8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
That Mouth Could Start Wars
D akar
The breeze outside doesnothingto cool the fire in my blood. I lean against the rough bark of a tree, gripping my cock with a groan, stroking hard , like I can punish myself for the thoughts burning through my skull.
Stupid. Weak. Pathetic.
But Gods help me, I can stillsmellher.
The sweet scent of Maeve clings to my hands, my hide, my fuckingsoul .
Her tits were so full, soachinglyperfect in my palms, so supple and heavy as I helped ease her pain.
And the sounds she was making. Those soft, breathy moans almost seemed like she was in pleasure, not relief.
I grit my teeth, my fist working faster. I shouldn’t have left. Should’ve stayed, should’ve tasted…
No .I snarl at myself. She's starting to trust you, you rutting beast.
But my treacherous mind doesn’t listen. It paints her for me, Maeve, sprawled on the furs, her massive tits dripping with milk, her thighs trembling as she arches into my touch. Would she moan if I sucked them dry? Would she claw at my back if I pinned her down and fucked her until she screamed?
Fuck .My balls tighten, and my release hits me like a Warhammer, thick ropes of come splattering the dirt as I curse myself between ragged breaths.
I’m Disgusting. She’s wonderful. This is absolutely fucking shameful.
I sag against the tree, spent and scowling. Maeve isnotsome tavern wench to be fantasized over. She’s sweet, pure, and, unfortunately for my sanity, built like a fertility goddess.
I duck back into the cave. My mane is disheveled, and I probably look as if I wrestled a bear on the way back. Which, to be fair, would be much easier for me than navigating whatever this is.
I loudly clear my throat as I step inside, announcing myself so I don’t spook her again. Not that Maeve notices. She’s curled in the furs, hunched over a wooden bowl of stew, the sleeves of my tunic hanging past her fingertips, the whole thing still soaked through from this morning.
I swallow and glance away. Then immediately look back.
Stars above . She’s drowning in my clothes and somehow looks more scandalous than she did earlier without them.
I cough again, forcing my eyes to the fire. “You’re eating. Good. I was starting to worry you thought I’d poisoned it.”
She peeks up, cheeks already red. She swallows a spoonful too fast and winces. “N-no. It’s good. Thank you.”
Gods. She’s adorable. Every shy stammer, every glance away like she might burst into flames under my gaze, only makes it worse. Or better. Depending on how one defines self-control.
I grab a basket of clothing I left here from previous hunting trips and dump it onto a flat rock near the fire. I busy myself sorting through it. “You, uh…your tunic’s wet,” I say as if that isn’t blindingly obvious. You’re such a turnip, Dakar. “I have a fresh one.”
She nods quickly, still not meeting my eyes, spoon clinking nervously against the bowl.
I cast a quick glance over at her again and catch her biting her bottom lip. Dangerous. That mouth could start wars.
I clear my throat for the third time. “I’ll dress, too,” I add, grabbing a kilt and what passes for a clean tunic.
I turn my back to her like a gentleman, which feels a bit laughable considering I left her in a hurry to keep myself from doing very unchivalrous things.
Very illegal in most villages things. Not that I regret it.
I just don’t think taking her on a cold stone floor while she mewls like a frightened kitten is the ideal start to our lifelong bond.
Behind me, she sniffles quietly. Not from crying this time, just from the stew. It’s spicy. I like it that way, but I’ll remember not to add as much for her next time.
After I dress and turn back around, she’s still in the same spot, holding the empty bowl like she doesn’t know what to do with it.
I step forward, taking it from her and handing her a clean tunic. “If you’re finished, I’ll take you to the spring nearby. You can wash. I’ll stand guard. I won’t peek.”
I pause, then crack the smallest of smirks. “Unless you ask nicely.”
She lets out a tiny gasp, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t…” she stammers. Without finishing her sentence, she sinks a little deeper into the furs, clutching the oversized tunic tighter around her like it might shield her from my words.
I chuckle under my breath, running a hand through my messy mane. “Don't worry, I’m not going to devour you,” I say. “If I was going to, I’d have done it earlier.”
I regret it the moment it leaves my mouth. Her face turns so scarlet, I’m almost afraid she’ll burst. I turn quickly, pretending to check the fire. “Sorry. That…was a joke. A bad one. I don’t eat…people.”
Silence.
I cringe. “I mean. I do eat. Obviously, just not—” I wave a hand vaguely and give up. “Never mind.”
When I dare a glance back, she’s watching me from under her lashes with a confused little smile. I exhale through my nose. This girl is going to break me in half.
And, stars help me, I can’t wait.