Page 15 of Hijack the Seas: Seismic

Pritkin paused what he was doing to make a slash at the air with his hand, and suddenly, the watery smacks became more like caresses as the globules slowed way, way down. I found myself in a wonderland of vaguely green and pink-tinted bubbles that had an iridescence on them I hadn’t noticed before. Some kind of soap . . .

I turned toward Pritkin, a vaguely pink puddle balanced on one hand, grinning delightedly, and caught him looking at me with a strange expression. It was a cross between wonder and terror, which quickly morphed into a frown when he noticed me noticing. I sighed.

And kissed his neck because I wanted to kiss his neck. It tasted like salt, sweat, and soap because he had been getting smacked, too. But mostly, it tasted like him.

It tasted wonderful.

“You act like we’ve decided something. We haven’t decided anything,” he informed me sternly. I mouthed his Adam’s apple, one of my favorite bits on a smorgasbord of delicacies, and felt him shiver. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he added as if there was any doubt.

“Hope so. Didn’t think I was being subtle,” I murmured and bit down.

“Damn it, Cassie!”

I managed to get my armor to collapse a bit further, to the point that it looked like I was wearing dragon scale thigh highs, which . . .

Badass, I decided, and from Pritkin’s expression, he seemed to feel the same. He swallowed and then did it again when I grabbed him, getting an almost comically confused expression on his face. I guessed because it was hard to be stern with a blond trying to sit on your dick.

And succeeding, I thought, groaning loudly enough to drown out whatever stupidity he was spouting because yes, this, this right . . . freaking . . . here, I thought, panting a little as I took all of him, because he was a big boy and I couldn’t always do that immediately.

But I was hungry tonight; no, I was starving, and I guessed he was, too. A moment later, when I was still trying to find a good seat, he helped me out, making me groan as he grabbed my bare backside and shifted my position. And then kissed me, and it told me everything I needed to know.

That he was as starved as I was, that he had missed me, too, so much, that whatever his mouth was saying, his body was glad I was here—

Make that very glad, I thought, screaming a little as he started to thrust. And how the hell he managed to get into a rhythm while being straddled on a narrow rock shelf, which was probably meant for toiletries, and slapped in the face by soap-laden water bubbles, I didn’t know. But damned if he didn’t make it work.

And, of course, I couldn’t let that pass, so I stepped up my game. And would have done even more, but I was too emotional to think straight. I had visualized this moment so many times over the last month while healing from my latest brush with death, and then all the time I was at the dark fey court, which had been a mind trip all on its own, and then during the mad rush to get here, but it had never been like this.

I didn’t care. A prince of the incubi makes damned sure you don’t care, that you can’t think, that your eyes keep wanting to cross and simultaneously roll up into your head and sometimes do. And that your throat is so busy groaning and yelling and shrieking and then laughing as you bounce on his lap and come again and again, as the world slings around you, and as pretty pink water balloons burst in your face so that you can’t even speak.

But my body could. And incubi know that language better than any other. It grabbed him, even while I was still giggling my way through orgasm number three, hard enough to make him gasp for a change. And then groan and laugh as I found a rhythm of my own.

I wrung his pleasure right out of him with wriggles and writhing circles and inner squeezes that I was proud to see had his eyes rolling back into his head. Twice; they did it twice. I was about to go for three, an all-time best, when he had enough of my antics, grabbed my ass, and squeezed while I laughed and squealed and giggled into the skin of his neck.

And even the ripping, tearing noises from outside, where I guessed the requested venison had finally been delivered by a couple of probably scandalized fey, didn’t faze me.

“Think they’re eating the deer or the waiters?” I gasped at Pritkin, who only laughed and kissed me. And kept on doing so while finishing up, to the point that I was breathless and energized and tingly and satiated before my butt hit the plunge pool.

I supposed it said something about the whole experience that I hadn’t even noticed we were moving.

I floated in a post-coital haze in a fey jacuzzi while my new demon pets tore something to pieces next door. Wasn’t how I really thought my life was gonna go, but I’d take it, I thought. And glanced over at Pritkin, who was looking more serene than I could remember in a long time.

I’d take it all day.

But we didn’t have all day, so I was happy that the pool seemed designed to clean off all that soap. It felt like little fingers were running over my skin, stripping away the remains of the last few days’ worth of sweat and grime and finally getting me clean. It was amazing.

“I could get used to this place,” I murmured, sinking lower so the bubbles could do their thing on my scalp.

Oh, yeah. Yeah, I could absolutely stay here for a while, enjoying the fey version of a spa. Only Pritkin didn’t seem to agree.

“You won’t find everything so enjoyable,” he said grimly. “I know how stubborn you are, but you need to consider—”

“Leaving you here to fight alone?” I considered it. “Nope.”

“Don’t be so flippant! You don’t know what’s ahead!”

“Like we ever do?” I cracked an eye because he was harshing my buzz, and it was a good one.

“I’m serious. You don’t understand what—”

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