Chapter 40
Westley’s sisters didn’t stir in their sleep. He focused on their breathing, trying to distract himself.
North’s head rested on Easta’s shoulders, with Easta’s stacked on top of hers. He was grateful he’d managed to find an abandoned closet for the night. They had to regroup and figure out how to get out of this labyrinth of a keep.
The lingering effect of Solveig’s passion still rattled his bones. It had come on so suddenly, he hadn’t expected it. There he was, minding his own business in his hiding spot with his sisters, waiting out the night, when her arousal had charged through him, emptying his mind of everything but her.
For a moment he thought maybe she’d sent it to him, but it was so wild and visceral that he knew she hadn’t meant for him to feel it.
She was with someone.
Shock and jealousy burst out of him unbidden before he could cut the feelings off.
She deserved to enjoy herself, he thought again and again. His nose wrinkled, the mate bond screaming, his heart clawing its way to her.
There was no one to blame but himself. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but it was no use. Her desire wouldn’t fade, charging his magic like he was Vanir and not Fae.
Jealous, Prince? Solveig’s voice forced its way through his weakened mental barriers. Not that it would be particularly difficult—he’d never be strong enough to fully block her.
It took strength he barely had to keep his voice level and his emotions locked away. But they seeped through the cracks anyway.
Yes, he said, clenching his jaw.
She pushed the image of her in a room in Alfheim, the lace nightwear hanging loosely off her body, leaving little to the imagination.
He was going to be sick, but for some masochistic reason, he couldn’t force her out. Westley braced himself for the reveal of whoever was in her bed.
But the image never came. Instead, he saw her hand sliding down, over her breasts, her nipples peaked beneath the thin fabric.
Of my hand?
Westley didn’t know if he had the words to describe the overwhelming relief that crashed through him. Solveig’s soft laughter swirled in his mind.
What are you doing? he groaned.
What does it look like I’m doing? Her hand moved slowly—achingly slow—until she reached the tops of her hips, pausing.
Like you’re trying to torture me. Is this the payback you warned me about?
She laughed. Perhaps.
Her hand played with the waistband of her undergarments. He could do nothing as he sat in the small closet, his sisters asleep less than an arm’s stretch away.
When he showed her where he was, she paused her ministrations.
I’m glad you’re safe, she whispered, even though it was only the two of them.
Hopefully we’ll stay that way until morning.
Her demeanour had shifted when she spoke again, playfulness replacing the seriousness of his precarious situation. So what you’re telling me is that you’re trapped there with your sisters, unable to join me?
Westley groaned again, his canines aching. She was right, she was going to be the death of him. It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d told him that in the Southern Wilds.
Where had this come from? What happened to her finding a husband? He was dying to ask about her search, but at the same time, he didn’t want to know anything about the male who would get to spend his life with her.
You know very well I can’t join you. Hopefully she couldn’t hear the despondency in his tone.
Do you want me to stop? Her voice dropped low as her hand disappeared beneath her clothing.
If he was smart, he’d say yes.
He wasn’t smart.
No, he answered quickly—too quickly. She laughed.
I could always find someone else to help me out.
He growled through their bond, primal and possessive. If she was thinking clearly, she would realize they were mates from that sound alone. But there was only her arousal. It pained him that she was so oblivious. At the same time, he was grateful for it.
Her other hand came up to caress her breast, putting Westley in physical pain. His cock became full and hard, pressing uncomfortably against his pants.
He sent his magic into her, charging her blood, adding his own need to hers, driving her lust to a new level. A wordless moan filled his mind as his magic snaked up her legs to the sensitive part of her thighs.
Is this okay? he asked, pausing before he did something he couldn’t take back.
Yes, she cried out as the coolness of his magic tweaked her breasts, her back arching off the bed.
Fuck. Westley choked on the word, heat scorching his body.
More, she demanded, and he laughed roughly at her orders.
As you wish, General.
Her hand moved to tease her clit, and he was there with her, his magic, his pleasure mixing with hers as he sent his phantom hand to palm her, sliding one finger in. He moaned like he could actually feel her tight warmth on his fingers.
There were no words between them as they worked together towards her climax. Solveig sent her own magic into him, sending an image of her hand reaching into his pants, but he mentally gripped it before she reached him.
I want your real hand or nothing at all, he hissed, his cock twitching in displeasure.
What about my mouth?
No. He blocked the image she sent of her sliding her tongue down his chest.
Not even my—
A vision of her on top of him, her legs straddling him as she lowered herself . . .
Gods, Solveig. He blocked her again, rolling his eyes as the sound of her laughter filled his mind, nearly crumbling his resolve. Instead, he quickened his movements, turning her laugh into a moan as he added another phantom finger of magic, curling inside her.
He hit that sweet spot as she cried out, increasing her own pace as she moved her hand to match his inside of her, her palm on her clit, her fingers working inside her pussy.
That’s it, General, he said, encouraging her pace, feeding her lust. Take what you need from me.
The vision of her coming undone nearly wrecked his self-control, but he powered through, resisting the urge to grip his cock, to let her magic caress him. He focused on her, on her movements, her needs.
He sent his magic over her clit and a graze of his teeth across her nipple. Solveig clenched around her fingers, around his magic, crying out as she reached her climax. Her moans of pleasure pounded in his ears as he helped her ride through the wave that almost took him over with her.
She let her movements slow as she came down from her high, and his magic shifted to soothing motions, calming her body as he sent the image of him curling around her, holding her close. She sank into him, her body loose with her release as her breathing became unhurried and even.
Sleep, Solveig, he whispered into her mind. The last thing he felt from her before she drifted into sleep was the whisper of a wish that matched his own.
The wish for this to be real.