Chapter 28 – Ferrin
FERRIN
The fire crackles, loaded with brush and driftwood. It’s not much, but thankfully, it’s not all that cold out here either. I have bread dough on sticks for us that we’ve been holding over the fire. She had no clue what I was doing, but that hasn’t stopped her from eating it.
“What do you call this again?”
“I have no clue what they call it here. In Danish, it’s snobr?d.”
“Say that again?”
“It’s pronounced snoh-brohlth,” I annunciate, drawing out the word.
“Yeah, I’ll leave that one to you.” She blows on the bread so she doesn’t burn her mouth before she pulls it off the stick and eats it. “It’s so good, though. If I have any more, I’ll explode.”
“Come here.” I take the stick from her hand and toss it into the fire.
She rests her head on my chest, her body heavy as it cradles against mine, and we stare out at the sea and the stars that endlessly meld into one inky black landscape.
Her finger swirls along my chest, tracing patterns that match my tattoos. It occurs to me, rather brutally, that this is coming to an end tomorrow. And she might hate me or, at the very least, be mad at me for what I did, but it’s the right thing—the only thing—and that’s how it has to go.
My hand drags up and down her spine under her T-shirt and over every bony prominence. Her hair is like a silky blanket over my arm. The heat of her body melds into mine, and I release a breath, relaxing in a way I haven’t, well, probably ever.
“Do you like stealing?”
I smile to myself. She’s very interested in my profession.
“Sometimes. The thrill is addictive. The challenge keeps it interesting. The money is nice. When you have no one to answer to but yourself, the only rules you have to live by are your own. I decided the night I got to the orphanage that I would do whatever it took to survive, so I watched and learned and kept my head down. The necklace was going to be my last job. I’m selling it and retiring. ”
“What will you do in your retirement?”
“Disappear. Live on an island somewhere and never have to worry again.”
“Sounds pretty nice. A little isolated, though. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever stolen?”
I chuckle with irony. “Your tiara.”
She laughs. “Oh god. I should have guessed that.”
“It was also my favorite and the one item I never tried to sell despite its enormous value.”
She rolls on top of me and props herself up with her hands on my chest. “How come?”
I twirl a piece of her hair around my finger.
“I don’t know. Felt wrong somehow, I guess.
It belonged to a baby. A little girl who was stolen.
It has the Eye of Egypt, which is said to be good luck and protective, and it wasn’t for you.
Or maybe it was since you’re here and alive when the world believes you’re dead. ”
“The Eye of Egypt?”
“It’s a massive, flawless emerald.”
Her eyes close slowly, and she drops the side of her face to my chest.
“I’m scared. I’m so scared of all of this.
I mean, there’s a part of me that’s excited and anxious to know more about who I really am and meet a family I don’t remember.
But there are so many other things to that.
My mother, who isn’t my mother, and what happens to her with all of this?
What happens to me? Am I supposed to simply move to a palace and have this become my life?
It seems… fantastical. I’m not the sort of girl who comes from flawless emeralds. ”
“What sort of girl do you want to be?”
Her chin meets my sternum, and I toss an arm back behind my head. I brush the strands of her hair back from her face so I can see her better. Fuck my life, she’s so pretty.
“Normal. The sort of girl who opens a restaurant or bakery. Who gets married and has kids. But at the same time, I also want adventure. I want to see the world and do wild, exotic things. Can someone have both?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Someone who may be a princess?”
“You’ll have the money to do it. You can do anything now. And if you get your tiara back, which I’m working on because I want you to have it as you should, you’ll have that protection.”
She frowns. “Do you believe in the curse?”
“Yes and no,” I tell her honestly. “I didn’t grow up here. I’m not a Messalinian citizen. But it’s part of the fabric and culture of your country, and with that, when you hear it enough and read the history associated with it, it’s almost impossible not to believe in it a little.”
She blinks at me. “If that’s the case, then my life is in even more danger.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “With every curse, there’s something that can break it. Maybe getting you home where you belong and getting that tiara back are the curse breakers. They said when King Sebastian married Bellamy, a commoner, an American, that their love broke it, but who honestly knows?”
