by L. A. Boruff
His lips pursed slightly above that chiseled jaw. I couldn’t help thinking of how I’d seen his face silhouetted against the flames, with that silver mask covering most of his face, as we escaped Castle Dabrek. He was a good friend to have at times, even though he was an ass.
“Do you think I could catch a ride back to Avalon?”
“You didn’t even plan that far ahead?”
He shrugged. “Something always works out.”
“No one’s that lucky all that time,” I warned him, stabbing his chest with my finger. “I’m not taking you onboard my ship when I don’t even know your name.”
My threat did nothing to dull his smile.
“What?” I asked, irritated.
“Not knowing my name didn’t stop you from kissing me in Minsk. I don’t see why it would stop you now.”
“You kissed me,” I said automatically. This was a familiar point of contention. But I didn’t have time to argue with him; I wanted to slip down the coast, and out of range of Vasilik’s guns, before the sun rose. “Fine. Just stay out of my way.”
I watched as my crew cast us off—two men I trusted with not just my life, but the lives of these families. As much as I trusted them, I still wore my mask faithfully, even though—magic aside—the damn thing was hot and irritating.
Half of Avalon thought I was a monster. That made it easier to do my job. The Vasiliks had a bounty on my head, but once I walked off my yacht, I turned back into Tera Donovan, the country’s most hated party girl.
Once we were underway, skirting the coast to avoid the worst dangers of the Divide, I checked in on each room of refugees. Worn from their ordeal, they were all asleep. I finally made my way to my stateroom.
The Fox never stayed out of my way.
He was currently sprawled across my bed, one arm cocked under his head so that he rested on his massive bicep. His ornate silver mask was still in place, although his stupid mouth—and kissable pink lips—were visible.
“You forgot to give me a bunk.” He offered to pre-empt my complaints.
“There’s a couch in the lounge. Hitchhikers don’t get a reservation.”
“Can you hitchhike on a yacht?” He stared up at the gilt-and-navy ceiling, and I found my gaze following his. The boat was gaudy as hell, but all I cared about was the speed of the sails. “How’d you get this thing, anyway?”
“Won it in a poker game.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He yawned. “You don’t have much of a poker face.”
The words get out were on my lips, but the truth was, I was as curious about his identity as he was about mine. I had a few theories about the Night Blooming Fox.
“Fine. I killed an annoying nobleman who wouldn’t tell me his name and took his boat.”
“Oh, do you make a habit of that?”
“You’re on the verge of finding out.”
He sat up on his elbows. His gray eyes were bright with mischief, before he cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “How are you holding up?”
I was not about to answer that question. The glamor and fun of outsmarting the Valisk authorities had worn away under the weight of responsibility for all the lives I tried to save, and worst of all, the times I failed.
“I’m eager for a night’s rest.” I turned my back to him, glancing at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored closet doors. But I couldn’t get away from the Fox; I could still see his reflection and the amused look on his face, behind me. Taken by a devilish thought—and never one to resist my moments of wickedness, given my reputation—I began to unbutton the buttons along the shoulder of my black dress. The fabric slid away, revealing my pale shoulder.
“Do you need help?” He asked, his voice suddenly husky.
“I definitely do not need your help,” I reminded him saucily. “That’s been my entire point as you keep showing up unwanted.”
“I’m not sure I’m entirely unwanted.”
“Believe me.”
His lips arched up slightly. “Show me, then. Come here and not want me.”
“You’re not going to outsmart me into having sex with you, Fox.”
“I’m not trying to outsmart you. Christ. What name do you go by these days? Did you settle on an alter ego?”
“It all sounds so stupid when you call it an alter ego.”
“It is stupid,” he said. “We risk our lives to save Vasilik aristocrats—I don’t know about you, but I grew up despising Vasiliks.”
“They’re not all aristocrats,” I said. “And no matter what, if they’re kids, they deserve not to be—”
“Of course they do,” he said gruffly. “I’m just looking for a name to call you by.”
