“Oh, come on, Sol, give us the dirty details!” Conalle cried.
If I had known Conalle was going to ask you for details, I would’ve been far more giving, Westley said to her.
“It was fine. Nothing to tell,” Solveig told Conalle.
I loathe you, Westley said.
No you don’t.
At least tell him it was the best orgasm you’ve ever had.
But I didn’t have any orgasms, she teased.
And whose fault is that?
Definitely yours.
“Fine?” Easta called back. “I taught my brother better than that!”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a way you could have phrased that so it didn’t sound incestuous,” Westley huffed.
Solveig laughed, more lighthearted than she’d been in a while.
Just think of what a mind-blowing orgasm we could accomplish, he insisted, catching on to her growing happiness.
It’s a theory we could probably test, she said, the voice of her mind turning sultry.In eighty-eight days.
He looked back, hunger in his expression. Lustful glances indeed.
Don’t tempt me, Sol. The only reason I’m holding out is because I respect you so gods damned much. But if you tease me ...
Solveig laughed, though her core clenched at the thought. She had no doubt it would be a fantastic orgasm.
“You’ll be happy to know, Easta, that if I had let him, he would have given me the best orgasm of my life,” she said simply. Westley choked, and Viggo pounded him on the back as the group laughed.
“Oh, everyone list your top ten orgasms!” Conalle called.
“Well since West hasn’t had the chance yet, then probably—” Solveig began. Westley turned on his heel and marched right up to her, slamming his mouth to hers.
Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence, he threatened as he claimed her mouth.
She melted at the first sweep of his tongue. This bond was making her soft.
Are you always going to be this jealous?
No, as much as you seem to believe it, I’m not an asshole. It’s the incomplete bond, and you know that. Now shut up and kiss me, witch.
Solveig couldn’t argue with that, so she threw herself into the kiss, moving her mouth against his, claiming him right back.
Noren coughed. “This is so much worse than the heated looks.”
“Speak for yourself,” Conalle said, a huge smile spreading across his face as Solveig wrenched herself away from Westley.
“Do you still need us here forthis?” Steffen called.
Westley tore himself from Solveig, back to the front of the group, leading the way outside.
Eighty-eight days.
