Dark Destiny (Dark Sentinel #1) - Lexxie Couper Page 0,67

his. “I will take that as a compliment.”

He laughed again. “Of course you will.”

Wriggling about on his body, she let her legs slide to either side of his thighs, supporting her upper body on her elbows as she rolled her hips upward. “Laugh again. That feels really good.”

A sizzling lick of heat worked its way into his groin at her intimate position and suggestive request. Holding her arse cheeks in a firm grip, he did as she asked, keeping her sex atop his lengthening shaft the entire duration.

She murmured her appreciation, eyes closed, lips curled into a cheeky smile. “Mmmm…thank you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that how you’re going to thank me?”

She returned her gaze to his face, and he clenched his jaw at the serious light suddenly glowing in her eyes. “Depends.” She tilted her head, a frown creasing her forehead. “Are we going to finish our conversation about Pestilence any time soon?”

Patrick bit back a growl. Damn, he thought he’d successfully distracted her from that train of—

“Not even close.”

He shot her a glare. “If you’re reading my mind now, we can just call this off straight away. I don’t understand what’s in there half the time without someone else poking around in there as well.”

“I’m not reading your mind, Patrick. I could tell by the look on your normally unreadable face.” She placed her hands on his chest, and if he didn’t know better he’d think she was holding him prisoner.

Why?

To lecture you?

“As much as I want to impale myself on your very impressive male appendage,” she gave him a dirty grin, “we need to prepare for whatever Pestilence has planned. I need to help you get ready.”

A heavy beat thumped in Patrick’s chest and he turned his head aside.

The end shall be the beginning and the beginning shall be the end. The Cure and the Disease facing off in what was sure to be a real bastard of a fight. A lowly Australian lifeguard and an agent of the Apocalypse.

Yeah, he really wanted to think about that. Not.

Now you’re just being churlish, Watkins. Grow some balls, will you? You can’t stay here like this with Fred forever.

Couldn’t he? It sounded like an awesome bloody idea.

Awesome idea or not, it seemed he had a job to do. A destiny to fulfill.

Letting out a sigh, he turned back to her, his chest squeezing tight at her beauty. He’d heard it said more than once—usually the last whispered words of elderly swimmers dying on the beach—that Death was a beautiful thing. He understood now. She was. She was also a stubborn pain in the arse.

“You’ve told me I can’t kill him,” he said. “You’ve told me you can’t kill him. Seems to me the battle’s already been decided.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Eyes flashing with frustration, she shook her head, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. “There are ways Pestilence can be defeated, but only if you are ready.”

Patrick pulled in a breath. He wanted to bury his hands in that shiny, silky black curtain, tug her face down to his, and kiss her senseless, not talk about his upcoming appointment with a man he’d already met once who attacked him with bugs and made him almost throw up with just a look.

Churlish again, Watkins. Grow up.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Fred studied him, her eyes shimmering with white light. “Lift me up,” she said suddenly, gripping his hips tightly with her inner thighs.

He frowned at her, the unexpected command and abrupt change in conversation throwing him off guard. “What?”

She squeezed her thighs harder against his hips and a tendril of unpleasant discomfort ribboned through his hipbones. “Lift me up.”

“Hey!” He moved beneath her, trying to escape the discomfort of her increasingly brutal hold.

Her eyes flashed white again and she lowered her face closer to his. “Lift. Me. Up.”

Sharp irritation flared within his chest. He curled his fingers into her hips and tried to shove her from his body. But she didn’t move.

“Is that the best you can do?”

He ground his teeth, anger joining his heated irritation. He glared up at her, increasing the pressure of his fingers on her hips. “Get off me, Fred.”

She bared her teeth in a dark smile. “Make me.”

He shoved at her again.

And again she didn’t move.

“Not that way, Patrick.” Her expression turned deadly and she squeezed her thighs until a shard of white pain tore through his hip joints. “The other way.”

10

Fred stared down at Patrick imprisoned between her thighs and pressed her legs harder to his