Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5)

Tempest’s Fury (Jane True #5) Page 17

“Who says that wasn’t on purpose?” His big hand started to gather the sweatshirt up, in a clear bid to take it away from me.

“Oh no, mister,” I said, moving with the sweatshirt so that, in a flash, I was no longer cradled in his arms but straddling his thighs, my face inches from his.

“The whole point is that we’re supposed to be getting to know each other,” I told him.

“We are getting to know each other.” He pressed a kiss to my jaw but I pushed back on his chest.

“The key words are ‘each other.’ You already know me. I want to get to know you better. Maybe I should go check out one of those books,” I added at the last second, wondering how he’d react.

For a second Anyan’s grey gaze looked uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure where I was going to go with that idea.

“You could,” he replied, eventually, carefully. “I can’t stop you. But I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why?” I challenged.

He chuckled. “You can stop that sordid imagination of yours, little minx. There are no harems or anything like that. In fact, there’s nothing you’d read about the ‘Anyan’ of those stories that I probably won’t tell you about, myself, at some point.

“Although ‘Fanyan’s’ a different story.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at his joke, but I was still curious.

“So why can’t I read them, if they don’t lie?”

“Because they don’t lie, but they’re not honest either. I did do those things, yes, but not in the light each books casts me. Those authors all wanted to see me a certain way: as a hero, or a master strategist, or a cruel genius, or a patriot to the Territory.

“But I was none of those things. I was someone doing a job, for reasons that were sometimes admittedly rather noble and sometimes kinda shitty. There were times I knew exactly what I was doing, and it was pretty smart, and other times I made that shit up or I did something insanely stupid that worked because I was lucky, not wise. But those things never get talked about. All of those books want to make me the perfect something: whatever it is that floats the author’s boat. But I’m not a perfect anything. I’m just me.”

“Oh I do like you. You’re so clever,” I cooed, running a finger over his lips. Anyan could be scary, and he could be sexy. It was when he was so casually clever, however, that I wanted to pickle his gherkin.

He nipped at my fingers playfully before he met my eyes, his iron-grey gaze serious and unyielding.

“And that’s why I like you, Jane. Because you’ve only ever seen me, not the things people tell you I am. You’ve heard all sorts of nonsense, but you just shrug it off and refuse to believe it.”

“Anyan,” I protested, “I don’t not believe it when I hear good things about you. I know you’re all of those things.”

“Yeah, but you don’t treat me like that. It didn’t faze you when you discovered I was famous as a supe, or even when you realized I was famous as a human artist. You always treated me the same.”

Only then did I really get what he was saying—the huge backdrop of Anyan’s life that, up till then, I’d either ignored or been oblivious.

“You’re a celebrity,” I said, only then able to contextualize the Fanyan books and the biographies. “You’re like a supernatural what… Winston Churchill? Only hot? Do girls want you to sign their chests?”

“I’m not a celebrity, it’s different. It’s just…”

“Whatever, you’re totally a celebrity. You should get a Beaver haircut. Or Bieber? Whoever the hell that boy is with the silly hair. I could flat iron it for you.”

“If you don’t stop right now, I’m going to turn you over my knee and spank that little bottom of yours.”

Dead silence.

“Um, Anyan,” I said, when I could breathe again. “Threatening me with a spanking is the number one way not to get me to stop doing something. That’s like saying, ‘Stop, or I’ll give you delicious chocolate cake.’ ”

“Oh yeah?” The barghest said, growlingly, pulling me up his lap suggestively. But I stayed his arms.

“So when are you going to tell me more about you?” I asked.

He smiled at me affectionately. “In their natural time, Jane. As things come up.”

For a second, I wanted to push. But I could also see, from the look on his face, that now was not the time to ask him to share his secrets. It wasn’t his fault that he knew all of my secrets and I knew none of his. He’d known everything about me before I even knew him—the circumstances of our relationship meant he hadn’t had to earn my trust, although time and again he’d proven to me he deserved it.

So I didn’t resent having to earn his. After all, that was exactly the reason I’d wanted us to take the time we needed, however long that was.

Not that I couldn’t still torture him, just a little.

“But I want to know important things,” I said, gazing deep into his eyes, “For example… what you like.”

I undulated my hips against his as I said the last bit, before leaning forward to nip, very gently, at the soft flesh of his ear lobe.

“I want to know what turns you on.” His big hands flexed on my hips as I breathed over the shell of his ear, letting him feel my breasts press against his chest as I kept my hips moving.

“I want to know how to make my puppy growl.”

With that I kissed him hard on the mouth, raking my nails gently down over his T-shirt covered back.

“Bad girl,” he rumbled, as he used his strength to topple me backward and his earth magic to cushion our weight as he landed on top of me.

“This isn’t letting me get to know you,” I pointed out, as his mouth found that place on the side of my neck that made me whimper.

“Oh gods, Jane, the answer to all those questions is you. You turn me on; you’re what I want; you make me growl.”

He punctuated his words with feathery kisses on my neck.

“You’re mine, little minx,” he said, and that’s when his teeth found my neck, marking me possessively.

I moaned, bucking against him and feeling taken and wanted and so turned on.

His tongue licked away the sting of his bite, even as I felt his knees nudge mine apart. I opened for him, and he settled his hips against mine. The rough denim of his jeans pressed against my softest parts, and I shivered. Nonetheless my hands quickly found his ass, pressing him tighter against me as his mouth found my nipple.

He used his lips and teeth in a way that made me swoon, and it was with the utmost regret that I informed him of what my hand on his ass was telling me.

“You’re vibrating,” I murmured.

“Fuck it,” was his only response, as he dove for my other nipple.

Yes, fuck it, my libido encouraged.

But both my brain and my virtue knew that wasn’t a good idea. So I pulled out the offending cell phone to see the screen.

“It’s Blondie,” I said. “She’s called twice.”

Anyan sighed into my cleavage.

“Now she’s texted,” I said. “Should I read it?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, clearly defeated. I pressed a few buttons while my libido cursed me roundly.

“She says, ‘Where are u? Alistair squealed… sort of. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.’ ”

Just as I was finished, the phone buzzed again with another message.

“This one says, ‘stop humping xxx.’ ”

Anyan’s weight shifted, so that he could lounge on me, using me as a convenient pillow.

“I think I hate her,” he said with a sigh.

“I know,” I said. “But I think I’m getting a splinter in my ass, anyway. And we went plenty far for a first date. You don’t want me to think you’re slutty.”

Anyan moved, and then stood to help pull me to my feet. His hands brushed down over my butt.

“I think you’re splinter free, and I also think you’re going to like me slutty.”

“Yes,” I said, giggling. “I think I am going to enjoy that.”

And with that I hugged him close, cinching his waist in a tight grip and burying my face in his chest.

“So are you enjoying dating?” he said, his voice happy as he pulled me closer.

I laughed. “Yes, I am. And I’m looking forward to the next time. Maybe you can crank up your Victrola and we can waltz whilst my governess chaperones.”

His fingers traced down my spine, and it was his turn to grab my ass.

“I always did have a bit of a governess and her sweet young charge fantasy,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to mine.

“It’s because you’re old,” I murmured against his lips, before I let him kiss me.

All I got for my joke was a sharp, none-too-gentle smack on my ass. So I made another. And another. Till Blondie texted again, and we had to go plan for tomorrow.

CHAPTER NINE

Seriously, I never want to leave,” I murmured, as I pressed my nose against the glass case.