Chapter 17

17

Molly should have known that once she started, she wouldn’t want to stop. That was the dangerous thing about kissing Allarion—now that she had, she wanted to again and again. And she did.

It was the most pleasurable kind of game, finding little ways to sneak a kiss. Molly enjoyed the surprise that always met her ambush, as if he was equal parts shocked and grateful that she’d kiss him again. If she was honest, that sense of gratitude went straight to her head—and her cunt.

Molly had been known to like a little forceful bed play; she enjoyed a partner who took charge and knew what they were about. Still, something about being the instigator had her pulse thrumming at her neck and between her legs all day. To know she was wanted so badly…there was no other feeling like it.

Her favorite was thanking him for another of his kind gestures by pulling him down to her by his stiff collar. She loved sliding her lips against his surprised smile, tasting his pleasure and devotion.

She also liked how he’d come to hover near as she cooked, wrapping his arms around her middle. Sometimes he hooked his chin over her shoulder to watch—unless she was cutting an onion, then she was on her own—or even balanced it on the crown of her head. Sometimes he hummed or sang as her meal boiled or sizzled, and he rocked them to the tune as Molly giggled and stirred.

Or perhaps her favorite had been the night they sat at the harpsichord, singing another lovelorn ballad of parted lovers, when he suddenly stood from the bench and held his hand out to her. Between the house and his magic, the instrument continued to play while she slid her hand into his and followed him to the center of the room.

Facing each other and holding hands, he led her through a popular jig, the harpsichord plinking merrily as they danced. His footwork was impeccable, and Molly laughed breathlessly as they twirled and stomped their feet. He even knew when to lift, taking her by the waist to hoist her high. Molly squealed, balancing on his shoulders as the music crescendoed.

Flushed with delight, Molly kissed him senseless after that dance. They swayed in the center of the room for a long while that night, her body tucked tightly to his, the music softening to a gentle melody.

That night was…perfect.

Another to add to her growing collection of perfect moments here with him.

When she stopped to think about all that had happened, Molly realized that maybe Allarion’s fae sense of time had begun to rub off on her a little. Other than the deepening browns of late autumn, there were no other indications of the passage of time alone as they were out on the estate.

For all that Allarion had his goals to establish the estate and bring his friend here, Molly never felt rushed or the need to decide anything urgently. She filled her days however she pleased, happy with nurturing what was between them with lively chatter and gentle kisses.

She loved that his idea of grubby work clothes still included immaculately polished boots and a tailored jerkin and that showing off shirt sleeves somehow counted as casual. She loved how when he was confused, the top of his nose wrinkled in a charming little frown. She loved how often she saw his fangs, for he only showed them when he smiled. She loved that he endeavored to learn food and cooking despite not eating himself, and that he could wiggle his pointed ears, and that she could scandalize him with the simplest swears.

Molly didn’t think she’d made a lover wait this long for sex before. She usually enjoyed sex and wasn’t overly picky about the circumstances, but as with everything else about the fae, sex with Allarion would be different.

She knew it would be spectacular—if he was half as good at it as he was at kissing, she’d enjoy herself. Molly also knew that they were betrothed and therefore it’d be expected for them to test those waters, as it were. There was no true reason not to take him to bed if she wanted him.

And with each passing day, Molly became surer that, yes, she did want him. Badly.

Deciding to stay on the estate with him had implications that she meant to be his wife in all ways. She intended to give it her best consideration, and taking her fae betrothed to bed wouldn’t be a chore. Still, crossing that threshold with him had implications of its own. A finality.

But with each passing day, Molly was coming to understand that that wasn’t something to fear or dread. Indeed, as they spun and danced around that room to the music, her mind finally caught up to what her heart had been trying to tell her.

She wanted more than just kisses.

Old habits died hard, though. First, she needed to know if there was a line she couldn’t cross. In her experience, every man could only be pushed so far. Molly needed to know where Allarion’s was, for although he’d been nothing but patient, of any man she’d ever known, he had the most power to hurt her.

So as much as she enjoyed their kissing and dancing and cuddling, Molly had to be practical—at least this one last time—for her own peace of mind. But nothing said she couldn’t have fun while doing it.

Allarion sat in his library, a late autumn storm blowing outside. Loose detritus clinked against the walls and windows, and the wind howled through the trees just beyond. All their activities had been housebound today, and even Bellarand had sought shelter inside—much to Molly’s chagrin.

He couldn’t help a grin remembering the ferocious argument as the unicorn went rooting around the kitchen looking for food as Molly tried to push him out the door. Allarion finally intervened when someone threatened to defecate on the clean kitchen floor and then someone else threatened to make horse jerky.

