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“It’s no fun if you expect it,” he answers, striding into the darkness. “Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.” “What?” I gawk after him. “You’re my wingleader!”
“I’m going to be fine,” I recite, because that’s my fucking mantra.
“I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his voice—demands from across the field to my right. My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction. Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl, his terrifying navy-blue daggertail.
Not that I wouldn’t climb the man like a tree if presented with the right set of circumstances.
Xaden and Garrick have stripped off their shirts and are sparring like their lives depend on it, a blur of kicks, punches, and rippling muscle.
Hot.
It’s a really nice half-naked body, though.
Then I kick him straight in the balls.
“Unless you don’t know how to handle an opponent on top of you, and if so, that’s a whole other issue.” “I know how to handle you on top of me,” I challenge quietly. He lowers his mouth to my ear. “You won’t like what happens if you push me.” “Or maybe I will.” I turn just enough that my lips brush the shell of his ear.
Hot. Pt 2
“Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill them all over again just so I could do it slowly. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you or when I realized I’m fucked because I can’t stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you.”
“Did you know that the first time I climbed these steps with Dain, I was horrified that there wasn’t a handrail?” “Did you know I can’t stand to hear his name on your lips while you’re leading the way to my room?”
