Maeve paddled around him as lithely as a siren and just as alluring. Ducking and diving, she had him turning every which way. Soon it was a game to catch her, and she evaded him for a long while, slipperier than an otter.
But Soren was just as resolute to have her. Theturukrippled beneath his skin, delighted in the chase. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, eremi,” they warned her.
A flick of water hit his ear as she blew defiant bubbles on the surface.
He finally caught her by feinting left but lunging right, his arm wrapping round her middle. He reeled in his wriggling, laughing mate, securing her to his chest to take his prize. His mouth found hers in a greedy, playful kiss; she tasted fresh like the lake and warm like the sun, vital and invigorating.
Maeve’s legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. Soren felt and tasted her smile as she coaxed his tongue to tangle with hers, drawing him into her mouth. Wrappedaround her, surrounded by her, immersed in all that she was—it was right where Soren belonged.
They eventually scrubbed each other as best they could, but most of that afternoon was spent floating along the lake, kissing as the sun tracked across the sky. His cock stood at attention and his purr never ceased, but all Soren wanted was another kiss, another teasing nip of her lips and delicious slide of her tongue.
When dusk began to settle over the lake, it was Soren who decided it was time to dry off. With his mate stuck to him like a limpet, he walked from the lake, water sluicing off them both.
Neither relished putting on their dirty clothes, but he did talk her back into her shift at least. Up the shore, he made a small fire while she collected berries. They shared the berries and a few fish he caught and roasted over the fire in a small supper that ended up the most satisfying meal of Soren’s life.
The soft darkness of night crept upon them, but both were loath to leave. As they lingered, little green bursts of light flickered through the trees, growing in number until it was nearly as bright as dusk again.
Together, they watched the display of fireflies, charmed as the little lights wove amongst the trees and flowers.
“I don’t want to leave,” Maeve whispered, and so Soren made a nest for them—fragrant pine boughs and soft moss, cushioned by their clothes. When it was done, he brought his mate to their forest bed, histurukpurring contentedly to have her in this primal, visceral way. He would sleep with her in his arms, keep her warm with his body and wings, just as he would in the ancient savannahs.
As the fireflies flashed and the lake lapped at the shore, Soren sat in their nest, holding his mate steady as she took him inside her. Maeve bit her lower lip, swollen from an afternoon of kisses, as she descended, her face pinched with pleasure. He purred for her, so content, so exultant, he could hardly contain it.
So slick and ready for him, she needed but two strokes for him to ease his knot inside her. They groaned together, sharing breath as their bodies rocked. Her fingers sank into his mane, and Soren came where she bid, losing himself in her desperate kisses and the rhythm of her hips.
He didn’t know how many times he peaked that night—perhaps more than there were stars in the sky. All he knew was Maeve, her sweetness and heartbeat, her boldness and scent. Soren took all that she gave him and in return, he gave her all he was and would be. For that’s what it was to bekigara—all and everything.
26
Maeve finally returned home late the next morning sore, rumpled, and with a smile on her face that wouldn’t abate. Although she’d only just parted from Soren—after sharing an inordinate number of kisses and taking a ridiculous amount of time to finally part—she already wished to be with him again.
A bath, fresh clothes, some breakfast, and then she was determined to meet with him again at his cabin. There was much to decide, so many plans she wanted to discuss with him.
Maeve had only really imagined a future with a partner once before; she and Padraic had made so many plans together, spinning fairy tales out of promises and intentions. Much of it had been about how to advance their careers as quickly as possible, and Maeve had spent many heady nights tipsy on wine, dreaming about how she and Padraic would conquer this university or that ministry.
She still bore the drive and ambitions at the center of those dreams—but now, Maeve thought about it a little differently. It wasn’t just about what she could achieve but what she coulddo.Perhaps her future was to lead a civil ministry. Perhaps it was to travel with Soren and see many amazing things. Perhaps it would all lead them back here. Maybe it was all of that or none of it—and Maeve couldn’t wait to find out.
Having someone beside her for the journey was a comfort and a thrill all at once. Somehow, she already knew whatever experiences she had would be all the better shared with him.
Maeve walked into her childhood home ready to meet the future, with him.
But before she could climb the stairs to her room, a glance into the kitchen revealed that a few things from the past still needed tidying up.
Sorcha sat by herself at the table there, head held in her hands as she frowned down at a monstrous ledger. Maeve had seen the thing before—thick and leather-bound, it was the master ledger for the stables and estate.
Her sister glared at the thing, and it took Maeve clearing her throat to garner Sorcha’s attention.
“Oh!” Straightening, Sorcha looked at her in surprise before a puff of relief had her shoulders sagging. “Oh, Maeve, thank goodness. We didn’t know where you were!”
“I’m sorry to worry you,” Maeve apologized, tentatively coming further into the room.
Sorcha smiled tiredly, pushing the chair beside her out and patting the seat. Once Maeve sat and snagged one of the pastries left under a glass lid, it was her turn to be surprised when Sorcha took her hand.
“I didn’t mean to drive you away,” she said, her concern palpable. “It was dark and we didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“It wasn’t the most mature thing to do,” Maeve said sheepishly, relating to Sorcha how she’d ended up at Aunt Sofie’s door, as well as the whirlwind events of yesterday afternoon.
Already she and Soren were having new experiences together.Well, he’d slept rough outside before; Maeve had only ever camped when she was younger, and it was always with the comfort of a large tent and thick bedroll. To sleep with him under the stars, blanketed by his wing, had been a magical experience—even if she’d woken with a crick in her neck.