After dinner, Molly shooed him from the kitchen, and so Allarion wandered into the library. He hadn’t found anything overly productive to do yet, instead consumed by staring at the missive that had arrived yesterday from Dundúran. He almost wished it’d been delayed a day, for if the words were washed away with the day’s storm, he couldn’t be faulted for missing the message.

With the end of autumn fast approaching, it would soon be time to leave for Dundúran to attend the seasonal council meeting. As a landholder, Allarion was beholden to attend at least twice a year. He’d been dutiful, attending at every opportunity.

That had been before Molly, though. An excuse to be in Dundúran was an opportunity to search for a possible human wife. He also enjoyed the company of Lady Aislinn and her blacksmith-turned-lord husband.

Allarion hadn’t mentioned the message to Molly, nor their impending departure, for he wished neither to be so. The truth was, he didn’t want to leave the estate. Everything had been going so well, finally . Every day with her was a boon as she found new little ways to surprise and delight him. Each day revealed a new aspect of his azai he savored, and he could feel the bonds between them strengthening.

He couldn’t predict what a trip back to Dundúran might mean for their delicate courtship.

Allarion might have thought to forgo it altogether—he’d already attended his two council meetings this year—were it not for the underscored last line of Lady Aislinn’s letter.

Your presence is required, as requested by Princess Isolde Monaghan.

Even with the seriousness of the message, Allarion stalled. He’d given himself the day to come up with an excuse, but alas, had found none. He couldn’t deny, either, that his curiosity was piqued over what could be so important that the princess required him.

Still, upsetting the balance of his growing rapport with Molly wasn’t something he relished. His reluctance to cause anymore obstacles to their strengthening bond had led to his prevarication, yet he knew…he had to tell her. She’d asked for total honesty from him, and although fae never lied, omittance could still be a falsehood.

Slumping in his wingback chair, Allarion brooded on the letter. It sat on the desk, deceptively innocuous. He wanted to believe that such a trip away would mean nothing to their bond. He knew, rationally, that for the bond to have any hope of being truly set and strong, they would need to be away from the estate sometimes.

He’d assured her she wasn’t his prisoner, and that had to be true even when he was receiving her kisses.

As if his thoughts summoned her, the door opened a moment before Molly breezed into the library. Straightening, Allarion smiled to see her coming to him.

His skin prickled with awareness that something was different .

Her hips swayed hypnotically as she walked, and her lids had fallen low over her sultry eyes. She still wore her customary billowy linen shirt and cotton trou, but rather than tucked under her embroidered stays and waistband of the trou, her shirt hung loose to her thighs.

Allarion’s gaze snapped to her heavy breasts, his mouth running dry to see how they swayed with her gait, unbound. The smallest crescents of shadow curled beneath where the soft peaks of her nipples pressed against the fabric.

His breathing deepened, and he could feel his pupils dilating.

“Good evening, sweetling,” he said.

“Good evening,” she replied, not stopping until she’d come to stand beside him on the far side of the desk.

He gazed up at her hungrily, marking how her growing curls framed her heart-shaped face. Those brown eyes held a seductive glint in the warmth of the fire- and candlelight as she looked upon him. Allarion’s palms itched to reach out and grab hold of her flanks, draw her between his spread knees, but he waited.

His little minx of a mate was testing him. Had been for days now. Perhaps she always had been, in different ways, but he recognized her subtle seductions. Finding ways to touch him, brushing her breasts against his arm or back, rounding those doe eyes at him, plumping her plush lips for a kiss.

He was immune to none of it, of course. She hardly needed to put effort into seducing him. One word would be enough.

But until that word was yes, he would play her game.

Still, she hadn’t been quite so bold before. The sight of her there, her clothing loose, her gaze soft and sultry, battered at his iron resolve. His fangs ached with the temptation of her; she looked good enough to gobble up.

It took monumental will, but he forced himself to say, “There’s news I must share with you.”

Rather than growing serious or worried like he thought she would, Molly merely arched one of her brows. “All right,” she breathed, then put her hand on his shoulder.

He watched in desperate delight as she climbed into the chair with him, straddling his lap. Unable to help himself, Allarion filled his hands with her hips, fingers digging into the generous flesh of her backside. Goddesses, how often had he thought of doing just this, sinking his fingers into her. Fingers, then cock, then finally, fangs.

Pulling her close, a groan escaped him as her soft, unbound breasts pressed against his chest. He could feel the hardness of her nipples through his own shirt, little points of warmth he wanted to suck and roll between his tongue and teeth.

