The action was puny, really, but he released her. He was panting, eyes narrowed. She was panting, eyes still burning.
“Things have already gone too far,” she managed to get out. Do I sound as breathless to him as I do to myself? “This ends now.”
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his gaze never leaving her face. “Oh, I get it. Punishment received.”
He turned and stalked from her, and she wanted to shout that this hadn’t been a punishment, not for him, but the words congealed in her throat, and then it was too late, anyway, because he disappeared from view.
Five
Falon fumed for the next three days. For three reasons. (Three must be his new lucky number.) One, Glory had outsmarted him, leaving him with a magicless stick rather than the revenge pen. Two, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her and had thought about her constantly. And three, she was now ignoring him, as if he didn’t fucking matter to her.
He should be happy about that last one.
He wasn’t. Damn it, he wasn’t!
Motions clipped, he paced through his living room, trying to decide what to do. Like his lack of happiness, this should have been a nobrainer: stay out of her life. Never antagonize her again. She’d had her revenge. She’d made him burn, desperate for her, and then had rejected him. They were even. There was no reason they had to deal with each other again. Most likely, bad, magical things would happen if they did.
“As well as hot and sweaty,” he muttered. Her passion had been a thing of beauty. She’d writhed against him, her lush body flushed, her hazel eyes blazing. Her breasts had overflowed in his hands. Her skin had been the softest he’d ever caressed. Her long red hair had tumbled down her shoulders and arms, the perfect frame for her exquisite loveliness.
What would have happened if she’d have let him strip her? What would have happened if he’d spread her legs and pounded inside her?
“Heaven, that’s what.” But what about afterward? Would she have wanted more from him or been done with him? Would she have used her naughty magic against him again?
Falon scrubbed a hand over his scalp, nails raking. He was—or rather, had been—crown prince of the Fae. Women had thrown themselves at him, hoping to be queen. None had captured his interest. Then he’d meet Frederica, the witch, and had been entranced. Now he thought, perhaps, she’d used a love spell on him and there at the end it had worn off. But even still, he hadn’t hungered for her the way he hungered for Glory. Glory challenged him in every way imaginable.
“Not hard, nowadays,” he muttered.
To serve Penelope for the required year in order to gain his freedom from Frederica’s impotence curse, he’d had to relinquish his crown. His brother, Falk, had then taken over. Falk was a good king, respected, admired, and loved. Falon didn’t have the heart to take it from him when the year ended. What kind of king would I make, anyway? Not a good one, that was for sure. He’d always been too wild.
Besides, over the years he’d managed to carve out a decent life for himself. He didn’t need money, but he worked with Hunter at the bar. Amusements abounded, and there was never a dull moment. Brawls, seductions. Plus, it was a hub of information. When people were drinking, they tended to spill their deepest secrets. A few months ago, Falon had overheard three female fairies planning to poison Falk. He’d passed the information on, and the women had been captured in the act, Falk saved.
Falon sighed, his gaze traveling through his home. To thank him, Falk had sent him gifts. Lots and lots of gifts. From plush crimson couches to thick obsidian rugs. From jeweled goblets to a tiered chandelier. While the outside of his modest house might look ordinary, the inside was like a sultan’s palace. White lace even hung from each of the doorways. Not his doing. Falk had also sent a decorator.
Falon stopped in front of the velvet sapphire lounge. He pictured Glory splayed across it, naked, her little pink nipples hard. The lamp resting on the marble table beside the seat would be lit, and she would be bathed in a golden glow. She would nibble on her bottom lip, her eyes closed, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, hand delving down her soft stomach, fingers sinking into the red curls between her legs.
Just like that, he was rock hard. Again.
“Damn it!”
He needed to bed her. Just once. Otherwise, he’d never be able to get her out of his head.
Growling low in his throat, he stalked to the emerald-studded phone. He’d kind of liked his old one, plain and tan, but oh, well. He dialed Glory’s number. This is dumb, this is so damned dumb. His blood heated at the thought of hearing her sultry voice. What would she say to him?
One of the Tawdry sisters answered on the third ring. “Yeah, hello.” She sounded breathless.
“I need to speak with Glory.”
“Falon? Is that you?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is Genevieve.”
“Hey, Evie. I really need to speak to Glory.” Before he came to his senses and took matters into his own hands. Literally.
“Is something wrong?”
He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Look, is she around?”
“Well, yeah, but I don’t think she’ll want to chat with you, and maybe that’s for the best. She’s in a mood.”
Evie sounded like that was newsworthy. When wasn’t Glory in a mood? “Is something wrong with her? Is she okay?”
“Meaning, did someone physically hurt her? No. You know they’d be dead by my magic if they did.”
A warning? “Emotionally, then.”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Did you kiss her?” Evie asked.
“Who you talking to, baby?” Falon heard in the background.
“Let me speak with Hunter,” Falon said.
Crackling static, and then his best friend was saying, “What’s going on?”
“Glory okay?”
“Oh, man. She’s been stomping around the house for three days, muttering about a stupid kiss, a stupid man, and stupid revenge. She write you into another scene or something?”
“No.” But she could do so at any moment, which made him all kinds of an idiot for making this call. And why was she angry? She’d rejected him. He’d done nothing but try to pleasure her.
“My advice, bro, is to just leave her alone. She’ll calm down, and then she’ll forget all about you.”
That was the problem. Falon didn’t want her to forget him. Shit. He seriously needed to forget her.
“Uh-oh. Here she is,” Hunter muttered.
“I’m going for a run,” Falon heard her grumble.
“You? Run?” Shock dripped from Evie’s voice.
“Well, no one in this household can seem to master magical weight loss, so I’m running the pounds off. You got a problem with that?”
“You don’t need to lose weight,” he wanted to shout. Then he thought, She’ll be out of the house. It’ll be the perfect time to search her room and snatch that pen. Once the pen was out of her possession, seduction wouldn’t be so dumb. A lie, but he didn’t care. “Talk to you later, Hunter,” he blurted. “Don’t tell her I called.” He hung up, grabbed his car keys, and stalked into the waiting daylight.
Glory ran until her lungs felt like they’d caught fire. She ran until her body was shaking from exertion. She ran until her mind was mush. Sadly, none of those things shoved Falon from her mind.
Him and his too-soft lips, his decadent, drugging taste. His hardness, his sweet hands. His final request to taste her. She’d stayed away from him, hadn’t even tried to punish him again.
Sweat poured from her as she stumbled up the porch steps and into her house. Cool air kissed her skin. She propped herself against the nearest living room wall and hunched over, trying to catch her breath. It had taken her a few hours after leaving him in the forest to deduce exactly how he’d convinced her, even for a second, that he truly desired her.