My impatience has not lessened, but I breathe deeply and will myself to let go. Raglan’s scent is familiar, and I feel it wrapping around me. No sooner do I submit than the kiss deepens, lips parting as his tongue coaxes mine. I am sinking into him and his sorcery. My tears dry, and I feel the little trickling inside where my slick gathers. A deep groan escapes my chest as his lips leave mine. He presses a kiss to my forehead just as his big hand cups my breast. “Goddess!” I try to be still and good for him, but my legs twitch as my stomach clenches, pushing out a little flood of slick.
“Good girl,” he says, brushing the pad of his thumb back and forth across my nipple. Goddess save me, I wish I’d been brought here naked so that my shirt might not be in the way. “We are all so proud of you.”
Another gentle kiss to my temple before his hand slides inside my shirt. Fingers find and tug roughly on my nipple. I jolt, breath stuttering. The tops of my thighs rub together, slick with my arousal, and my whole body throbs with need. He resumes the gentle swiping with his thumb against the hardened nub, fingertips lightly tickling against the underside of my breast.
His hand tightens on my hair just as he tugs roughly on the nipple again.
“Oh, Goddess, please!”
I’m a squirming mess of need. The gentleness followed by the roughness sends my body coiling and rushing twice as fast.
“Open your legs and lift the shirt so I can see your wet, naughty pussy,” he says, tugging at the same nipple without mercy, making it the perfect kind of sore.
My legs fall apart, and I snatch the shirt up.
“She is absolutely drenched,” Brook says thickly.
“Do you need my fingers on your pussy?” Raglan demands. “Have you been good enough?”
“I am good,” I say. I would say anything at this point. I wriggle and twitch on his lap. My nipple has become a little point of sharp bliss, and my whole breast is tingling.
But he doesn’t touch my pussy; instead, he turns his attention to my other breast. “Oh!” His roughened fingertips gently circle the sensitive nipple. Big circles, small circles that I pray will brush my needy bud. I clamp my hands tightly around the bottom of my shirt, lest I interfere.
“Good girl. Now, try and be still for me.”
Nervous and aroused, I’m the deepest, most desperate kind of need. Within those constraints, I’m a trembling kind of still.
Then he pinches sharply upon the neglected nipple, rolling, tugging, and rolling again. My whole breast tingles and flutters, and then I am coming. “Oh!” I groan, a flood gushes from between my legs, my pussy contracting weakly although he has not touched me there.
He soothes my quaking body with strong hands, all the while purring. My face turns into him, lips urgent, hands gripping and tugging.
“Settle, lass,” he says. “I will not rut you today.”
“Why not?” I demand before I can think better about what it is I say. Suddenly, I’m ashamed of my neediness. What would Hawthorn say? I don’t even know where he is.
His purr deepens under my cheek, and I do settle. “I miss Hawthorn,” I say. “I’m worried he has gone to search for us in Blighten lands.”
“A bird was sent long ago,” Raglan says. “Between your brother and the King when news of your disappearance was first told. The crew assures me that your first Alpha is waiting at the port we are bound for. He is safe and well . . . I’m not sure the same will be true for me when he finds out there is a fourth.”
I giggle at the last bit, for Hawthorn is the definition of stern. I hope he does not hate Raglan for his handling of the situation. I can’t imagine how it might be if my mates are at odds. But I trust Hawthorn above anyone, and in my heart, I’m sure we will find a way.
I sneak a kiss to the open collar of Raglan’s shirt. I’m the worst form of hussy, for I am still thinking about him rutting me, or at the very least putting his clever fingers on my pussy. “You did not touch me in all the places,” I say a little mulishly. “I’m convinced that was cheating.”
Raglan throws his head back and laughs.
Raglan
I hand her over to Brook to take her back to her room. The bulge in his pants and her neediness suggests they will both be rutting within seconds of the door closing. Sighing, I swipe a hand down my face.
“I did not even get to use the fucking crop,” I say to Caden.
The cocky fucking whelp is smirking. But it’s the smirk of camaraderie rather than competition. And I cannot begrudge him the cockiness given he had taken on three Orcs single-handed when ten summers old. The two lads may bicker on occasion, but I see the love between them. After learning of their history, I understand why the younger will always defer. Their dedication toward Priya and respectfulness when they mention Hawthorn has only raised my regard for them.
I’m glad I don’t need to beat Caden to a pulp in order to establish my place, although he is
