61. Veyka

I woke with my fingers in my cunt and Arran's name on my lips.

It hadn't been enough. I'd hoped that giving in to the physical desire between us would ease the clawing need in my chest. But it had only reminded my body of what I'd gone without for all these weeks. Months, now.

Not anymore.

Hours.It had been mere hours since Arran's cock was buried inside of me, and already it was too long.

My fingers were already wet with my desire. I stroked lower, toying with my entrance—

And froze.

I was not alone.

I should have known by the feeling in my chest, burning with need, but not aching. Arran was near.

A slow, repetitive sound filled the bedchamber. Metallic. He was sharpening a blade. I listened for a few strokes more—his battle axe. Again and again, I listed to the long lashes of the file over the blade. He did not realize I was awake.

My fingers began to move again.

Arran swiped the file over the head of his axe. I drew a fingertip along the length of my slit. Again, again. I forced myself to follow his cadence, to imagine it was his touch on me.

My hips started to arch, desperate to increase the pressure. But I forced myself to lie still, to not alert Arran.

His pace increased. He'd found the right angle, his body falling into rhythm. I'd seen him sharpen his axe dozens of times. I could imagine the intense focus on his face, the way his tongue would dart out from between his lips.

I wanted his tongue on me. But all I had were my own fingers, stroking deeper with each swipe of the file against the blade. I could not help myself. I slid a one finger into my pussy. Then two. It still wasn't enough. I ached with longing, for Arran's thick fingers stroking inside of me—

The sounds stopped.

I'm caught.

My cheeks burned. So did my breasts. Not from embarrassment, but anticipation. If I threw off the sheets, if I presented my body, needy and trembling, there was no way Arran or his beast would be able to resist.

But then it began again.

Quieter, more precise.

File traded for whetstone.

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip to hold in the moan as my fingers echoed the movement. No more long, repetitive strokes, but continuous, precise circles. I dragged my fingertips around and around my clit as Arran honed his blade.

Oh, Arran.My entire body filled with heat. The sheets burned my skin, but I didn't pull them off. The scent of Arran's spice and earth still clung to them. I breathed it in and my pussy began to tremble. I was so close—

A pause.

The almost imperceptible sound of Arran turning over the axe to work on the other side of the blade.

Bastard. He knew. He was torturing me.

But that would not stop me now.

Arran was moving faster. So was I.

I was going to come, to fill the bedchamber with the scent of my satisfaction. My body begged for release. I arched into my own hand, and this time I did not stop myself.

I heard Arran stand, honing the axe against the leather strop. The final step. I shoved two fingers inside of myself, my other hand desperately working my clit.

My eyes clenched shut, but I swore I could feel the strength of Arran's fingers where they curled around the handle of his axe, as if they were curling inside of me. The pressure was too intense. My chest tightened. So did my pussy. A growl, low and deep, rolled through me.

I plunged over the edge, the walls of my cunt squeezing my hand as waves of wetness soaked the bedsheets.

But I could not stop. My flesh was raw. So was I. But I drove my fingers into myself, harder, deeper, until I came again. I didn't care what sounds I made. Maybe my growl matched Arran's beast, primal and harsh.

I had no idea how much time passed as my body stilled, the last tremors of my climax finally settling around me. There were no more sounds of blades and weapons. Only ragged breaths. Mine—and Arran's.

I should open my eyes.

"Veyka," Arran growled, his voice raw with need. Nearly shaking. "Veyka," he said again. Insistent. A demand.

Knock. Knock.

I thought he might ignore it. Damn strategy and duty and everything except us.

But I was disappointed.

He threw open the door so hard the hinges cracked.

"Good morning!" Lyrena said brightly. "I found some…

My cheeks were burning again.

"I can come back later," Lyrena said firmly.

But the scent hit me before Arran could slam the door in her face. I scrambled out of the bed, nakedness entirely forgotten. "Are those—"

"Veyka!"

"—chocolate croissants?!"

"You need something other than pastries if you want to keep your energy up," Lyrena admonished as I polished off my third chocolate croissant.

"Yes, yes," I said, waving my hand toward the cured meats. "I will get there eventually."

"You do not find it suspiciously coincidental that Palomides happened to prepare your favorite breakfast?" Arran scowled from the window.

The sun had disappeared, eclipsed by thick gray clouds. Arran had been scowling at their progress for an hour.

"My favorite food. Period," I corrected, licking a stray bit of chocolate off my fingertip. Arran tried and failed to cover his groan as he turned back to the window.

Lyrena swiped the plate of chocolate croissants away, replacing it with one bearing thick slices of bacon. "Arran has a point. It could be poisoned."

"I do not care," I said. I took a bite of bacon for my own sake, not to appease my hovering skoupuma mothers. Besides, it did not play into the game that Palomides was playing. He was assembling an army of succubus, challenging me to a duel so he could take over my kingdom. If I died quietly from poisoning, he would not get to take credit for the kill. "Death by chocolate croissant would be the best way to go."

Arran covered the ground between us in a blink. His hands pinned mine to the chair, pressing me down into the wooden arms to the point of pain.

"Don't do that," he snarled, an inch from my face. "Do not ever joke about your death."

The stubborn, rebellious core of me wanted to push back, to shove him away and insist he had no right.

But that was wrong.

He was my mate. He had every right. The thread within me, the manifestation of our mating bond, which had frayed and stretched, began to glow. Bright, golden, solid.

"I am yours," I said, quiet by strong. Unflinching before the most powerful fae to ever walk this continent.

Arran's black eyes blazed with ebony fire as he took my words inside of him. As he gave them back to me, his voice gravelly and not wholly his own— "And I will never let you go."