Page 12 of Heir of Autumn
I could feel Sylvain stiffening behind me. His muscles, that is, every last one in his body clenching reflexively.
“Damn, what?” he asked, the forced nonchalance in his voice barely concealing the beginnings of what sounded very much like jealousy.
“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just — I guess I didn’t expect mermen to be so attractive.”
Sylvain scoffed, wriggling his way around me so that we were sitting side by side on the edge of the bed. His finger jabbed at the page. “I find this quite sexist, I do. Where’s the mermaid? One would argue that they’re far more emblematic of the species than the vastly inferior male variety.”
I laughed, nudging him with my elbow. “What? Inferior? What makes you say that? Look at this guy. He looks like he just stepped off a runway. Okay, swam off a runway. Or right out of an underwater gym. And that hair.”
Long, and trailing down past the collarbone, the shoulder. Probably clogged with sea salt, which only had the effect of making the tresses appear more fulsome, that wavy, sun-kissed hair that all surfers seemed to possess
“Seen better,” Sylvain grumbled, turning his nose up. “And besides, this is just a picture in a book. There’s no way that a merman who looks like that could possibly exist.”
I bit on the inside of my cheek, trying not to chuckle over Sylvain’s adorable insecurity. “Actually, all of the subjects in Ermengarde Froste’s books are illustrated from life wherever possible. I think the more hostile ones are photographed and drawn later instead. I haven’t checked who does her drawings, but they’re clearly very talented. Look how lifelike that is. All that hair. All those muscles.”
“Right,” Sylvain said, snatching the book away from me and slamming the cover shut. “That’s quite enough booking for one day.”
I laughed again and shoved him in the shoulder, relishing the pout and twist in his mouth. “Gods above and below, are you jealous of a drawing, Sylvain? I’m only saying that mermen can be hot. You don’t mind that, do you?”
“Not at all.” He tossed the book over his shoulder and crossed his arms, clearly minding it very much. “I just think it’s funny,” he said, without smiling or laughing, even a little bit.
“What’s so funny, exactly?” I asked innocently, loving how easy it was to get under his skin.
“I just think it’s funny that you’re so fascinated by mermen when there are plenty of things fae princes can do that they can’t.”
“Like what?” I asked, grinning.
“Don’t make me come up with a list.” He eyed the book on the edge of the bed, like he was thinking about checking it for his answers. “And don’t you try and bait me into saying offensive things about walking on land and such. That’s not what I was thinking at all.”
“And yet you said it out loud,” I said, my smile like the curve of a wicked blade. It was time to cut a little deeper, to strike where I knew it would hurt his ego the most. “You know, Sylvain, I’ve heard that merfolk are exceptionally strong. Something to do with dealing with the resistance of water and ocean currents all the time. It must account for why they’re so muscular and powerful.”
There it was, a low growl, rumbling steadily from inside his chest.
I tilted my head to one side, resting my chin in my hand. “I do love a swimmer’s build,” I said, sighing wistfully.
The growl increased in volume, Sylvain’s knuckles going white as he tightened his fists. “I have that,” he insisted, almost sputtering. “Whatever it is. In fact, mine is better. It’s a warrior’s build.”
“Hey now, I won’t deny that you have a very, very attractive body.” I stroked a lock of his hair away from his brow, risking having my fingers bitten off. “But you’re different, aren’t you? Your muscles are built for vanity. Not for function and power. Not as strong as — ”
My heart skipped when his hand darted for mine, powerful fingers wrapping around my wrist. His repeated the motion with my other hand, throwing me against the bed, pinning me down with my arms above my head. He knelt over me, strong thighs pressing into my torso, holding me there, dominating me. It was all I could do not to squirm in delight.
“Not as strong as what, little human? I am built for battle, for long hours of ranging and combat.” He bent lower, teeth bared, as sharp as fangs. “For long hours of lovemaking.”
I couldn’t stop myself. He wasn’t lying about his stamina, in or out of the sheets, but what really, really sent me over the edge was Sylvain’s unbridled passion. How feral he could become in the throes of it, snarling, sweating, rutting against me so hard it was a wonder we didn’t have more issues with broken furniture.
And the best way to bring out his beast was by playing this game, teasing and taunting, luring out his wild side. I struggled against his grip as his fingers tightened even more. Time for the final blow.
I lied through my teeth.
“Ermengarde Frost says that merfolk famously make love for days on end.”
Sylvain’s eyes darkened. Again they flitted toward where he’d thrown the book, but the split second flicker of them down my body told me he had other things in mind.
“You and your clever, devilish mouth,” he said, glowering.
He crawled backward, down my body, forcing one last glare as he released my wrists, as if to tell me that there’d be hell to pay if I tried to escape. I licked my lips, cock already straining against my briefs at the thought that Sylvain was about to give it all his loving attention, with his tongue and his wet, wet mouth.
I bit my lip in delight as rough hands tugged at my jeans, then my underwear, freeing me, my cock. Sylvain tugged harder, pulling everything off, throwing my clothes into a rumpled pile on the floor. Oh. He meant business. I really did love this game. A little teasing, some light mockery? Worked every time.
