Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,8

halter on the horse’s large head before pulling on the attached reins, so they faced one another. “What the hell were you thinking, Jinx? You’re all wet,” he said but patted the beast’s neck and took hold of the flashlight again before glancing Adam’s way.

The cool glow revealed a scar that ran through the man’s left eyebrow, parting the hair, and a small bump in the middle of his nose, as if it had been broken in the past. But as Adam’s gaze slid lower, he noticed a silver ring piercing the stranger’s septum, with a small ball hanging in the tempting dip above the lips. He was as magnificent as his animal. Tall. Broad in the shoulders, his eyes equally wild, and moves—just as graceful. And as man and beast stood side by side, Adam had no doubt those two were brothers in spirit too.

“Are you okay? The fucker burst out of the barn as if it was on fire.”

The question startled Adam out of his trance, and he crossed his arms over his chest, no longer even attempting to protect himself from the rain. “I think so,” he said, unsure how to deal with the insistent pull in his muscles. It was as if every fibre in his body longed to wrap around the stranger, and panic was already settling in. “Could you show me the way to the church?”

“It’ll be twenty minutes in this crazy weather. I can take you there. Least I can do to apologize for this monster scaring the shit out of you. I’m Emil.” He held out his hand, a roguish smile pulling on his handsome face, and Adam stalled, mortified that he’d be inviting the devil into his heart if he squeezed it.

But rejecting the offered hand would have been a slight that might forever damage his relationship with the locals, so he took a step forward and squeezed it, staring back for a bit too long when he sensed fresh meat in the air. The hand was supple yet firm, and so hot under that cold skin it might just be what was cooking for his pleasure. His mouth watered, and when Emil took away his fingers at last, Adam stood still like Lot’s wife once she got turned into salt and stared at him in disbelief.

“A-Adam.”

Emil smiled and entwined his fingers, creating a basket. Adam didn’t understand what that was about until Emil leaned down and urged him, “hop on.”

Jinx huffed, shook his head, and pressed his muzzle against the side of Adam’s head.

“What… on the horse?” But before Adam could have made a decision, Emil grabbed his foot and provided him with a stepping stool of hands. Adam went with it, and despite the awkwardness of it all, managed to drag one of his legs across Jinx’s hindquarters and straddle the animal. He didn’t think Emil needed to touch his ass when helping him up, but… maybe there had been a reason? Adam didn’t know anything about horses.

It was dark, but the moment he straightened on the saddleless back, height fright hit him like a baseball bat. “I—maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Emil pushed his sopping wet hair back and passed Adam his duffel bag. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” When he clicked his tongue, the horse leaned forward, making Adam fear for his life, but he managed to keep his balance until Emil hopped on in front of him.

After seconds of silence, Emil cleared his throat. “There’s no saddle, Adam. You have to hold on to me.”

Adam struggled to breathe. Arousal was no longer just an afterthought. It crawled up his thighs and tugged at his balls, as unwelcome as an itchy rash, but he stuffed his duffel bag in front of his crotch to reduce the potential for social death in the village of Dybukowo to a minimum. He hovered his hands close to Emil’s shoulders, because he wanted to touch them a bit too much, but when the man looked back and met his gaze with a roguish smile, Adam had no choice but to feel his firm muscle.

As soon as the horse picked up pace, Adam put his hands under Emil’s arms and around his waist. The man’s skin was a layer of wet cotton away, and only the decency buffer of the bag between them saved Adam from the hellfire already licking his skin.

He’d never thought much about what his ‘type’ was, since he shouldn’t have had one. It was better to avoid