“I almost wish you could take me with you to your island.” Her voice is lost and a little despondent, and with it, my heart aches. It’s not me she wants for that. It’s the escape. It’s the uncertainty and anxiety that’s driving that sentiment.
“Wanna trade?” I tease. “Think of all the jewels I’d have access to.”
She smacks my shoulder, a light laugh on her lips.
“Incidentally, I believe the necklace is part of your family’s heirlooms.”
“Consider it payment for taking me out of that house and saving my life.”
“Not for taking your virginity, though?”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again, and that’s all I wanted.
Her smile. Her safety. Her having the life she should have always had.
The wild, tragic desperation I saw when I first met her is gone, and it’s been easier to breathe because of it.
She’s not like my mother, and I should have known that from the start.
My mother never knew how to function in the world.
Desta never had the opportunity to try. All the resentment and anger and hatred, the pillars of the very foundation I’ve built myself on since the moment my father left and my mother took her life, are crumbling.
Looking at her, feeling the same rush I’ve had every time I do, I have no desire to rebuild them.
I never knew someone could change the course of my being, let alone do it this quickly, but she has. It isn’t just my dick she has an effect on, though with her on top of me like this, that can’t be discounted either.
“You’re the first virgin I’ve ever been with.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? How many other women have there been?”
“I don’t know. I don’t count. I’m not that sort of asshole.”
“A lot?” she presses, and there’s an undercurrent to her voice. Color rises up her cheeks, and it makes me inwardly grin. My girl’s jealous.
“Hundreds likely.”
She gasps, and I laugh, earning myself another smack to my shoulder.
I arch up and kiss the tip of her nose, followed by the corner of her lips.
“Not hundreds. Nowhere close to that. I haven’t counted, and I haven’t kept track.
They were women. None of them was particularly memorable, even the girl who took my virginity. ”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“You’re not one of those. You’re the one I’ll compare everyone else to.”
“Does it make me sound juvenile to say I don’t like picturing you with other women, whether you’ll compare them to me or not?”
“No. I fucking hate the idea of you having anyone else but me.”
I tug a lock of her hair and pull her in to kiss me, high with need, even as pain twists in my gut. This is so fleeting. By this time tomorrow, it’ll be over.
Going into a crunch, I cover her lips with mine, eating her up and tasting her.
My hands dive into her hair, and I pull her closer, sliding her up my chest so I can devour her.
Our tongues meet with more heat and lust than I’ve ever experienced before.
I’m gone on her. Completely gone. She buzzes under my skin like a tattoo. A permanent undercurrent.
Today with her was the roughest, dirtiest, hottest sex of my life.
But right now, knowing what tomorrow brings and what this night is, I don’t want dirty or rough. I want to take it slow. Erase time.
I pull her shirt over her head, and she shimmies out of her shorts.
It’s cute that she even put them on when we both knew they weren’t going to stay there long.
We have trouble keeping our hands to ourselves.
An hour or two, and we’re all over each other, our passion never quite sated, always desperate for more.
I’ve never had that before, where I couldn’t get enough of someone.
I kiss my way across her face and down her neck.
She moans and arches her head back and to the side to give me better access.
So sweet. So soft. Smells so good. I nuzzle into her, sucking on her skin, tasting and biting her.
I roll her so she’s beneath me, and I continue kissing down her body, over her breasts.
I suck a nipple into my mouth, laving it with my tongue.
My hand cups it, plumping it up so I can feed on more of it.
Desta’s hands are in my hair, her moans filling the night and eclipsing the waves and crackling of the fire.
My other hand wanders down her body, but I get stuck on her belly.
I’ve been coming inside her like a hapless fool.
Am I doing that because of raw need and passion taking over, or am I doing that as a way to possibly bind myself to her?
I’m not the fatherly type. I’m not the happily-ever-after guy.
But the thought that my child could be growing inside my princess makes me harder than fucking steel, and I want to come in her over and over again. A million times more. A million times harder.
Instead, I focus on her tits, kissing and sucking them, marking them with hickeys and teeth. My girl has bruises all over her, thumb and fingerprints along with teeth marks on her tits, belly, and inner thighs. I’ve been feral and made no apologies for it.