With one of her small hands, Molly gripped his jaw and held him just as she wanted as she lowered her head to his. Allarion thrilled at the show of confidence, welcoming her tongue as it invaded his mouth.

That’s it, take what’s yours, azai.

He let her lead them in a dance of nipping teeth and swirling tongues, breathless to see what she’d demand next. Allarion was content to be the instigator in passion play, and there were many delights to take in being the dominant partner. One day soon, he very much hoped to take charge of his Molly’s every pleasure and show her just how well a fae could sate his azai .

Still, witnessing this burst of confidence and power from her, who’d been so wary of him in their first days, pleased him to the very core. He wanted more of her demands and control. He wanted her to be the queen he knew she was.

Daring, he slid his hands up under her loose shirt, the pads of his fingers finding the warm burn of her skin. The breath shuddered out of him to feel how silky soft she was, and he knew immediately hers was his favorite texture. Nothing would compare to her now.

She rewarded him with a little moan into his mouth, and her hips levered down to give his lap a little of her weight. His abused, impatient cock throbbed at her nearness, begging for just another inch. He wanted to feel the kiss of her cunt there, even if it was through layers of fabric.

He felt the grin spread across her lips.

“Vixen,” he accused.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, her hips beginning to rock in sweet little motions that teased his cock, straining against the seam of his trou.

When he remained still, receiving her teasing without reprisal, her grin widened into a smile. He rumbled to see her approval, and he hungrily accepted her praise as it rained down on him in kisses.

He wasn’t above a little retribution, though. Hands seeking higher, they spanned her ribs, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. He ran his thumbs in teasing, testing circles at the undersides of her breasts, feeling how she burned here. Her flesh was somehow both firm and giving, a temptation he needed more of for fear of perishing without it.

Her scent bloomed through the library, a sweet, musky scent that tantalized the back of his tongue. Her hips began to work faster, snapping and rolling as she sought her pleasure.

Her kisses grew frantic, sucking friction that had his blood pounding through his veins. His hands grew greedier, needing to feel the full weight of her breasts.

But no sooner had he slid his hand around to take her in his palm than she broke her kiss and sat back on his knees.

Allarion stared at her, dazed, as she looked back. Her eyes had glazed with lust, and he took vicious pleasure at seeing how her lips were swollen and pink from his attentions.

Sucking in a deep breath, Molly asked, “What did you want to tell me?”

He blinked at her.

His head fell back against the chair, and a single laugh escaped his throat. “Ah, sweetling, you rob me of words and sense.”

Her answering chuckle was a sound he knew would haunt his dreams in his next long sleep, low and lush. The minx kissed his cheek before leaning back to smile saucily at him.

Replacing his hands on her hips, he quirked a brow at her before lifting her up to deposit on the table. Stepping between her spread legs, taking up her vision, he planted his hands on either side of her.

He watched her pupils expand, and her enchanting pulse fluttered at the hollow of her throat. Allarion hovered over her for a long moment, regaining those words and senses. It was imperative he pass her test, win her challenge.

When the time came, he would lay her on the nearest surface and not let either of them up for days. He would have every part of her, again and again. He’d taste and indulge and devour —although, he was starting to suspect he’d never be truly sated.

Not with how badly she left him aching.

Snagging the letter from his desk, he lifted it to her eye line.

“We are summoned to Dundúran.”

The playfulness fell from her face as she reached to take the letter. Her eyes skimmed over the lines, a frown gathering at her brow.

Allarion regretted being the one to ruin their play, and he disliked how she looked back at him with uncertainty, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You…want me to come with you?”

“Yes. You are mistress of this estate as much as I am master. We will stay a few nights in the castle.”

“With Lady Aislinn?” Her eyes widened with astonishment.

“Indeed. All landholders are welcome to stay at the castle while the council is convened.”

He didn’t miss the excitement that sparkled in her eyes, but still she seemed hesitant.

“And…you’re sure you want me to come?”

“Very much.” With a crooked finger, he lifted her chin to make her meet his steadfast gaze. “This changes nothing, sweetling.”

Slowly, Molly nodded, and Allarion decided he’d have to be content with that. She would just have to see for herself how proud he was to have her as his azai .

“Now, do you have questions, or shall I lay you back on this desk and show you just how a fae prefers to please his mate?”

Color bloomed on her cheeks, and Molly rediscovered her sultry smile.

Placing her hand on the center of his chest, she slipped off the desk, her body sliding down his. Allarion bit back his groan.

Minx.