“I’m sure you can come up with something.”
A grin twisted the corners of his lips. “All right, Beautiful.”
“You don’t know that,” I said. “I could be a monster under the mask for all you know.”
“I’m horrendously ugly under the mask,” he assured me. “I won’t judge you.”
I was quite certain that wasn’t true, judging from his chiseled jaw alone.
“But anyway, it doesn’t matter. Neither of us need to take our masks off.”
I let the dress slide down my body with a whisper and stepped out of the pool of fabric. I still wore my tall boots, the handle of a knife pressing against my inner thigh, and the black satin corset I’d worn. Enchanted, it was damn bear bullet-proof, and it also lifted my small breasts in a remarkable approximation of cleavage. It was truly a magical garment.
I heard the faintest intake of breath from the Fox, as if he agreed.
“I’m not going to kiss you when I don’t even know your name,” I said.
“Oh? That never stopped you before.”
“You kissed me, and also? You’re unbearable.”
He patted the bed beside him. “Then come to bed and ignore me. We’ll both get some rest before we dock in Avalon.”
Instead, I sat on the gilt-edged chair—equally gaudy and embarrassing—and propped one booted foot up on the edge of the bed. “Make yourself useful for once and help me get these things off.”
“Don’t you have a servant for that?” he asked.
“I do tonight.” I crooked a finger at him.
Men are easy. He rolled his eyes, right before he sank to his knees in front of me and, gripping the heel of my boot firmly, pulled it off.
I drew the knife out of the scabbard on the other thigh and stuck it into the table. He eyed it, just for a second, before he said, “I see you aren’t worried about resale value.”
“I’m not. I inherited this from my uncle, the pirate Dabreq, and I don’t think he’s ever going to ask for it back.”
Modern-day pirates tended to meet an ugly fate—not that it stopped them from haunting the Divide-torn seas.
He worked the other boot off, his fingers drifting down my calf behind the rough leather. He threw the boot over his shoulder. “Anything else your majesty desires?”
“Your majesty? I’m not the aristocrat in the room.”
“Are you sure about that?” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. His lips were petal soft above the hardness of that jaw. The kiss was small and tender, but his breath was hot against my thigh before he looked back up at me. His eyes gauged my reaction. “Shouldn’t the girl hero get some release from her wild life?”
I groaned. “I hate that headline.”
“And that’s why I love it so much.” He cocked his head to one side. “You should really consider taking control of the media. Choose your name. Given an interview.”
“I’m not here for the fame and glory.”
He pressed a kiss to the other thigh. Despite myself, my now-bare toes curled against the polished teak floor.
I leaned forward, quickly, impulsively, wrapping my hands around the thick width of his shoulders. Even through his crisp cotton shirt, his shoulders were warm and satisfying against my palms.
He looked
up, his eyes meeting mine, full of mischief and confidence—that cocky asshole—right before I pressed my lips against his. His mouth was hard and unyielding at first, a contrast to the soft plushness of his lower lip, and then his lips parted against mine. He rested his palm on the cool metal of my masked cheek, kissing me back.
Then he pulled back. “I’m not entirely comfortable making out with you when your knife is inches away. You’re unpredictable.”
“I always have a knife inches away,” I promised him. I twined my arms around his neck, and he slid an arm around my waist, lifting me easily with him.
He twisted in the narrow space between the chair and the bed and let himself fall back on the bed, so I landed on top of him. I straddled his hips, straightening my spine so I was tall above him. He grinned up at me.
Slowly, I put my right hand above his shoulder, leaning over him. The cups of my corset tilted toward him, revealing more of my creamy white breasts. His eyes followed them. As I braced my left hand above his other shoulder, the cups dipped even lower, revealing the faintest hint of the hard pink pebbles of my nipples.
