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She lifts her chin to nuzzle into my neck and I shiver with the sensation it sends to my painfully hard cock. I am not looking forward to sitting my horse with –
I grunt as she runs a hand over my groin. “Rina,” I warn.
“Yes?” Her voice is husky and with her tracing the outline of my very sensitive length along my thigh, I almost give in to what she’s suggesting. But this can’t happen here. I grab onto her wrist.
“Enough.”
She lifts her head, giving me a glimpse of disbelief. “You don’t want me to . . .”
“No.”
My stony response kindles a flash of hurt before she wipes it away. “Suit yourself.” She draws herself up and reaches for the laces of her pants.
When I swat her hands away, her prickly temper renews itself. “Luka, I can do it.”
“So can I.”
Retying the strings, I watch her shoulders sag as if I’ve punctured a hole in her fiery demeanor and now it’s all draining away. I don’t like it.
But if I don’t like it, I should explain.
But explain what?
That a hand job will leave me unsatisfied? That I won’t have her on her knees in the dirt, blowing me out in the open? That I’m scared I’llfuck a baby right into her bellyand then have to live with the consequences?
I hold my tongue as I pick her up off the ladder and set her down.
She limps toward Glory and I frown. “You’ll ride with me,” I tell her, throwing Daysa’s cloak around her shoulders.
She trains a weary expression on me. “Can you stop? Not everything out of your mouth has to be an order. It’s tiresome.”
“As is your wilfulness.” I consider her, trying to remember which of her legs is the injured one. “Now –”
“Luka!” she screeches as I lift her up onto Nightshade’s saddle without warning. “Luka, I can ride my own damn horse.”
Ignoring her, I pull a length of rope from one of my saddle bags and tether Glory. Rina’s still carrying on, examining the ground as if it’s a solution to her predicament. I wouldn’t put it past her to jump down for no other reason than to spite me, but at least I’ve stoked her fire again.
Planting a foot in the stirrup, I heave myself up behind her and get us situated, arranging both her and my erection into the least uncomfortable position. Her complaints finally settle into a simple glare so I flip the hood of the cloak up over her head and cradle her more fully in my arms.
We set off in peaceable silence, her bow-string taut body slowly relaxing against mine with the sway of the horse. I should have guessed the peace was too good to last.
“Aren’t you cold without a cloak?” she asks.
“Wouldn’t you prefer the quiet of the night?”
She fiddles with the sleeve of my shirt. “Humor me? The effects of the wine are wearing off and my leg is sore. I need the distraction.”
I let out a put-upon sigh. “No, I’m not cold.”
The blessed silence lasts but a minute when she tries again. “These northern lights, are they a presage of good or ill?”
Presage? Where does she come up with such words?Though I suppose her meaning is clear enough withgood or ill.“It depends.”
More quiet until a noise of disgust spoils it.
“Really, Luka. Can’t you even try?”
“What, woman?” I demand, exasperated. “What do you want me to say?”