“If we’re leaving for the city soon, then I should probably get some sleep,” she said, those big brown eyes batting up at him, daring him.

But he wouldn’t break. She would come to him, tell him when she was truly ready. Not with teases or tests but with acceptance and enthusiasm.

“Good night, then, sweetling. May your dreams be of me.”

Molly entered her bedchamber and shut the door behind her, her mind tumbling over the last hour. She wanted to ponder the prospect of going to Dundúran, of staying in the castle itself, but she couldn’t think past how much she throbbed between her thighs.

She couldn’t decide if she was pleased with the night and still not finding Allarion’s line. Fates, she’d pushed him so far, she’d found her own breaking point.

Grumbling with interrupted lust that was entirely her own fault, Molly paced the room for a few tense moments before finally barking, “House, ignore me for an hour, please!”

The drawers of the armoire opened and closed before falling silent. Everything went quiet, so that the only sound was the howling wind outside and her own agitated breathing.

“House?”

When nothing rattled or creaked, Molly decided she’d have to trust that the house had turned its attention elsewhere.

Muttering under her breath, Molly ripped off her trou and climbed into her big, soft, empty bed. Flopping onto her back, she spread her legs and got to work.

A moan slipped past her lips to feel just how hot and slick she was. Fates, she’d gotten carried away with him in the library. She stroked herself to the memories of rocking on his lap, teasing the hard bar of a cock she could feel trapped beneath his trou. The way he rumbled and groaned into her greedy mouth had her cunt clenching, and Molly had no choice but to use both hands, sliding two fingers inside her while she circled her clitoris.

Never usually one for delayed gratification, she prodded and pinched the sensitive nub, shocks of pleasure shooting down her legs and up her belly.

His eyes, fates, she’d never had a man look at her the way Allarion did. As if he wanted to eat her up. That gaze spoke of endless nights of good, hard fucking, yet his touch had been so gentle. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh and her nipples tightened almost painfully remembering the skating glance of his thumbs on the undersides of her tits.

If she hadn’t pulled back when she did, she’d be riding that fae cock even now.

Why aren’t I? Her thought was grumpier than she’d anticipated, and a whimper burst from her lips.

It’d all made sense to her earlier, when she’d come back to her room to divest of her stays and outer layers. Seduce him, test him—it was a good plan, until it wasn’t.

As her soaked fingers shuttled in and out of her dripping cunt, Molly wasn’t sure if she’d passed her own challenge. Playing with fire often got you burned, and she felt like she might combust with how much she needed his touch.

Her tits ached for attention, but her hands were too busy. It was all too much, and with a growl, she finished herself off with a trusty stroke of her callused thumb over her clitoris.

Molly heaved as her cunt clenched down on her fingers, trying to grasp and suck at what wasn’t there. She stroked and stroked herself, prolonging her pleasure, until finally, she collapsed back on the bed, spent.

As she lay there, sleep blurring the corners of her vision, Molly drifted on errant, unlinked thoughts.

Need to finish the dress so I have something to wear.

And, Need to truly seduce him.

Allarion’s shoulders hunched as he bent over himself, straining the seams of his tunic. Teeth exposed to the air in a vicious snarl, he leaned his weight against the doorframe of Molly’s bedchamber, his other hand manhandling his angry cock.

He strained his ears to hear Molly’s small sounds of pleasure over the cacophony of his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. Although feeling a beast looming there at her door, he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t help following her as she’d fled back to her room, nor listening as she began to pleasure herself.

One day very soon, those sounds would be his. He would know their very taste as she made them into his mouth while his cock slid inside her wet heat, taking what he knew to be his.

There was a brutal pleasure in knowing that even as she tested and teased him, she wasn’t immune. Her body knew what it wanted, no doubt sensed the pleasures he could give. Very soon, her heart and mind would understand it, too.

And when that day came, Allarion would feast.

A mewling little moan emanated from under her door, and he shuddered with orgasm at the sound. He painted the door with his spend, unable to stop as his hips thrust home, seeking a warmth that wasn’t yet there.

His mouth hung open as he panted with release, his body shaking from the force.

Yet, his blasted fangs still ached something fierce.

From the darkness, a bucket and rag came sliding down the hall to clean his mess. Pushing back from the door, Allarion tucked himself away.

He might have been embarrassed at the sight of his spend all over her door, proof of his beastly, desperate need for her, if it didn’t satisfy some deep, primeval part of him. Marking his territory was a base, animalistic need—no doubt one Bellarand would approve of. Still, Allarion couldn’t say he regretted it.

Soon, sweetling. Soon you will be mine in all ways.