I brushed my cheek against his, mask meeting mask, and then moved to his lips. This time, his mouth was waiting for me. After we had shared a few sweet, tender kisses, his tongue tentatively ran across the inside of my upper lip. I touched his tongue with the tip of mine, welcoming him in. Our tongues slid together.
When he pulled away, creating a breath’s distance between his mouth and mine, I murmured, “Why don’t you finish the business you began earlier?”
“So I’m not entirely unwanted?”
“Not if you make yourself useful for once.”
“I was very useful tonight,” he grouched, as he wrapped his hard forearm around my lower back. He rolled with me, pinning me beneath him for a second before he pushed up, holding himself hovering over my body. He pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth. “And in Minsk.”
“You didn’t even have a plan.”
“I did.” His hard, chiseled body rubbed against mine as he slid down my body until his knees were braced on either side of my calves. He ran his fingers down my thighs, raising sparks in his wake.
“Oh? You had no way of getting the Vasiliks out of the castle.”
“I had a catering truck.”
“I had a catering truck,” I corrected. Then he was grinning again, and I leaned forward to smack his hard-muscled shoulder. “You were using me?”
“Turn about’s fair play,” he said. “You can use me now.”
I was still staring him at irritation. He shrugged. “You could tell me how to get in touch with you. Then I wouldn’t have to follow—”
“Stalk.”
“You,” he finished, unperturbed. He settled between my thighs. He kissed his way up my thigh, leaving a slow trail of heat, until he reached the edge of my panties. He kissed the very inside of my thigh before he slid his finger under the fabric. The back of his knuckle brushed against my mound, and my core tightened, my abs pulling together under the corset.
“May I?” he asked.
Instead of answering, I lifted my hips from the smooth white duvet. He drew the panties down my thighs, all the way down to just below my knees, and his eyes were full of light when he kissed my knee. He made his way slowly up my thighs once again as my core tightened and my toes curled.
He pressed a kiss against my center, and I jerked in response as arousal flamed up my thighs. My body’s reaction was one of desire, but the movement made my thigh slide against the cool metal of his mask, reminding me that this was madness. I curled up in bed and reached for his shoulder.
He ducked to one side, escaping my grip as easily as he’d slipped so many Vasilik guards, and sank down between my knees, his body pressed against the bed. His muscular arms quickly circled my thighs. But then he paused, his lush lower lip hovering just above my mound, and looked to me. His bright gray eyes met mine, questioning, even though his masked face gave nothing away.
Our eyes met for a long second. I nodded and then sank back into the pillows. Fine then. I had nothing against a dose of madness from time to time.
He teased me with his tongue, flicking against my clit until my hips lifted off the bed as I sought more of his mouth’s sweet heat. Then, with his eyes on mine, his tongue circled my opening. In answer to my sigh of desire, his tongue darted inside me, finally. He made a humming sound in the back of his mouth that traveled down his tongue, the vibrations rising against my heated inner core. Magic. I didn’t mind it, not today. He settled in earnest to his work, his tongue pressing against my g-spot over and over. The intensity of his mouth working on my clit made my knees tremble as heat built between my thighs.
My thighs trembled and contracted against the hard, unforgiving muscles of his biceps. My hips rose, trying to buck away from his touch. But he held me there, pleasuring me relentlessly. The ache between my legs grew desperate for his touch, competing with my growing sensitivity as my clit seemed to swell with desire, so intense that part of me wanted to pull away from him. But I didn’t want him to stop, either, and I found myself thrashing, my fingers tangling in my hair. He eyed my breasts with interest until I grabbed a pillow, squeezing it to my chest as the sense of sensation tipped from pleasant-painful to overwhelming—
The rest of the world fell away, and there was nothing but a blur of the fancy tiled ceiling overhead, and his mouth on me, and the sensation that wrapped around my body, a mix of aching desire and delight and unbearable heat. It felt as if the sun shone on a hot summer day across my shoulders, my breasts, and most of all between my thighs…
Then the unbearable sensation shattered into nothing but pleasure, waves of pleasure that rolled from my clit through my body, tightening and filling every muscle. My back arched and I threw the pillow away—it hit something on the bedside table and there was a faint shattering sound from somewhere—and still the Fox was between my thighs, moving along with the rolling of my hips, his tongue still working as my orgasm reached its climax.
