10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Don’t You Dare Cry Dakar
Dakar
I can’t believe that little fucker shot me.
My shoulder burns. It almost feels as if I’ve been branded.
I wade back into the water, and blood is trickling down my forearm.
I’ve taken worse from simple sparring practice, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to beat that farm boy’s scrawny, human ass into the next moon cycle if he shows his face again.
I reach Maeve, who's still in the water. Her arms crossed tightly over her bare chest, and she’s shivering like a startled doe. Her face is sheet white. Partly from the cold, the rest from shock. My poor, innocent little mate.
“Come on, little cow,” I say to her gently, reaching for her despite the sharp ache slicing through my arm. “Let’s get you warm.”
She doesn’t argue, letting me guide her out of the water.
I have to grit my teeth to keep my cock from stirring as I watch the droplets racing down the curves of her body, and the adorable red mane between her legs.
It’s an image that refuses to leave my mind.
Now is not the time , I scold myself. She's scared, and I’m not a total beast.
But Gods, she’s beautiful.
I grab the dry tunic I brought with us and hold it open. “Arms up.”
She bites her lip, hesitating, then lifts her arms slowly, letting me slip the tunic over her head. It falls to her thighs, clinging to her damp skin.
“There,” I murmur, adjusting her collar gently. “Though I much preferred you naked and moaning my name in the spring.”
She flushes so red I swear I can feel the heat radiating off her. Just like I hoped, the color returns to her cheeks. But her eyes are locked on my arm. “You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” I glance at the blood soaking my shoulder, acting like I’d only just noticed. “Ah, Right. That . I forgot.” I grin at her. “You’re looking at me like you care , little cow.”
She scowls at me, but her lip wobbles, tears brimming in her eyes.
“I told you I’d protect you,” I murmur, gliding my hand down the curve of her back to urge her forward. “And I meant it.”
I lead her back to the cave, ignoring the hot throb of my wound, focusing instead on the way she keeps glancing up at me, as if I might suddenly collapse at any moment. Sweet, little cow. She doesn’t even realize I’d carry her the whole way back with one arm if I had to.
Once we’re back inside the cave, I make her sit on the furs and wrap a thick pelt around her shoulders.
She pulls it tight, still shaken, still so damn beautiful it hurts.
I sit down next to her, careful not to touch her too much, though my eyes can't help but roam over her form, the way the tunic clings to her still-damp skin. Only when she’s tucked in do I finally slump down nearby, the adrenaline starting to fade, the pain spiking from my shoulder.
I reach for the small iron blade tucked in my belt and bite back a grunt as I look down at my shoulder. The wound’s already angry and swollen, the bullet lodged just beneath the skin. Shallow, thank the stars; the little bastard missed anything important.
“Going to have to dig it out,” I mutter.
Maeve sits up on the furs, clutching the pelt around her. “You’re really going to…do that yourself?”
I give her a grin that I know looks a little unhinged. “Well, unless you’ve got a better idea, sweetling.”
She squeaks as I slide the blade into my own shoulder, digging in slowly. The pain flares white-hot, bright enough to see stars. My jaw clenches, but I don’t make a sound. I’ve endured worse. The bloody bullet falls to the cave floor with a clink.
“See?” I say, panting slightly. “Easy.”
“That was not easy,” Maeve says, staring at me in horror.
Using my teeth, I tear a strip of linen from the tunic Maeve wore last night and try to wrap it around the wound. But, turns out, one-handed bandaging isn’t one of my many talents.
Maeve shifts closer. “Let me help.”
I stare at her. “You sure?”
She nods. Her hands are shaking, but she reaches for the cloth anyway, biting her lip as she gently begins wrapping it around my arm.
Her soft fingers brush my skin carefully. I watch her work, more aware of her touch than the pain.
“You’re surprisingly good with your hands.”
She rolls her eyes, but a faint blush colors her cheeks. “Try not to bleed out before I finish, would you?”
“No promises. Might be worth it, with you this close.”
Her fingers falter for just a second before tightening the wrap just enough to make me hiss.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.
I grin. “Knew there was a little cruelty in you.”
“You’re impossible,” she says, but there’s a smile hiding at the edge of her voice.
“And yet,” I say, smirking as she ties off the bandage, “here you are. Nursing me like a dutiful mate.”
She blinks. “I’m not—”
“Shhh,” I say. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
She shakes her head and finishes wrapping the bandage around my shoulder, fingers still trembling. I watch her closely. She’s gone quiet, her eyes downcast, lips pressed together.
Then she looks up at me.
Tears well in her eyes, clinging to her lashes like dew, and it punches something straight through my chest.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “About the other girls. About what they…what they did to us. And then you got hurt. Because of me.”
Her voice breaks.
My cocky smile falters. I reach out with my good arm, curling my fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face toward mine. “Hey. No. None of this is your fault, little cow.”
“But—”
“None of it,” I repeat, firmer. “You didn’t ask to be taken. You didn’t know. And I would’ve taken a bullet for you a dozen times over.”
She blinks, stunned. And then the tears spill over.
“I hate crying,” she swipes at her face.
