Chapter 30
She surrendered, gripping his shirt to pull him closer as energy pulsed between them—his end of the bond was euphoric, their magic dancing, celebrating.
The kiss was slow. It was a sweet relief, a moment of pure bliss. Her lips were strong and unwavering. They fit perfectly against his.
He ached for more and dragged his tongue across the seam of her mouth, requesting access. She opened for him, her sweet taste flooding his senses. They devoured each other.
His hands roamed the curves of her body, needing to hold her, to take her, to protect her. She tried to push him against the rock, but he flipped them around to press her back against the stone, revelling in the hitch of her breath as he leaned into her, his mouth never leaving hers.
Westley tilted her head to the side, wanting every angle of her, every inch of her kiss he could touch. He explored her taste, her tongue. He was greedy, taking everything she gave him but still wanting more and more.
She pressed herself into him, their breaths quickening as the vigour of their embrace intensified. The wind whipped around them, tugging strands of hair loose from Solveig’s braids.
Westley tucked an escaped lock behind her ear, grazing the rounded tip. His hand trailed down her neck to her collarbone, relishing the way her skin pebbled as she shuddered. Her teeth grazed his lips, nipping softly and drawing a soft groan of pleasure from him.
She was fervent, urging him on, wrapping her legs around his waist as his hand trailed up the bare skin of her thighs. His soul leapt with triumph as he claimed her mouth—she was his and he was hers.
They were unending.
His hand neared the top of her thigh as he angled her head the other way, her fingers tangled in his hair. Her heat came in contact with his painfully hard cock, a strangled sound of desire leaving him, and he nearly lost control.
With what little sense he had left, he knew he couldn’t let this continue.
“Solveig,” he groaned into her, pulling his mouth away.
Don’t you dare stop. Her lust-filled voice permeated his mental shield, overtaking his senses as he gripped her thighs harder, leaving fingerprint bruises. It took every ounce of strength he had not to bury himself inside her.
I have to stop, he said, barely able to think the words.
Why? she asked, moving her hands across the width of his shoulders, grasping his arms as he held her tighter.
Their lips found each other again.
Because I don’t want sand to get into places sand should not be.
She wrenched her mouth from his, laughing into him. They shared the same breath and their chests heaved into each other. The beating of their hearts synced. Did she notice?
How could she not see what was right in front of her? Her mate. He willed her to see it in the way their hearts beat as one, their magic entwined. If she figured it out on her own, if she accepted their bond without any pressure from him then maybe . . .
West . . .
This was it. She would acknowledge it. Yes?
I—
“Solveig!” Gerrie’s voice reached them as she ran down the beach, her gold dress from the ball hanging off her body, rumpled and askew.
Disappointment and irritation washed over him in equal measure at the interruption. Solveig stiffened, pulling away from him before she could finish whatever she’d been about to say.
Westley put his forehead to Solveig’s one last time before she untangled her limbs from his.
Before she could escape completely, he took her face in his hands once more and brought her lips to his softly, firmly, holding her to him as if he could imprint every second of this moment into his soul.
When he pulled back, he saw the bond flash in her eyes. From what he could tell, she didn’t acknowledge it. He urged her to. He needed her to. Though he stood by what he’d said before—as selfish as he was to want her, he didn’t deserve her.
Hope was a cruel thing.
“Alright, you two.” Gerrie’s voice broke the tension, and Westley closed his eyes with a sigh, savouring their connection. He stepped back from Solveig but not far enough that he couldn’t still feel her heat, smell her need.
Ice cold bath, ice cold bath, ice cold bath, he chanted to himself.
Your parents having sex, Solveig’s playful voice added to his chant. His mental walls must be in shambles if she was able to hear him.
What the Hel? He drew back as visions of his parents in a bed flashed into his mind, immediately killing his buzz. Thanks for that, he shot, and she smiled. It was blinding.
You’re welcome, she said, turning to Gerrie.
“What is it?” she asked her shieldmaiden.
“I’m sorry, Solveig, that looked super intense and I’m sad to interrupt what looked like it would have led to some great hate sex.”
Considering how their kiss had begun, Westley couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
Solveig rolled her eyes. “Gerrie,” she said, exasperated.
“The queens have requested you in the throne room,” Gerrie said, all traces of humour gone. They shared a knowing look and Solveig’s shoulders tensed. Westley feared to even ask.
“Very well, I’ll need to put some pants on.”
“Not necessary,” Gerrie said, her chipper attitude returning. “You have a great ass, more people should see it.”
Westley growled before he could stop himself.
“Oh knock it off, alpha male. We get it, you’re obsessed with her.” Gerrie waved off Westley’s attitude like he wasn’t dying inside, desperate for his mate to recognize their bond.
That his obsession was with more than her body, though he ached for that too. He needed her. And his Fae instincts pushed him to claim her, heart, body, and soul.
Solveig’s hand slipped into his, as if in tune with his needs, her callouses scraping against his own. He had to swallow down the surprise at her casual touch.
It was useless to resist. Rubbing a thumb along the back of her hand was instinctual.
Her reassurance soothed the beast inside, and he followed them back to the palace. Solveig left to dress in her rooms while Westley waited with Gerrie in the hall.
“Do you know what the meeting is about?” he asked.
“I asked, but they didn’t tell me,” Gerrie said, examining her nails.
Westley leaned against a marble pillar as he searched for something to say to Gerrie. When the silence stretched far too long for comfort, Gerrie finally looked at him, cocking her head to the side. He didn’t have to read her mind to know what she was thinking.
“I love her,” was all he could come up with. Gerrie’s dark eyes narrowed, perhaps looking for any trace of falsehood? He didn’t know.
“I know.” Her words were blunt, no hint of emotion. Nothing to give away what she felt about his confession.
“You do?”
“It’s not like you hide it well.” Was she teasing him? Was that a good sign?
They lapsed into another silence. Where was everyone? This might have been his and Solveig’s wing, but he’d expected Viggo and Noren to barge into his rooms last night, checking up on him. They were nowhere to be found.
“Have you seen Viggo and Noren?” he asked Gerrie. If she had made her way around the palace looking for him and Solveig, she may have seen them in passing.
“Maybe something has them tied up,” she said, a hint of a smile on her lips. Westley, as usual when it came to Gerrie, didn’t know what to make of it.
Finally Solveig emerged from her rooms, relieving him of being alone in the hall with Gerrie. His eyes raked down her form, taking in her travel leathers like she knew the queens were about to send her into battle.
She was probably right.