Her eyes went wide. “You shut the f.u.c.k up, Ruin.”
G.o.ds, she was s.e.xy when p.i.s.sed. “I wasn’t jesting about tanning your a.s.s, little girl.” Picturing that got his demon in a lather.
She gave a haughty laugh. “Try it, old man.”
Her defiance . . . it called up his every primal need to pin her down and make her submit. To cover her and rut till the pressure within him relented. “You wouldn’t be able to sit for days.”
“I dare you, Ruin.” She shoved at his chest with a flash of her fangs.
Like flipping some kind of switch.
The demon in him reacted outside of Rune’s control. He lunged at her, one hand gripping the back of her head, the other palming her a.s.s as they flew into the wall. Cinder blocks cracked. He trailed his lips down her neck. “You defy me?” She wouldn’t if I marked her. She’d be too busy coming, surrendering. “When I’m so much stronger than you?” She’d respect the male who mastered her.
“Wall’s still standing. Is that all you got, limp d.i.c.k?”
He shoved between her legs. “I’ve got your f.u.c.king limp—AHHH!”
She’d sunk her sharp little fangs into his neck.
He threw back his head. Fighting not to come at once, he growled, “You can’t get enough of me!”
She nodded, lapping and sucking.
“Ah, G.o.ds, that’s it, baby. Drink me. I want you to swallow me down.” Using his grip on her a.s.s to hold her in place, he rocked his swollen shaft between her thighs. I need on her, in her.
She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him either. Her claws dug into his back, her legs locking around his waist.
This tiny creature wants me as prey. The thought made his b.a.l.l.s ache. “Suck me. Drain me!”
“Ummm.” She met him, grinding her s.e.x against him faster.
“Ah, I scent you! Your tight little p.u.s.s.y gets so wet. Sweet and slick. Can’t stop thinking about your taste.” He tried to hold back, to draw out their pleasure. But he could hear her swallowing as she consumed him, could imagine his hot lifeblood filling her lush body, coursing all over her. “Ah, f.u.c.k,” he groaned. “Too good! You going to come for me?”
She whimpered against his neck, sucking wantonly, grinding, grinding. . . .
“Harder!” His shaft throbbed, his b.a.l.l.sac tightening. “You told me you’d f.u.c.k me with your fangs—do it.”
She dug her claws in deep, and she bit down hard.
His mind turned over. His c.o.c.k jerked in his pants. He shoved and shoved, words bursting from his lips. Pleasure racked him, whipped him, made his knees go weak. His bellow was like an explosion from his lungs.
She released her bite to throw back her head. Still writhing on him, she screamed, her pale throat working.
He rasped at her ear, “That’s it. You like the way I make you come. . . .”
When she finished with a shiver, she met his gaze. Her irises were black, her lips so plump as she licked them for more of his taste.
They caught their breath, still languidly moving against each other. The moment was thick with . . . something. He felt as if he might say words he’d regret. Or she might.
But he couldn’t seem to let her go—
A knock sounded, and she hissed at the door.
He reluctantly set her down, then adjusted his sensitive c.o.c.k. Curious how she would interact with others—he’d only seen her with Nïx—he said, “By all means.”
She traced to open the door. A human male stood outside.
“You want me to flay you,” she told him. “To contribute to my man quilt. Come back Sunday. That’s my sewing day.”
The man’s face was pale, and he reeked of urine. He offered up a piece of paper. “A woman named Nïx left a message earlier.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Jo s.n.a.t.c.hed the note from the motel owner’s hands, then slammed the door in his face.
“Come on, then,” Rune said. “What did the Valkyrie write?”
Good question. Jo handed over the note. “Too angry to read it.”
He unfolded the paper and read aloud: “ ‘Catch me if you can. I’m on a boat to China for some high tea. The highest.’ ” He met Jo’s gaze. “She wants us to chase her.”
“You think she’s really going there?” Would they be going there? Jo had never been out of the South, had only gone as far west as Texas and as far east as Florida. But after a fresh intake of Rune’s blood—and a heart-stopping o.r.g.a.s.m—she felt ready for anything.
“I believe so. She’s too crazy to fear her enemies, and she likes games. She’s worse than Loki.” Whoever. “If she’s leaving us messages, we can be fairly certain she’s clocking our moves.”
“Then won’t she foresee our every attempt?”
“Probably.” He crumpled the note. “G.o.ds d.a.m.n it!”
“Now what do we do?”
“We hunt her there.” He cast Jo a resentful look. “This doesn’t mean I simply get to quit.”
“Maybe she’ll make a mistake.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve visited China during the scant years of your life?”
“Nope.”
He threaded his fingers through his hair. “I can’t trace us there either.”
“How do you know? Have you tried?”
As if speaking to a child, he said, “Because Loreans can only trace to places we’ve previously been or places we can see.”
“I knew that. Wait . . . You’re so old, but you’ve never been to China?”