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look even better clawing at his back as he fucked her.
    “Pretty. Did you get your pussy shaved too while you were at it? I hear hairless cunts are all the craze nowadays.”
    Those luscious lips pursed as she approached with undulating hips. “Such dirty language. Then again, what can I expect from a filthy Scot? You’re just a step above an animal.”
    “Aye, lass, I guess I am. As a matter of fact, I’m the biggest stallion ye will ever meet. Hung and ready to go anytime ye are.”
    “I prefer my bedmates to be clean.”
    “That’s easily arranged.”
    Possessed by something other than misery for once—playfulness rising in equal measure to his lust—he lunged forward. No longer drunk, his speed took her by surprise. He hefted her over his wide shoulder, and before she could say more than, “Mother fucker!” he leapt off the cliff.
    Air rushed past his face as they plummeted, and he laughed while she cursed him out. They hit the warm waters of the sea with a mighty splash, her weaponry dragging them both down. To her credit, she didn’t panic like some folks would when finding themselves sinking underwater.
    Then again, for all he knew, she could breathe underwater. In Hell, the laws of the mortal world were twisted. The impossible wasn’t always true.
    Niall, however, required oxygen, or at least, he preferred it. Inhaling water always made him uncomfortable and sick for days. Letting his burden go, he kicked away from her and rose to the surface. His head broke the waves, and he took in a breath. When she didn’t immediately appear, he took in a deep breath and prepared to plunge back under to find her.
    Not necessary as a sleek head bobbed up and a pair of glowing yellow eyes fixed him, not with the baleful glare he expected, but mirth. “How nice of you to finally take a bath for me.”
    He couldn’t help the quirk of his lips. “Ha. Like a simple dunk will rid me of all the dirt.” He’d spent decades layering it on.
    Holding up an oblong white lump, she grinned, a malicious leer, which sent a shiver through him. “Then it’s a good thing I brought soap.”
    The horror. The travesty. The…wench! No matter how strong his strokes to escape, she kept up with him, darting in like an otter and scrubbing at him. The ocean around them went white as bubbles frothed to the surface. The final straw, though, had her clinging to his back, her muscled thighs holding him tight—damn but she had the grip of a python. He yelled as she hacked at his wet hair, giving him an unwilling trim.
    This game was no longer funny. A bath was one thing, but his hair! He’d spent many centuries growing it out. “You evil harpy. Leave my hair alone.”
    “I told you to come with me nicely.” She panted as she held on to his bucking frame. His attempts to pry her off failed. With his feet kicking to keep them afloat, he could do little more than roll in the water.
    Wet clumps of hair floated around them. When his feet finally touched sand, he slogged ashore and flopped to the ground. She leapt out of the way before he could squash her. But she wasn’t done with her torture. Back she came, this time straddling his chest, not low enough to take care of the problem between his thighs.
    With the blade she wielded so close to his neck, he daren’t move much. Sure, he doubted she’d lop his head off; however, he worried about accidentally harming her. Even if the wench deserved punishment as she shaved a few centuries’ worth of beard from his face, leaving him smooth-skinned such as he hadn’t experienced since his wedding day.
    For once, he didn’t recall that time with depression or an urge to kill Donnan and his wife all over again. Instead, he wondered what the toga-wearing lass thought of what she saw. And what it would take to get her to reseat herself a little bit lower, say on top of his straining cock.
    But I might want to get her to drop the knife first lest she chop it instead of fuck it.

Chapter Five
    Aella