I stroke my thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tears before they fall too far. “You’re allowed to cry. You’re also allowed to kiss me. In fact, I strongly encourage it.”
She laughs, a wet, snotty sound that somehow makes my chest tighten, as it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever heard. She leans in, and our lips brush.
It’s soft at first, but then she sighs into me, her fingers gripping my bare arms as she leans in. The pressure makes pain shoot through my shoulder. Fuck. I grit my teeth, refusing to give in to it.
Don’t you dare cry, Dakar. Not now.
She presses against me, the heat of her body against mine, and I let out a low groan, tasting the edge of her sadness, her need, her want. And I give her everything back in return.
The kiss deepens, and she climbs into my lap.
I welcome her with one hand splayed against her back, pulling her closer, tighter.
Her body fits against mine like it was made for me, and all the pain in my shoulder is suddenly a distant thing, drowned out by the fire she ignites inside me with every brush of her tongue.
I grab the back of her head, pulling her to me. Her soft little gasp is swallowed by my kiss as I take her mouth. My hands drag down her sides, finding the hem of her tunic. She doesn’t resist when I pull it off.
Gods.
Maeve’s all fair skin and freckles, her body lush and curvy. Her breasts, full, heavy, tipped with pink nipples already pebbled tight. A bead of milk glistens at one peak, and my cock throbs so hard it’s agony.
“Dakar…” She falters, but her hips tilt toward me, begging without words.
I groan, palming her breasts, weighing them, squeezing them. They spill over my fingers, swollen and dripping. “Look at you,” I rumble. “You were made for me.”
Her breath hitches when I thumb her nipples, rolling them, coaxing out another thick drop.
Then I bend, licking it away, and her moan shakes through me.
Fuck yes. I suck her deep, my tongue circling as milk floods my mouth.
It's sweet, and rich, and hers . She arches, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me close.
“Don’t stop!”
As if I could.
Her thighs squeeze around my waist, her red curls glinting like fire against her pale skin. I want to bite. To lick. To shove my cock into that wet heat and fuck her as she screams.
I switch to her other breast, sucking harder, and her back bows. “ Please .”
I grin against her skin. “Please what, little one?” I nip her nipple, making her jerk.
“Still so full for me,” I rumble, flicking my tongue over the peak.
She whimpers, fingers twisting in the furs.
I suck gently, drawing another trickle of milk, and her hips jerk against nothing.
The scent of her arousal thickens in the air.
I grip them both hard as I work her with my tongue. Her little cries go straight to my cock, which is already hard between my legs. Pulling myself free from my kilt, I begin to stroke myself slowly between us, watching her, the flutter of her lashes, the way her teeth dig into her lower lip.
“Do you want this?” My thumb circles her nipple, smearing a bead of milk. “Want my mouth here?” Another slow pull, my hand sliding up my shaft.
She nods frantically.
I growl, pinching her nipple just enough to make her cry out. “Words, Maeve.”
“Y-yes,” she gasps. “Please.”
Fuck. My fist tightens around my cock, stroking hard, the pre-come slicking my grip. Gods, the way she’s looking at me right now, like she wants me. I could flip her onto her knees right now, claim her until her milk spills across the furs and her throat aches from screaming.
No Dakar, not yet.
Not when she’s finally arching into my touch instead of flinching, finally meeting my gaze with heat instead of fear. Every shaky breath, every flicker of her lashes, every inch of skin she bares for me without me demanding it… Mine.
The sweetness of that surrender, of her choosing it, is better than any rutting frenzy.
I release her breast and lean back against the wall, spreading my legs wider, so she can see.
I want her to watch the thick, aching length of me, the way my hips jerk into my fist, my seed beading up on the swollen head of my cock.
Her breath hitches, her own fingers reach down and begin circling her clit.
“Tell me,” I demand, my voice rough. “Tell me who you belong to.”
Her eyes meet mine, and when she whispers, “ You. ” Victory roars through my blood.
My hand moves faster, my balls tightening. “Watch,” I snarl. “Watch what you do to me.”
Her little moan is my undoing.
The first spurt lands hot across her thighs, her stomach. The second strikes her trembling fingers where they’re still working between her legs. She gasps, but doesn’t pull away, just watches as I milk myself dry onto her skin, marking her.
Mine .
Panting, I drag my thumb through the mess on her belly, smearing my spend down to where her fingers swirl against her clit. “Finish,” I order, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. “But first, tell me again who you belong to.”
Her breath hitches, hips rolling. She’s close, so close, but I won’t let her fall until she says it.
“Say it.” I press my thumb over hers, forcing her to rub harder. “Who owns this cunt? Who’s your mate?”
“Y-you,” she whimpers.
“Louder.”
“You Dakar!” Her back arches, thighs shaking. “You’re my mate, I’m yours, I’m— Oh Gods… ”
“Again.” I bite her shoulder as her body tightens. “Say it while you come.”
She does, sobbing it, chanting it, “Yours, yours, yours,” as she shatters, my name a prayer on her lips and my come slick between her thighs.
By the gods, she’s a vision. My perfect mate, glistening with my claim, more precious than any spoils of war, more sacred than any altar I’ve ever knelt before.