Page 47 of Heimlock

He can’t guarantee either of those things won’t happen, because relationships don’t work like that. Both of us share glum expressions. I can appreciate him not trying to convince me to leave. The facts don’t take away the way my body aches for him, though.

“What if …”

Interest perks him up. “What if …?”

“What if we try it from a different angle?”

Trinte’s expression shutters. “What do you mean?”

Offering a slow, salacious smile, I say, “What if we go have some fun? No strings attached?”

There’s a flicker of something I don’t understand that crosses his expression before he matches my smile. “I can do no-strings-attached.”

18

Despite what’s happened recently, I’ve tried to keep my distance from Kyrielle and honor her boundaries. It’s been phenomenally difficult, even when I’m pissed. From the moment I saw Kyrielle, my desire for her has only grown. More so, I’ve craved endless conversations with her since we said goodbye that evening.

But it wasn’t truly goodbye for me. Not really. Kyrielle is clearly unaware that I’ve secretly attended all of her battles. Hanging on the outskirts of the crowd, watching her dominate men twice her size with both skill and fire.

From the start, she represents the type of person I want to be. As corny as it sounds, I want to be like her; formidable, ferocious, and fearless. Before she told me about her rule, I was willing to throw the last dregs of my hope into her. That maybe, just maybe, I intrigued someone enough that they stuck around.

It had been unbelievably painful when she had asked for a one-night stand. Kyrielle turning me down was a clear message from the universe that I’ve taken seriously since: No dating; only fucking.

And that has probably run its course. There’s no real joy in it anymore; I don’t know if there ever was.

I’m doomed to be a crotchety old Dragon, hoarding nerdy figurines while living in a dark cave filled with game consoles and snacks. A born-again virgin with arthritic fingers from clutching my cock so much, my fist is stuck that way.

It’s my destiny. I’ve accepted that.

Except the way she looks at me right now, stewing in her wrath as she takes a sip of her beer, something stirs in my chest. Not quite hope. I won’t let that exist. But it’s something.

“Do you guys really like Heimlock or something?” Orliana asks, her eyes bouncing between the two of us. Talia’s eyes burn a hole in my head, but I refuse to look at her.

“Kyrielle really loves Heimlock,” I state, tossing back the rest of my Minga and starting on the beer. It tastes like memories and sexual frustration.

Her fireburst eyes are inviting pyres, with those orange fingertips twitching like she’s imagining wrapping them around my neck and boiling me alive. Yes, please.

The thing is, I’m surprised she’s kept our tryst from Orliana. Which tells me there’s some form of shame inside her. That’s too delicious to not exploit. We can become shame twins.

“You do?” Orliana asks, puzzled. She’s collecting silverware from a drawer, eyeing her best friend suspiciously. “I’ve never seen you drink it.”

“He’s joking,” the Fire Sprite grits out. “I only drink it on very special occasions.”

Pinning her with my stare, I purr, “Like today?”

Her jaw see-saws. I glance at my brother. He’s giving me a hard stare. Like he knows I’m needling her, but is unsure why.

“Am I missing something?” Talia asks from over my shoulder.

Our denials collide as we both say, “No.”

Everyone in the room quiets. Even Moxie, who's been digging into the Tupperware cabinet, pauses, a piece of plastic in her mouth.

“Well …” Orliana says slowly, “Since we have that settled … let’s set the table?”

“I’ll help!” Joulian says, exploding from his chair at the table. His gangly arms almost knock over the pitcher of water on the counter. Fynn lunges and catches it before it falls.

Kyrielle and I stand at the same time, her breasts grazing my chest. Oxygen stalls in my lungs; she inhales sharply.