Page 26

GIDEON

W hat an idiotic idea. My dick is already thick and heavy with want for this woman.

The moment she touches me, I’m done for.

Thank fuck I had the foresight to wear underwear—I normally don’t underneath pajamas.

Not that it does much to hide my dick, but at least it’ll do something to prevent it from poking her eye out.

I should have worn two pairs.

Despite the hazards of my foolish plan, there’s a bubbly excitement in my chest I don’t think I’ve felt in… ever. And from the sweet smile on Winnow’s beautiful face, she feels it too as she turns toward me, shifting her legs under her and sitting back on her heels.

I twist to face her, the lopsided grin on my face irrepressible.

“They do a lot of thumb wrestling in Europe?”

She giggles. The sight and sound of which is an absolute balm to my soul, especially after our earlier discussion on our traumatizing pasts. Part of me is still angry at myself for prying and dredging up memories she clearly wanted to forget.

“We call it a thumb duel , but yes.”

A thumb duel. A full belly laugh takes over me.

“Jesus. Sounds medieval. I think I’d like to visit this place. Caerwynath, you said?”

I’m sure I’ve pronounced it wrong, but she graciously nods as her laughter slows, crystalline gaze holding mine. “Yes, sir.”

Fuck me. Did I say she’d have to touch me?

Because clearly, I spoke too soon. I’ve heard her call Harlan sir a few times, and even though he’s a sheriff and someone who’s earned her respect, it always made a trickle of my possessiveness rise.

And the few times she’s called me sir, again, out of nothing but simple respect, I’d managed to avert my thoughts.

Addressing someone as sir or ma’am is a common form of address here, and not merely one of respect, but can also be an endearment.

At least, that’s what I remind myself every time she says it to me, but my darker sexual predilections are having a hard time accepting that reasoning when she’s sitting only inches away, looking up at me with those big blues, braless, and dressed only in a pair of my boxer briefs.

That thread between us seems to pull impossibly tight, and I don’t miss the way she squirms and tugs on her plump bottom lip.

“Don’t get nervous on me now, sweetheart.”

Winnow’s cheeks heat, and my cock is already a thick bar draped over my hip. Please, don’t look down.

Winnow offers her hand. Her tone belies what her words don’t say. “Am not.”

The moment my fingers hook around hers, electricity zings through me. “Ready?”

Why is my heart pounding like I’m crossing enemy borders?

We take a breath in unison and begin the thumb war chant. It’s immediately clear that where she comes from, they sing it just a little differently.

My countdown is cut short within the first line of her version, and in her excitement, she makes it into the second verse before she realizes something’s amiss.

“I summon thee, thou crusty fool,

To face me in this cruel thumb duel ? —

Winnow’s brows pinch just before I erupt with laughter.

“What?”

I try my hardest to stifle my laughter, waving her concern away. “Nothing… Nothing at all. Please, go on.”

Her brow pinches further, but she hesitantly continues wearing a smirk, gripping my hand hard with determination as our thumbs dance.

“…By daemon law and fiendish rite,

We’ll thumb-fight ‘til the end of night…”

More of my laughter erupts until I’m wheezing. My thumb is slack as she narrows her eyes at me, a reluctant grin on her lips.

“You better tell me what’s so funny, naughty boy.”

Naughty boy.

In any other context, those words would make my cock rock solid, but at the moment I’m too overcome with laughter.

Shaking my head, tears stream down my cheeks, my voice quiet and higher-pitched than I’ve ever heard it in my suffocating hysteria; my words are barely audible.

Trigger’s tail wags as he gives a bark of concern. He’s never seen me like this before.

“Nothing… Please… Continue.”

Winnow’s giggling joins mine as she straightens, and I’m not entirely sure if she’s joking or not. “Is my song really that different?”

I wheeze-nod. “Just a little.”

Winnow manages to half laugh, half sing the rest of her song, as though just now realizing how ridiculous it is.

“No shields, no spells, no whining, please ? —

Just thumbs that snap like brittle knees.

The loser signs in blood and snot,

A daemon contract, fine print: rot…”

Her laughter—a wheezing silence—is nearly as hysterical as mine as I keel over in front of her, hand slipping free. I can barely manage to get the words out. “Is… that…all?”

Her laughter intensifies, and she shakes her head, as hysteria spills a watery path down her cheeks.

“No.”

My laughter renews, and I swear to fuck, if I don’t stop laughing, I’m going to pass out.

I can’t speak, so I gesture for her to continue from where I’m curled into a hysterical ball in front of her.

Trigger gives another bark as he comes over to the bed, pushing his wet snout into the back of my neck, snuffling to make sure I’m ok.

Bowled over with laughter, Winnow reaches across me to stroke his head to calm him from where his head is perched on the bed.

It takes Winnow a few moments of starting and stopping before she can force out another couple of verses as she takes my hand once more to prepare herself.

“So brace… thy grip, you wart-faced mule…

And… die with honor …”

Her laughter heightens to a squeak and turns the final words into a question.

“… in our daemonic duel?”

My entire body is shaking with laughter, and Winnow steals the opportunity to pin my thumb down. With my muscles still unable to cooperate, she easily pins it down, holding it there for several seconds before flopping onto the bed beside me, exhausted by our hysteria.

When our laughter finally begins to slow, she wipes the water from her eyes. “Victory is mine, Gideon Kincaid.”

My laughter slows, and finally, I swipe my tears away, catching my breath.

“Darlin’, if you just made that up, you’re a fuckin’ genius.”

She giggles. “My sweet, sweet ferion . So certain you would win, were you?”

My heart jumps at hearing the endearment again. The one I am feral for.

Too fucking right.

I give her a guilty nod. “Yes, ma’am, I was.”

Our laughter slows on a blissful sigh.

“Is that really how your thumb war song goes?”

Her head turns to look at me, lips pressed together to stifle a grin.

“I suppose you’ll just have to come to Caerwynath with me to find out, now, won’t you?”

My heart gives a silly pitter-patter at her invitation.

I’ve never been to Europe.

“I suppose I will.”