Chapter 15
Maeve twirled for herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw.
With the growing sunshine and heat of spring, it was time for shorter sleeves and hems; she particularly adored her spring clothes, full of flower-embroidered bright kirtles, lighter stays tied with pink or lilac silk ribbons, and her breathable pink silk stockings.
All the walking and exercise she was getting from her position had certainly slimmed down her figure, although she was more than a little satisfied that the added curvature of her bosom had remained so far.
Is Mister Soren an admirer of a pretty pair of breasts? she wondered. He likely wouldn’t even know what to do with them, but somehow, the thought only titillated her more.
Ever since the night she’d taken him in hand, Maeve had practically floated through her days.
Fates, she’d forgotten how fun this could be.
Some might think her flirting was wasted on poor Mister Soren, especially as he either didn’t realize she was doing it or got so flustered by it he nearly came to a standstill, but that only made it more fun for Maeve.
She could just imagine his furious blush beneath his precious tufted cheeks. She wanted to pet those cheeks whenever he looked at her with that wide-eyed expression of his, as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just said or that she’d said it to him.
It, of course, improved her mood greatly—her pride was practically swollen, and she was more than a little smug knowing how well she’d…
handled him. He wanted to say something, of course.
Tongue tied on their evening walks, she almost wished to put him out of his misery—but then, this was all just too delicious.
Maeve loved flirting. The coax and chase, the innuendo, the surprise kisses and touches. She looked forward to the next even before she’d executed her last campaign.
It was a fine line to toe, she knew. She didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable or as though she was laughing at him. Never that. But his sincere, guileless responses were addicting, as was the way his eyes always seemed to be on her.
To have such a big, strong man teetering on the tip of her finger…yes, she could see why Sorcha and the other women who’d taken up with otherly men had been tempted. It was a heady feeling, knowing such power rested in the palm of her hand.
This at least—her not-courtship with her manticore not-mate—felt within her control and understanding again. She didn’t want to think about what it all meant or could mean in the future—for now, it was enough to feel good.
And even more, she wanted Soren to feel good.
That genuine, shy, good man deserved a bit of fun.
Perhaps there really was something to the saying spring is in the air, for something about the heavy buzz of bees and sweetness of the air, as flowers burst in riotous blankets across the rolling hills and meadows, had Maeve nearly squirming with excitement. There’s so much we can do together.
Who was she to deny herself the chance to feel good, especially if doing so could make someone else feel good, too? It didn’t need a condition or classification right now—why should everything be tampered by possible consequences that may or may not come to pass?
It was all right to live in the moment. Maeve hadn’t been for a long time, and it felt good to do so again, like stretching out a tight muscle or laying in the sun. A simple pleasure.
She’d written to Lady Aislinn, as well as a few officials in Dundúran. There was nothing more she could do but wait.
And while she did, what was the harm in being happy? Soren seemed amenable to…something, if she was reading him right.
As Maeve smoothed her hands over her skirts, taking one last moment to admire her figure and the rosy flush of her cheeks, she decided that it was time to test just how much Soren could bear.
Something Maeve had already discovered were a few manticore tells.
After observing Soren, as well as Kiri and to a lesser extent Diar and Akila, she’d come to find that while a manticore may try to obfuscate their emotions—although the latter three rarely did—there were a few gestures that gave them away.
It was all in the ears and tail. Almost constantly in motion, their triangular ears swiveled to catch a sound and follow it.
A manticore may try to hide their embarrassment or surprise, but there was no suppressing a telling ear twitch.
They may look away, clear their throat, or turn around altogether, but the ears were little signals atop their heads.
Every flick, twist, and flattening had its meaning.
And the tail, of course. Most of the time, it was held, she suspected unconsciously, aloft in a downward curve, the tuft at the end lolling to one side or the other.
When pleased, it swished in an almost serpentine rhythm; when annoyed, the bottom third flicked back and forth; and when truly angry, it whumped onto the ground in agitated thwacks.
