lifetime ago, and I enjoyed it. And then I woke up the next morning and wished it had never happened. Because he wasn’t…”
He wasn’t you.
But for that night, she’d pretended it was. It’s the reason she’d climaxed at all.
Malice picks up on her thoughts like a scent. “Because he wasn’t that mortal mate you obsessed over.” He steps closer, whispering, “And me? Am I another filler?”
She cannot answer that. And he doesn’t let her.
“I’m guilty, too,” he says. “I’ve seen humans go at it before in parks, and in clubs, and in cars, and in the Carnival of Stars. Before that, I watched archers hump, some of them having invited me to stare. It fills the void until it doesn’t, because it tells you only so much about what you like.”
His tenor deepens. “What do you like, Wildflower? I think you pine for a sweet romp. I’m guessing you got the opposite with Anger. It’s a perfect visual, how that stallion must have plowed you into the mattress, his cock shaped like a pommel and welded like iron. Did you writhe and beg for more? Or did the orgasm pop out like a sob?”
“I pity that you have to try this hard to be in control,” she says.
Malice’s jaw clicks. “I think we’d do much better together.” One of his saber nails claws down the wall behind her. “I think you wanted to bounce on my prick in that tree—that would have been fun, watching you shout to the stars, that mouth wide open and emptying itself of noise. I think you’ve wanted to mount me from the beginning, the same way I’ve wanted you, even while we loathed the idea. I think if I kissed you, you’d kiss me back, letting my teeth mark you, letting my tongue fuck yours. I think if I pinned you to the bookcases, you’d ride the shelves until books shook from the slots—”
Wonder plows into him, barreling them around until Malice’s back rams into the wall. A shocked grunt rips from his throat as he registers their switched positions, that he’s the one imprisoned now. She’d done this in the dorm stairwell, and the maneuver shuts him up like it had before. In fact, his pupils blow up because this is closer than they were a second ago. This is her, wrenched against his bareness from head to toe.