Eternal Rider - Larissa Ione [145]
They really weren’t all that adventurous. Pussies.
He parked himself on a stone bench overlooking the sea. He could feel the piggy eyes of Ares’s Ramreel demon guards on him, but he ignored them and looked up into the heavens. The stars were bright tonight, their lights glittering against the pitch black sky. He smelled Limos before he heard her; the scent of coconut drifted in on a breeze and made his blood pump a little faster. Coconuts had never turned him on before, but then, the smell had never been attached to a red-hot female with hair the color of the midnight sky, either.
“What are you doing?” Her soft, feminine voice was at odds with the warrior he knew she was, and he wondered how she sounded in bed. Did she hold on to her female side, or did she play rough, dominant, letting the fighter in her take over?
“Just needed some fresh air.”
“Why?”
Because you were making me crazy. “Just did.”
“Wanna fight?”
He blinked. “What?”
She came around in front of him. Her knees touched his, and her Hawaiian dress, violet, to match her eyes, swirled around her shapely ankles, flapping at his boots. “I sense agitation in you. Want to let some out? A little hand-to-hand?”
Jesus. Okay, yeah, she might sense some tension in him, but it wasn’t because he wanted to draw blood. He wanted to get naked, and the weird thing was, he imagined getting that way with her. All he’d have to do would be to fist that dress, hike it up over her hips, and he’d be at eye level with her most private place. Would she let him go down on her? What would she taste like? Did that coconut scent permeate everything? Because he fucking loved coconut.
Somehow, he scrounged up enough self-control to put his hands on her waist and set her aside so he could stand. “I don’t want to let anything out.” Except my dick. She’d probably kill him if she knew what he was thinking.
He started for the house, because he was going to drag Kynan out of there if he had to, but naturally, Limos would have none of that. These Horsemen seemed to have a huge sense of entitlement.
“Stop.” She grabbed his elbow and swung him around. “I’ll let you throw the first punch,” she cajoled, with a waggle of raven brows.
He leaned down and stared her in the eyes. “I don’t hit girls.”
It was the wrong thing to say… which was why he said it. Half a second later, he found himself flat on his back, with her flip-flopped foot on his neck. “See,” she said brightly, “that is why I was offering to give you the first throw. At least this time I didn’t break your ribs.”
“Wow,” he said. “Do you emasculate all the men, or am I special?”
Her sensual lips curved into an amused smile. “Oh, you’re special, but I wouldn’t take that as a compliment.”
“I can see up your dress.” It wasn’t true, but the way her eyes went wide, and she started to sputter… totally worth the way she scrambled to gather her dress and squash his windpipe a little more. He brought his hands up to grasp her ankle, his intention to lift it to give him some room to breathe, but her skin was so soft he ended up just lingering like that.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, and he smiled.
“Nothing.” He smoothed his thumb up and down the side of her leg, in the sensitive place where the ankle met the calf. Her muscles were firm, her skin silky, and man, he wanted to slide his hands up more. But he had her where he wanted her—off guard. Now to take it one step further…
“You,” he purred, “are a HILF.”
“A what?”
“Horseman I’d like to fuck.”
With a yank, he tugged her leg out from under her, and at the same time, he twisted so she came down on top of him instead of on the ground, breaking her fall. She looked so startled, so utterly disbelieving that he’d bested her, that she lay motionless on his chest, mouth open, staring at him.