The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,66

the bottom, and she stood. Breaking the surface, she gasped for air. She was in a pool of water, halfway up her chest. It was the dunk tank.

Simon was cackling in hysterics.

“Fuck you.” She was soaked. She wiped the water off her face and smoothed her hair back. “This isn’t funny.”

“Clearly, it is.” He grinned down at her. “I know how much you like to wander around in the rain when you’re in a bad mood. I figured this must be just as effective. Now, are you suitably cold and wet? You’ve been giving me heartburn all week, and it stops here. Have you cheered up?”

“Not yet.” She waded up to the side of the tank, closer to him. “I know what’ll do it, though.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow.

She grinned wickedly back at him. She let her darkness stretch out along the floor of the dunk tank stage. Before he could react, the shadowy tendril wrapped around his ankle and yanked, pulling him off balance.

Simon yelped, flailing his arms to try to catch himself. But a shove from behind from another shadow sent him into the air. Splash.

The Puppeteer came up for air a moment later, sputtering and coughing. He looked down at his soaked, ruined suit, and wailed. “This is velour!”

Cora laughed.

Harder than she had in a long time.

“You look ridiculous.” She snickered. “You’re right, this is cheering me up.”

She splashed him. He growled and went after her. After a brief struggle, he pressed her to the side of the tank, his lips crashing against hers in desperate need. He twisted his hand in her wet hair and fisted it, yanking her head farther back.

When he finally broke the embrace, he was glaring down at her in a mix of frustration, amusement, and lust. His sunglasses had fallen off somewhere in the pool. “The walk back to my boxcar is going to be miserable, Cora. Do you know how terrible dress shoes are when they’re filled with water?”

“I look forward to listening to you whine about it the entire way.”

“I’m going to make you pay for this, you realize.”

“Good.” She grinned at him, matching his wickedness for once. “That was the point.”

16

Cora could barely catch her breath. Either Simon was trying to rob her of it by kissing her, or he was ripping off her soaked clothing too quickly for her to even figure out which way was up. He had managed to keep himself under control until the exact moment the door clicked shut behind him in his boxcar.

He slammed her against his closet door, rattling the wood on its hinges. He was still mostly clothed—and soaked. She did love when his hair was wet. It straightened the curls, revealing that his hair just reached his jawline, and the jet-black strands shone in the light.

He scooped her up by the thighs, sliding her bare back up the wood door, and stepped into her. She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles behind his thighs, and pulled him flush against her. Once more, he was kissing her as if he were planning on eating her whole.

She knew she could stop him if he got too rough.

But somehow, she didn’t think too rough was a possibility at that point. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, trying to match him.

He fisted her hair again and pulled hard enough that she gasped, breaking away from his kiss as he tilted her head away from him.

“No. You’re at my mercy this time.” His voice was a low growl. She felt it vibrate through her. She twisted her fingers into the collar of his soaked shirt. “And you’re going to take every ounce of what I plan to give you.” He lowered his head to her throat, and she felt him smile against her skin. “Every ounce.”

As his tongue dragged up the taut line of the tendon in her throat, she whimpered. He took his sweet time. When she went to run her fingers through his hair, he snarled. Suddenly, she was on the move again. He took a step back from the wall, taking her with him. And then she was falling. This time, she landed on his bed.

Thin strings, nearly invisible, snapped around her wrists and yanked them up over her head. She yelped in surprise. “Simon!”

“Shush. Don’t make me gag you.” He flicked his wrist.

Strings caught her around her throat—her waist—her knees—her ankles—everywhere. She could do little more than whimper as they hefted