Chapter 9
Sting
I’m not sure I’ve ever met a person more selfless and willing to turn her nose up to happiness than Hyacinth. It’s admirable. It’s infuriating.
“How are you here? Why? How did you find us?” Hyacinth’s questions are quiet—just for me as Lily stomps ahead, swishing her fancy dress as she goes to get her bags.
“Hyacinth, I’ve lived alone for a long time.
I’ve never fit in, not even when I lived amongst other monsters.
Seeing you sunburnt in the desert, then holding the fox kit in the barn, the way you give and give and give to your sister, I knew I wanted you.
But I would let you go and live your life.
No one should be as isolated and lonely as I am.
But then, I couldn’t get your scent out of my head.
Or the taste of you out of my mouth. The sound of your voice.
The feel of you in my hands. These callused hands have needed to touch your soft skin ever since you left.
So no, there was no way I was going to let you hang out with that asshole.
Or fly away from me.” Fingers in my hair, she gives me a sweet, gentle kiss on the cheek.
Her mouth is open to say something, even as her eyes are filled with tears. But Lily screams in frustration, again, and Hyacinth runs off, pulling herself out of my hands to go help her sister.
I have to let go of her dress, of her, to let her hug her sister and grab her bag. Yet part of me wants to throw her over my shoulder and carry her away, with a promise to buy her all new clothes, along with whatever else she might possibly want or need.
With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, she touches the lapel of my tuxedo. “You look mighty handsome in this tux.” Her voice is almost a purr. Her scent floral and spicy. I want to bury my nose in her neck and hair, breathe deep and know what it is to be alive.
We escort Lily to the airport, and it isn’t until we watch her board the private plane I arranged for her, that Lily sinks into my side and sighs a sweet sound and says, “Take me to your home, please.”
“You look like a princess in your gown. Will you be comfortable in it on the drive?” What I want to say is that I want to peel her dress off, layer by layer, uncovering the delicious gift that hides beneath.
Hell, what I want to do is sweep her up onto my back and carry her far into the desert until it’s just the two of us and pleasure her until she screams my name. Bite, suckle, sting.
“Sting? Earth to Sting.” Hyacinth looks at me with an amused expression. “You wandered off there. Let’s go.” I guess whatever she answered, I’ll have to figure out by following her lead. Gladly.
By the time we make it home—gods, I want this to be her home too—the ache in my chest and the ache of my cock are in competition.
When Hyacinth comments on the candy pink sky of sunrise, I can only grunt, unable to hold a coherent thought in my head.
As soon as she stands in the gravel, I scoop her up, allowing myself a laugh at all her pretty layers and her startled squeak.
“Welcome to my home, my Princess.” Her laugh is a cool, sweet drink I never want to be through with.
“Don’t call me ‘princess,’ cowboy. That’s my sister. I’m just—I’m just me,” she says, smile on her face, but a hint of sadness in her tone.
“You’re not just anything,” I say as I carry her in my arms into the house. “You’re gorgeous, giving, sweet, and smart. Never doubt yourself or your worth.” I’m about to say more as I kick the door shut behind us, but she reaches up with both hands to kiss me.
Sweet prickly pear cactus, her lips are soft, and her tongue is feisty, darting in and out, showing me exactly what she thinks right now.
I’d originally planned to make her breakfast. But she is breakfast. I take her to my room and spread her out in the center of my bed. Perfection. That blue silk shimmers in the dawn light, beckoning me closer, like a crow to a shiny coin. Treasure. My treasure.
“You know, it’s hard to imagine you here by yourself, lonely and miserable.” Propped up on her elbows, she watches me with intense interest and fire as I kick my boots off, pull off my coat, loosen my bow tie. “I like the bow tie,” she says with a devilish grin.
“I’ll remember for next time,” I say as I pull my shirt out of my pants and unbutton it. Now she’s up, on her knees, shuffling toward me.
“Oh, let me,” she says, breathless. My hands freeze, then grasp her hips as she positions herself in front of me.
One by one, she unbuttons my shirt, kissing my skin after each button.
With each kiss, my hands roam up and down her back, curving around her sweet ass, sliding back up her belly.
Briefly grazing the underside of her gorgeous breasts.
I’ll never get enough of the feel of her.
The scent of her arousal mixed with her floralness.
Her silky soft hands on my chest, feeling my heart pound for her, and then she slides the shirt off of me and gives a tiny gasp. “What’s this?” Her hand hovers over the mark on my chest.
It no longer hurts and itches. Because she’s mine.
But it still has a faint almost glow to it, like a fresh tattoo, but with a golden hued ink.
“It’s the mate mark. It showed up with you, telling me without a doubt that you’re my mate.
” Those words are simultaneously light and easy on my tongue, and the heaviest, most serious words I have ever uttered.
Her hand traces the outline of the spike and the flower twisted together. Entwined. Then she rests her lips there, kissing my chest, the image that marks me as hers. “It feels like a fairy tale. This idea that I’m your mate. That this thing between us is real.”