Page 13 of Elixir of Strife
Divina Brillante. Ugh. It wasn’t just coincidence that she wanted that evil olive, right?
People talked. Magical people, especially, and magical people had many ways of listening, whether through scrying, invasive telepathy, or planting a bug. A bug, in this case, could be anything from a familiar to a mage transformed into the shape of an insect, literally a fly on the wall.
But I didn’t have to bring this up with Leon, did I? That would just complicate matters. We’d taken the job from Succulence as a team, and that was the job we were going to finish. I didn’t like the idea of working for Divina, anyway. I didn’t care how much she was planning to pay me. Frankly, Devilina could go to hell.
I spaced out around the part where she said that stealing even a single evil olive would be enough, something about replanting the pit, pressing the eventual harvest to make the universe’s most mind-blowing citrus olive oil cake. Literally mind-blowing, if Edel was telling the truth about the effects of ingesting an evil olive.
As if I’d ever betray a client like that. No more olives, then. I was in the mood for something sweeter. Not exactly ice cream, more of the boy who was presently enjoying the ice cream, shoving it in his face in huge hunks. I intercepted his hand, took his next bite in my mouth, winced at the brain freeze.
Rich and chocolatey, with a swirl of saltiness from the peanut butter. See, this was why I tried to avoid snacking too much. A guy could get addicted to this stuff. Leon rewarded me with a swat on the back of my hand and a possessive pout. He brandished his spoon like a dagger.
“My ice cream, Max. Mine.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s gotten into you tonight? You’re a lot friskier than usual.”
“Frisky? How? This is how I am all the time.” I pinned him against the counter, an arm on either side of him, my thigh lingering dangerously between his legs. “Can’t a guy be grateful for some TLC?”
He squinted harder. “That implies that any of the care I gave you was tender or loving. Which it wasn’t.”
“You offered me healing and comfort and succor, or whatever.” I waggled one eyebrow. “I’m especially fond of the succor.”
I closed my hands around his hips, pressing our bodies together. He flinched, backed against the counter, found he had nowhere to go. My thigh brushed against the bulge in his jeans. The spoon fell from his hands, clattered on the kitchen tile.
“My ice cream,” he breathed, his voice shifting into a moan when I ground my thigh against him again.
“You know, maybe you’re right. I’m feeling a little friskier than usual tonight, and you’re grumpier than usual. That’s okay. We’re allowed to have moods and feelings, right? I’d rather be honest.” I leaned closer, whispering into his ear. “And I’d honestly love to play with your cock right now.”
Leon laughed, flustered and blushing. His hand raked through his hair for whatever reason, like a last-ditch attempt to make himself look presentable. Which was ridiculous, because he looked delectable to me.
“The ice cream,” he stammered. “Gonna melt. Should put it back.”
I didn’t move a muscle, kept him locked in my embrace. “Then go ahead and put it back in the freezer. No one’s stopping you.”
The muscles in my stomach tightened as I held in my laughter, watching him struggle and twist out of my grip. He placed a hand on my arm, pushed it out of his way. That was intentional on my part, naturally, to remind him of the parts of me that he liked best.
I tilted my head, studying his ass as he shuffled with the ice cream back to the freezer, so careful not to drop his precious cargo, even more careful not to let it melt if stuff really did get hot and heavy in the kitchen. Leon had a good point, though. WhywasI so horned up over him?
He ran the water, washing his hands briskly, as if he’d gotten them dirty somewhere along the way. And with the rush of it into the sink it finally hit me, a pale, distant echo of the roaring walls of water he’d summoned back at the warehouse.
Leon had saved my ass yet again. How many people had ever done that for me? Guillotina, of course, one or two times, especially back when we were both younger. Johnny Slivers, for sure. That was one messy bar fight.
But for Leon to swoop in with a save so frequently in the little time I’d known him? Nothing hotter than a guy who was so competent and confident with his magic. Nothing sexier than someone who could think so quickly on his feet.
I chuckled under my breath as he gingerly wiped his hands on a paper towel, standing dutifully over the trash can. These little delaying tactics. Nothing cuter than a guy who could effortlessly blast off elemental spells, and yet seemed so uncertain about his talents in the bedroom.
Or the kitchen, as it were.
“Come here,” I told him, beckoning with one hand.
He frowned, but came warily closer, anyway. “I’m not a puppy, Max.”
“I know you aren’t,” I said, planting a hand on each of his shoulders. “You’re much noisier than that. Very mouthy. Wriggly, too.”
“What are you doing?” he asked, a glimmer of anger in his eyes.
But the spark of interest burned brighter. I flipped our positions so his back was against the counter, fencing him in again.
“Stay,” I commanded.
He said nothing, mouth hanging open, too horny to be angry. I ran my hand down his chest, tracing the hardness of his torso through his shirt, deliberately dragging the entirety of my thumb slowly against his nipple.
