Eye of the Tempest (Jane True #4)

Leaving me alone with Anyan.

I raised my eyes, slowly, to meet his. He wasn’t looking at me like he was angry. Instead, his face betrayed a hint of confusion but also a stubborn look like he just wasn’t having any of what I was dishing out.

And since what I was dishing out were undoubtedly the lies of a known psychopath, I couldn’t blame him.

“Outside?” he asked, inclining his head toward where Gus slept. The little stone spirit had had enough drama for the day. He didn’t need to be involved in our little Graeme-inspired soap opera.

I nodded, and we headed toward Anyan’s front porch. Once there, he took one corner of the railing to perch on, and I took the opposite side. Our knees were almost touching, and we could see each other’s faces, but otherwise we had space.

“What’s going on, Jane?”

Anyan was never one to beat around the bush.

“I’m just skeeved out from my run-in with Graeme, earlier. He was in my head. I still feel… dirty.”

“Tomorrow we’ll work on some mental shields for you. Graeme’s talent is rare, but dangerous. Now that he’s in the picture again, we’ll get you protected.”

I nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Well, I always wondered how he did it. I mean, how he fed on the women he tortured, since incubi aren’t supposed to be able to feed on pain.”

Despite my logical tone of voice, I shuddered. Knowing that Graeme had literally made his victims “want it” totally skeeved me out, on so many levels. It was an ultimate act of victimization that made me hate the incubus even more, if that were possible.

“Now,” Anyan said, his voice low, “what else is going on?”

I hugged myself tighter, unsure of what to say.

“Spill it, Jane. I can hear those brains of yours crunching all the way over here. You’re obviously upset, and with me. Tell me what I did.”

Shaking my head, I finally met his eyes. “You didn’t do anything. I promise. It’s just that Graeme said something. About you. Being like him.”

“And you believe him?” Anyan’s voice, considering the fact I’d just compared him to a vicious sexual predator, was remarkably calm.

“Of course not,” I replied. “I mean, I know you’re not like him.”

“But?” Anyan asked, playing our old game, now gone horribly less fun.

“But…” I paused to think, and then decided thinking wasn’t going to work. Sometimes, the best way to come at an issue was by babbling it into submission. “But you scare me, to be honest. Not the way Graeme does. I do know you’re nothing like him. But you’re still… still a lot. A lot to handle. I don’t mean your junk, obviously, as we’ve not gotten to the fondling-bits stage yet. And I can’t believe I just talked about your junk. Anyway, I’m not saying you’re not a lot to handle, in the junk department, but I meant ‘a lot’ more as in, like, ‘you.’ You’re a lot. Just… a lot.”

I finally stuck a cork in it, amazed, once again, at how much absolute shite could fall out of my own face.

Anyan frowned at me for a second. It wasn’t a look of anger, more of concentration as his brain scrambled to tease apart my word snarl. Then he smiled.

Why’s he smiling? my brain wondered as I dropped my eyes downward, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze.

Who cares? Lick him! my libido answered.

Meanwhile, I sat with my hands in my lap, again feeling a bit like a bunny rabbit in the sights of a hunter.

Only I kind of like it when it’s Anyan, I realized. So I forced myself to look back up at him. His eyes had grown hot, and I knew things were going to come to a head.

You thought that on purpose, my virtue chided, as my libido chortled.

Mmm. Head, was its only reply.

“You know I would never hurt you,” he asked. His voice was rough with lust, and it made my spine quiver.

“Of course,” I replied, forcing my eyes to stay on his.

“But you’re afraid of me?”

“That’s not it, really. It’s just… It’s more like… I’m just…” Scared shitless of this whole thing, I thought, not wanting to admit it.

“So you’re not really afraid of me. But you’re afraid of something involving me?”

I frowned. “Obviously, but that doesn’t mean…”

“Are you afraid of how you feel? Of how I make you feel?” With those words, Anyan stood his long frame up from where he’d been sitting on his verandah railing and came to stand in front of me. He towered over me, of course.

