Ame gives an extra squeeze, then steps away. “My lunch break is running out. I’ll keep an eye out for your call.”
But she was right.
When I return to the library, I sit Mor down and tell her about more than what just happened. I give her all of my history with Georgiana. Up until the point that Sev’s magical gag cuts me off. But she understands enough.
Mor listens to what happened, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “I don’t care if she’s on the Mythic Council. I’m going to tit-punch that bitch the next time I see her.”
“You … what?”
Mor stands up, fists clenched, brow furrowed in anger. “She thinks she can turn her back on you, then just decide she wants a nice young boy toy to fuck when she gets bored in her marriage? That she can just play with your emotions like that? No way in any fucking hell dimension. Her tit, my fist—they will have a meeting!” Mor waves said fist in the air.
And I snort. Then chuckle.
Then full-on belly laugh.
“You know what’s going to be hilarious?” She thrusts a finger at my chest, which is still vibrating with chuckles. “How wonky her boobs will look when I punch one so hard that it points in the wrong direction. That bitch. THAT BITCH!”
“Mor, Gods, please stop,” I beg through tears of laughter. “I already adore you too much. I can’t hear you talk about tit-punching a woman to defend my honor.”
I snag her around the waist and haul her into my lap. She’s vibrating with fury, and her raccoon chitters in encouragement from the top of a nearby bookshelf.
“Are you jealous?” I ask, suddenly curious.
“What?” she sputters, letting out a few indignant huffs, then crosses her arms and pouts. “I’m too mature to be jealous. I am above jealousy.” Then she turns, grabs my face, and kisses me like we’ve sunk to the bottom of Lake Galen and I’m her only source of oxygen.
I groan, the sound deep and needy. “Yes,” I pant between kisses. “Only want you.”
She bites my bottom lip, and my hips thrust in response.
“We haven’t been together long,” Mor says quietly, frowning around the words and glaring at my mouth, as if she can see some remnant of Georgiana’s kiss.
I tighten my arms and shove a hand down the back of her leggings to get a nice, meaty handful of her bare ass.
“Then leave your mark on me, witch. Because I don’t want anyone doubting who I belong to ever again.”
Her response is frenzied, and we barely manage to flip the sign toClosedbefore she drags off my shirt.
For hours, Mor drives me wild by sucking hickey after hickey into my skin, growling in frustration when they each heal in a matter of minutes.
She rides me so hard that I swear the house will be too scandalized to ever open its shades again, but still, that’s not enough for my witch.
When we finally lie sweaty and exhausted, tangled in the sheets that we might have partially shredded, Mor tugs a blue ribbon out of a book where she was using it as a bookmark. Using fingers that shake with weakness, she ties the ribbon around my wrist, knotting it tight.
“There,” she wheezes. “You’re marked. You’re mine.”
Grinning so wide that I swear it will break my face, I let out a howl.
37
Mor
After receivinga vague text from Owen MacNamara—a local selkie who visits my library pretty regularly—I pull on my shoes and head down to the dock. Ame and Jack are on their way down, too, but they pause to feed Lucky her evening meal.
I’m not surprised to find Bo with his pant legs rolled up, feet in the water. He’s made a habit of settling on the edge of the floating platform and staring out at the lake as the water laps around his legs.
He jerks his head up at the sound of my approach, and then a beautiful grin overtakes his face.
“Ma’am,” he says when I’m within earshot.
