13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Say You’re Mine
Maeve
M y thoughts are floating somewhere far above me like dandelion fluff. I can’t move, and he’s just lounging beside me, propped up on one elbow, looking like the cat who got the cream.
Literally.
“Still with me, little cow?” His smirk is unbearably smug. He drags a fingertip over the curve of my hip.
I make a whining sound. Gods.
“That good, huh?”
I cover my face with my hands, mortified.
His grin goes wide and wicked. “That’s a yes, then.”
He tugs the furs over my legs, then curls an arm around my waist, pulling me into his warmth like he’s trying to soothe me. It doesn’t help. Or maybe it does, I don’t know. I still feel like I’m floating and melting at the same time.
“That was…” I manage, breathless. “You…”
“Go on.” His voice is cocky, and his fingers are tracing slow circles into my hip. “Use your words, little cow. I earned them.”
I give his chest a weak smack, and it probably felt more like a butterfly landing to Dakar.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you were screaming my name to the Gods,” he says, dipping his head to kiss my temple. “I’m pretty sure they heard you.”
I bury my face against his shoulder with a groan, but he catches my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb traces my swollen lower lip, and I shiver.
“None of that,” he murmurs. “I want to see those pretty eyes when you tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“That you want to be my mate.”
My thighs clench traitorously. “Dakar,” I whimper.
“Say. It.” He grits out the order.
“I want to be your mate,” I admit in a rush, my face burning.
He hums, satisfied, and gently kisses my forehead. Then, because he’s a menace, he nips my earlobe and whispers, “Good girl. Now rest. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Again?” I squeak.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me as his hand slides between my thighs. I jerk, gasping, but he just tsks, circling with his fingertip.
“Still so wet for me,” he muses. “Insufferable, hm?”
I swat at him again, but he catches my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm.
“Food first,” he suddenly declares, removing his hand. “You’ll need your strength.”
“Eat?” I say, dazed.
“Mhm.” He stretches as he sits up, all corded muscle and arrogance. “The least I can do is feed you before I rut you properly.”
My entire body flushes. “I hate you,” I grumble into his shoulder.
He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “You’re adorable when you lie.”
While Dakar is cooking, I curl up into the furs like they're armor. I feel like crying, and not because I’m sad, but because I don’t know what to do with all of this. My body is still tingling from what he did to me. I’d never imagined it could feel like that.
I peek over at him.
He’s crouched near the fire, turning something over in a pan. His muscles move beneath golden-brown skin, scarred and powerful, but his touch earlier was gentle. I don’t know how he does that, how he can be so dangerous and so…good.
He glances at me like he feels me staring. “Stop looking at me like you’re about to cry, little cow. You’re gonna make me break my terrifying reputation.”
I sniff and hug my knees tighter. “I’m not crying.”
“You’re thinking about crying.”
I pout. “Maybe.”
He chuckles and comes to me with a bowl in his hand. He kneels, offering it like I might bolt if he’s not careful.
“Tell me what's wrong, Maeve.”
And just like that, my eyes sting.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whisper. “I should feel happy. I’m happy. I think. But also like…like I’m not—” I swallow, unsure of how to describe my feelings.
He lifts my chin, guiding my eyes to meet his. “Was that your first time coming like that? With a male?”
I nod.
His expression softens, and he leans down to press a warm kiss to my forehead. “Sometimes it hits harder than you expect. Not just your body, but your heart too. It’s alright, Little Cow. You’re safe.” His thumb strokes my jaw, and he gives me another soft kiss on my lips.
I bury my face against his chest, heart thumping wildly. “I feel like I’m not supposed to like it as much as I do.”
His hand slides up my spine. “You’re supposed to like it. That’s the whole point, sweet mate. You’re allowed to feel good. To want. You’re mine now. You don’t have to hide any part of yourself.”
I nod against his skin, tears slipping silently down my cheeks. Not from fear or shame, but because I feel…understood.
“Now eat, then I’ll hold you while you cry about how good it felt.”
I snort, even as my throat tightens. “You’re such a jerk.”
“And you like it.” He smirks at me, and I roll my eyes.
Gods help me, I do.
The smell alone makes my stomach growl. I take the bowl with both hands, careful not to spill it. It’s meat and root vegetables and some kind of spiced gravy. I don’t know how he made it taste this good out here in the wild, but I moan around the first bite, and he grins like he just won a battle.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Heat flares in my cheeks, and not just from the food.