Then every muscle relaxed, warm and languid, and I sank back into the pillows. The Fox pressed his lips to the front of my thigh and then threw himself beside me, his head propped up on his hand, sitting up on his elbow. There was a little smile playing across his lips as he took my breast in one hand, rubbing his thumb familiarly over my nipple.
I closed my eyes, enjoy the sensation. “I don’t have to see your face to know you look self-satisfied.”
“And I don’t have to know your name to know that was the best orgasm of your life.”
“Ooh,” I said. “Sorry. But that was, at best, number seven.”
“Number seven?” He sounded outraged.
“I’ve had a lot of amazing orgasms.” I rolled onto my side. When I pressed my knees together, my clit throbbed from. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry to me,” he muttered. “That doesn’t sound like anything a woman should apologize for.”
“But you are in the top ten,” I told him, mock-earnestly.
“And you said I was impossible.”
“You are, but I’m very fond of you.” I rested my hand on his shoulder, drawing him toward me. He pretended to be sulky and unresponsive, but I could read the playfulness that lush-lipped mouth over his determined jaw, and I tugged him until he gave in and turned his face toward mine. When I pressed my lips to his, I tasted the smoky-sweetness of myself on his lips.
He was smiling when we broke apart. “You’re very fond of me.”
“For someone I don’t know.”
“We know each other well enough.” His fingers skated over my thigh. “I’m your Fox.”
“I thought you were the nation’s Fox. Savior of the Vasiliks.”
“I’m your Fox,” he said again, stubbornly. He lifted my hand in his and pressed his lips to the inside of my wrist, just where my pulse beat, and the sweet soreness between my thighs throbbed again in response. “You named me—I must be yours. And I intend to name you one of
these days.”
“I’ll be waiting curiously.” My voice was teasing, although warmth glowed in my chest at the thought of this sweet—though absolutely mad—nobleman giving me a nickname.
His lips parted, as if he had something to say, and he hesitated. The air between us seemed to shimmer with a tension that had nothing to do with sex.
Suddenly I thought of the men I’d left behind—who I loved, who I still wanted to reel back to me even though I was the one who had left—and the weight of any kind of love, old or new, seemed unbearable. I shook my head, leaving all that behind for now, and stroked my fingertips down his thigh.
“Speaking of what I feel fondly toward…” I took him in my hand, feeling the warm, heavy weight of his cock against my palm.
He made a small noise in the back of his throat, giving himself up to me, and I smiled as I turned onto my back. I drew him toward me by his cock, which brought a smile to his lips as he yielded to me, until he straddled my hips with his. He braced one hand to one side of my face and with the other, gathered the wayward strands of my hair into one thick rope so he wouldn’t pull my hair before he braced that hand to one side too.
Taking his cock firmly in my hand, I drew him in small circles around my clit. Every movement sent sparks flying through my throbbing core and up my thighs, and suddenly every time I used his cock to trace the shape of my entrance, his tip glided through wetness.
I rubbed him roughly against my clit, using him as my toy, and his breath gave. His lips grazed my ear. Warmth blossomed in my chest, pride at taking this dangerous man and taming him—for the moment, at least.
I slid my arm across his shoulders, pressing my breasts against his pecs, as my hand slid between us. My fingers grazed behind his balls, and his breath gave again, before I took their weight in my palm. His tip brushed against my clit over and over as he swayed against me, as I juggled his balls in my hand, rubbing my thumb across them, feeling the way I drove him to the brink of madness.
“I want you,” he said, his voice husky.