“Yes. And while it was still wrong, I can appreciate the sentiment behind it. You kept it from me for what you thought was my own good.”
She was too far away. With a few quick strides, he rectified the situation. She placed her hands on his chest, and he winced at the current of power she shocked him with.
“But if you ever keep anything from me for my own good again”—she leaned in so her lips brushed against his—“I will attach a leash to your balls and drag you around by them.”
He chuckled, placing a light kiss on her delicious mouth. “You already have a tight grip on my balls, General.” He pulled back so he could look her in the eyes when he said, “I promise not to keep anything from you again. Regardless of your decision, I won’t assume I know best.”
“What do you mean, regardless of my decision?”
Westley took in a deep breath and rested his forehead against hers. “You haven’t accepted the bond, not that I blame you. Nor have you said anything about it ... about me being your mate.”
He wasn’t foolish enough to think she would express her love for him. Just because they were mates didn’t mean she loved him.
“Beg,” she ordered.
His gaze snapped to hers. “What?”
“Beg me to be your mate,” she said, whispering against his lips.
“Will that satisfy you?” His heart raced away from him.
She smirked. “Depends on how well you beg.”
He huffed a laugh and pulled away.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a frown.
He immediately missed her warmth, but he had to do this right. Pulling her lips back to his, he kissed her once, then twice before moving to scrape his canines down her neck, relishing the way she arched into him.
The scent of her need matched his. His lips grazed down her throat.
“I need you. In every single way, I need you, Solveig,” he said between kisses, between savouring the skin on her chest. His hands roamed over her waist and hips, and he lowered to his knees, parting her robe with his hands.
“Be my mate.”
She moaned as he left kisses like promises down her body. His name slipped from her mouth, and he never wanted anyone but her to speak it again.
“Please.” He touched his lips to her hip and dragged his nose up the inside of her thigh before gripping her leg and hoisting it over his shoulder.
He looked up through hooded lids, staring directly into her eyes. “Please, Solveig. I’m already yours, but let me belong to you. Claim me.”
As if showing her what he intended to do, he flicked his tongue out to taste her skin. Close, he was so close. He’d never tasted anything so delicious.
“Please,” he whispered into the crease at the top of her leg. Every cell in his being screamed to keep going. But he had to wait for her.
“No.”
Shelethimsquirmfor just a moment as the word registered in his lust-fogged brain.
“No?” he repeated.
“No . . . not yet.”
Westley let out a whoosh of relief, his forehead hitting the inside of her thigh. Fuck, she was throbbing. Lust swirled between them, and the low rumble of his groan reverberated through her before he grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare stab me,” he hissed, holding her wrist in an iron-tight grip, preventing her from going for the dagger. She wasn’t in a particularly stabby kind of mood.
That could change though.