“Stop it. You always do that. You get up in my space and I feel… crowded.”

Instead of moving back, he moved a step closer.

“Is that all you feel?” he asked, doing his best imitation of Socrates. “Crowded?”

Gagagagagaga, my libido supplied, helpfully. It also sent my blood skittering to all the organs my blood shouldn’t be in, if I wanted to think. And I did want to think, damn it.

Thinking bad. Railing sex goooood, was my libido’s only response to my complaints.

The feel of the barghest’s big hands on my thighs, right above my knees, jolted me back into awareness. My eyes traveled to Anyan’s wide mouth, his lips pursed in concentration.

“Answer me, Jane,” he commanded, making me shiver again.

“Stop telling me to do things,” I replied, sharply. He only smiled.

“I like telling you to do things.”

“Quit it. I’m not a little girl.”

“No, you’re not. I know that. And you know I know that.”

I kept schtum, unsure where this was heading.

“You know that I think you’re brilliant. And brave. And strong,” he said, stepping closer even as his hands spread my thighs, just a little, to accommodate him. “You know I respect you, utterly. Which is why you like it, despite yourself, when I do things like this…”

And with those words, his hand reached behind me and did that knotting trick, where he gathered all my hair up in a rough queue, before tugging my head back, not quite gently. As if prompted to do so, my breathing deepened and lust poured through my veins.

“Because you know it’s a game,” Anyan said, as his teeth bit gently into my neck, a lovely sensation that had nothing to do with Graeme’s cruelty and everything to do with pleasure, shared. His tongue licked at the spot his teeth had been, as if my skin were as sweet as ice cream.

“A game?” I mumbled, unsure whether we were actually having a conversation or if we really were about to have railing sex.

Railing sex! my libido exulted.

“Mmm-hmmm,” the barghest purred, the sound muffled as he moved his mouth to bite the other side of my neck, a bit harder this time. The sting was delicious, as was the hand he moved to cup the bit of my bottom overhanging the railing. The grunt I gave at the feel of his teeth on my flesh gave way to a soft moan as his tongue again licked, taking away the sting.

“A game,” he repeated, withdrawing his mouth so he could look me in the face. His eyes were latched on my mouth, his own still pursed a little in concentration, as if he were busy mentally enumerating all the filthy things he could do to me.

I’ve got 150… more if we can source a goat, my libido challenged his, silently. My virtue warned that Anyan was probably more than up to such a provocation.

And just like that, he moved his hips in tighter to mine, his body opening my legs farther until he was hard up against me and I could feel just how “up” for the challenge he really was.

“What kind of game?” I squeaked, in lieu of humping him like a Maltese in heat. His big hands pulled me forward as his eyes went to mine. The look of desire I saw there took my own lust and magnified it a thousand times. The sight nearly took my breath away, and at that moment I wanted Anyan more than I’d ever wanted any man. Even Jason.

“A game where you let me be the boss, in the bedroom. You let me take control. You let me show you just how much I want you. You let me take that sweet little body and make it feel.”

Where do I sign? my libido asked, completely sold.

“And then?” my brain forced me to ask, unsure whether it wanted to be anybody’s love slave, no matter how tempting the offer.

“And then we can switch,” Anyan said, his lips twitching in a smile. “And I’ll be all yours.”

I couldn’t help but smile back, and then giggle at the images that raced through my head: Anyan in a French maid’s uniform… Anyan wearing a saddle… Anyan in lederhosen, wielding an enormous sausage…

“Just be gentle,” he warned. “I’m delicate.”

“Delicate my ass,” I said, laughing outright.

But all laughter ceased as his hands found my hair. One went to the nape of my neck, while the other got a firm grip on my hair. Then Anyan tugged my head back, so that my spine had to arch over his forearm, my face upturned to the evening sky. I knew he was giving me a taste of what he wanted from me—a kind of submissiveness that both excited and scared me.