Page 45 of Stitched Up in You
“We’ll just see about that,” she grouses, “Either way I’ll be back to see you tomorrow, Brom.”
“You will not.”
“Well, why not? He acts like he doesn’t get enough attention, and it can’t hurt.” A frown mars her brow as she turns to look up at me, twisting her torso in the saddle.
“No.”
“I don’t see how you can stop me,” she scoffs, and turns back around to face forward.
Argumentative brat.
I cover her mouth with a palm, delighted when her incessant talking is finally muffled. Holding her mouth shut, I notice how my hand dwarfs her entire face easily and smirk a bit when she unsuccessfully tries to break my hold with both of hers.
“Now listen here, Brom Bones isn’t some pet you can come play with when you like. He turns to flame when pissed. A stray hornet at his head and you’ll go up in ash just for being near him.” The words ring true, and the idea begins to have merit as she knows too much to really be allowed to live now. “If you value your life so little, get my property back and you can pet him all you like.”
The horse sidesteps beneath us, as if to argue, but I’ve seen him do far worse to humans in the past, and he knows it.
A wet sensation accompanied by the feeling of warm, wet metal sliding along my palm registers as my face screws into horror. “Did you just lick me?” I ask, ripping my hand away from her mouth lest she try to do it again.
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve licked you Frank, and besides, Brom won’t hurt me. He likes me more than he likes you,” she announces, as if she’s known the creature all her life instead of a span of twenty minutes.
Brom whinnies as if in agreement, and my nostrils flare.
I don’t bother responding to her ridiculousness. It’s becoming clear she would argue with a fence post, and I’ve no intention of providing her entertainment.
“You’re just mad because I’m right,” she says in a singsong-like voice as if I rebutted her aloud.
“Stop. Talking.” I bite out the words between clenched teeth, trying with all my might to keep from strangling her where she sits.
“Fine,” she mutters, as Brom walks at a sedate pace beneath us, the twit docile as a lamb because of the shrew.
My eyeball twitches in my sockets when she wiggles in place on my lap instead of chattering my ears off, invoking a different type of annoyance altogether as my cock comes to attention.
She lets out a sigh, leaning back against my chest. Thankfully not noticing my predicament as my slacks get increasingly tighter.
A heavy grunt leaves her as she twists to get more comfortable, grinding her ass against me and the muscles of my face harden to stone.
I force every molecule in my body to not react, refusing to give an inch even as her orange blossom scent teases when she continues to stretch back against me like a cat.
She sighs again when I give no response, but when she begins to whistle a tune, I lose my temper entirely.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I thunder down at her.
She turns slightly to peek up at me from under her cat-eye glasses, her tone all innocence. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes,” I snap and sharply tug at the reins, turning Brom around back toward the stable yard, and tighten the one’s holding at my threadbare control.
“Riiiight, had to check. You know, you’re really hot to the touch, almost like a heating pad,” she remarks, rubbing her back into my stomach and chest. “Ha, how did I ever think you were a vampire.”
How indeed.
Although immortal, vampires are essentially parasites for all their supernatural abilities, vulnerable in more ways than one, and there are many downsides to their nature. I’ve found a solution to most of them. A fact that Vlad hates, especially when I make a point to remind him of my obvious superiority every chance I get.
“You’re definitely not a werewolf either,” she murmurs, as if she has firsthand knowledge of werewolves.
I purse my lips and roll them to keep myself from questioning her, but in the end my curiosity gets the best of me. “And you know that because?”
She shrugs. “I’ve met one.”