That evening, Maeve checked the state of Soren’s ears and tail and was pleased by what she saw. Ears pointed at her to catch every word, tail swishing languidly behind him.
Perfect.
She couldn’t quite help a satisfied grin, even as she spoke of inane things.
The evening was pleasant, the day’s warmth lingering in the air with a light breeze carrying the promise of a cool night.
The sun was just dipping behind the tree line, leaving plenty of light to see by but also offering a romantic duskiness as they strolled down the path.
As usual, they met no one on their walk to the estate, and it stayed that way when they rounded a particular bend Maeve had been waiting for.
There, just inside the trees, was an outcropping of rock covered in thick mats of moss. If one needed to recline outdoors, there were few places better.
Truly perfect.
After they rounded the bend, Maeve eased to a halt. Soren looked down at her immediately, his brows crinkling as he searched her face.
“Pebble in your shoe?” he asked, offering his hand for her to balance with.
“No,” she said, taking that hand in her own. Instead, she stepped in front of him, her skirts swaying to brush his shins. His pupils blew wide as he stared at her, and Maeve had to bite back another satisfied grin.
“You’ve been very patient with me,” she said, fiddling with one of the dangling toggles of his jerkin. “I thought perhaps I should reward you.” She looked up at him through her lashes, batting them mercilessly, and was rewarded when he swallowed hard, the ball of his throat bobbing.
“You mean like…the other night?”
“Mmhmm,” she sighed, abandoning the toggle for that tuft of hair on his chest that drove her to distraction.
“You truly want to…with me?”
“I want to.”
She bit back her next smile as he tugged at his ear—his most telling tell.
“If you wish,” he said, voice gone husky.
“Oh, I do wish.”
Pulling him by the hand, Maeve led him into the shade of the trees, where the air was cool and thick. Soren followed, almost dazed, and Maeve would be lying if she said that expression didn’t go straight to her pride.
Drawing him to the thick mat of moss, she urged him to sit with her. Maeve set her lantern to the side to offer a little more light, but when she turned back, she realized he’d gone tense again. That wouldn’t do.
Sitting up on her knees made them nearly the same height, and a flush of pleasure warmed her blood as she set her hands on his shoulders. He watched her draw closer, his fists clenched where they sat on his crossed knees.
“Can I touch you?” she asked gently.
Soren cleared his throat. “Yes.”
With a curled finger under his chin, she lifted his gaze back to her. “You haven’t been touched before, have you?”
His lips thinned. “Not before you.”
“I’m honored,” she said, meaning it. His uncertainty was plain, but he was bearing with it for now. The thought of coaxing him into a state of pleasure was heady, and Maeve could hardly wait.
She liked to take charge in situations like this, it was true.
Previous partners had called her bossy, even dominant, and Maeve couldn’t argue.
She was. She knew what she wanted from an encounter, and she meant to get it.
Usually, it was to lead, to claim a man’s pleasure for herself.
There was something intoxicating about bringing a man to his peak, having him vulnerable and at her mercy like that.
Of course, she liked finding her own pleasure, too, but she didn’t really need a partner for that. Her hand sufficed for that many a time. But this thrill, having this experience with someone, was its own kind of bliss.
She wanted that for Soren—and she wanted it for herself, too.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” she said.
Maeve thought he might’ve muttered something like, “Impossible,” or what sounded like it in his own language, but her own breathing had quickened, as well as her pulse.
Excitement made her hands shake as she crawled over him. With a nudge from her nose, he complied and leaned back, taking his weight on his palms, and straightened his legs in front of him. Humming her approval, Maeve straddled one of his thick thighs—no reason they shouldn’t both have fun.
He watched, riveted, as she unbuckled his belt and peeled away the sides of his kilt.
The largest, most divine cock she’d ever seen sprang free, standing tall and proud in the soft lavender light.
Red and engorged, the head was indeed spade-shaped as she’d felt.
And there was that intriguing bulge lining the base.
Greedy to feel him, Maeve took him in hand, moaning as he scorched her palm. Soren jerked as if she’d scorched him back, and she heard his claws scrape against stone.