He sits beside me, close enough that our legs touch, and we both eat.
I set my spoon down in the bowl. “Dakar?”
“Hmm?”
“The other girls. From the village. Where did your men take them?” I bite my lip. “Are they okay?”
He stops eating to look at me.
“They’re safe,” he says with certainty. “They’re at my stronghold. Well fed and protected. None of my men will touch them against their will. They’ll be treated with respect until they choose a mate. Or not. That’s their decision.”
Relief floods me so hard my eyes sting. I blink quickly, looking down at the bowl again.
“When will I see them?” I ask quietly.
“Soon.” He tips my chin up with two fingers, making sure I hear every word. “We’ll need to travel there before long. I’ve been away too long already. I’m the Commander, I have responsibilities. You’ll see them soon, Maeve. I promise.”
Something unknots in my chest. “Okay.”
He watches me for a moment longer, like he’s making sure I believe him. Then he takes the empty bowl from my hands and sets it aside.
“Now come here,” he says gently, tugging me into his lap.
I go without thinking, tucking myself into him. His strong arms wrap around me, his voice a deep rumble against the top of my head.
“You did so well today,” he murmurs. “I know it was hard, finding out the truth.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight. “They shot you.”
He’s the monster they warned me about, the one they said would hurt me, and yet, in his arms, I feel safer than I ever have before. I should be terrified.
My life, the people I trusted, all of it is a lie. The humans I thought were protecting me, protecting us, have been using us all along.
He kisses my temple, and I tilt my head up, searching his face. His golden eyes, the sharp angles of his jaw, and the way his lips part just slightly as his gaze drops to my mouth.
I think I love him, or maybe I could.
I press my lips to his, and the moment we touch, something ignites. His grip tightens around me, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair, angling my head so he can deepen the kiss. His demanding tongue sweeps against mine, and a soft moan escapes me.
Without breaking the kiss, I shift in his lap, swinging one leg over until I’m straddling him. The thick ridge of his cock presses against my core, and I roll my hips instinctively, grinding down with a gasp.
A growl vibrates in his chest, his hands sliding down to grip my waist. “Maeve.”
His gaze is hot, raking over me with possessive hunger. His hands rise to my breasts, cupping them, thumbs brushing over my already peaked nipples.
Then he does something that makes me whimper, he pushes them together, leaning down to drag his tongue over both of my nipples at once before sealing his lips around them, sucking hard.
“Dakar—” My back arches, pleasure jolting through me as his mouth works, drawing out the sweet, aching pressure of milk. I fist my hands in his hair, holding him to me as my hips rock against him, desperate for friction.
He groans, the sound sending a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs. His fingers tighten just enough to make me gasp, pinching my swollen nipples, coaxing twin streams of milk to spill over his knuckles.
“You’re so perfect, little milkmaid.”
I’m shamelessly moaning as I grind down on the thick length of his cock, he quickly discards his kilt, leaving nothing between us. His one hand leaves my breast to grip my hip, forcing me into a slower, torturous rhythm.
“Not yet,” he warns, though his voice is thick with want. “I’m not done with these.”
His mouth descends again, sucking deep, milking me. Each swallow he takes sends a pulse of pleasure straight to my core, my thighs clenching around him.
“Please!” I finally choke out, my nails digging into the back of his neck.
He nips at my nipple, just shy of sharp, before soothing it with his tongue. “Please, what ?” His thumb circles my other peak, catching another bead of milk. “Use your words, little cow.”
But I can’t. Not when his free hand slips between us, fingers sliding through my slickness.
“Fuck. You love being milked like this, don't you?” His fingers press deeper, teasing my entrance, and my hips jerk against his hand, a cry tearing from my throat.
“Tell me,” he demands, his fingers curling just right, stealing my breath. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I gasp.
He slows his touch, just enough to make me sob. “Not good enough.” His lips brush my ear, “Tell me. Say you want me to be your mate.”
“Yes,” I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair, forcing myself to look into his eyes. “I want you to be my mate. Only you. Claim me, Dakar.”
His fingers withdraw, leaving me empty and aching. His hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks with unbearable tenderness.
“Mine.”
Then he’s moving, his massive body shifting between my thighs, spreading me wider. My breath hitches as I feel him. The thick, heavy length of him pressing against my soaked entrance, so much bigger than his fingers. A whimper escapes me, my body instinctively tensing.