Page 22 of An Arrow to the Heart

He realised he probably came across almost possessive.

Staring at her like this.

But he couldn’t not watch her.

At first it brought genuine happiness to watch her, but he soon found himself feeling jealous. His jaw tensed and his hand had formed into a fist at the sight of Torban touching her waist, the way she took his hand allowing him to twirl her only for her to come crashing into his chest. The way Torban touched her made him certain he was familiar with the curves of her body, they’d probably been lovers in the past. Heck, they could be now for all he knew, and going by the way they were dancing he wouldn’t be surprised about it. Perhaps that had been the reason why she had given him the cold shoulder so many times.

Fuck.

He’d had too many spiced ales and his head was spinning with thoughts of her with Torban. Not being able to stand it any longer he shot to his feet and left without a word to anyone.

Feeling frustrated he decided he’d head home.

Home.

It wasn’t even his home but it had felt like it more than any place ever had since his childhood home with his parents and sibling.

The fresh air of the walk helped sober him and as he began to think more clearly he decided he needed to get some distance between him and Sylvie. His knee was much better, although not fully healed and he’d have to stay in the village and see her until it was. But he had so much more mobility than even half a moon cycle ago. He’d stay at the Alehouse like he had prior to the injury. He’d grown dangerously attached to the pink cottage just before him, its owner even more so. And he couldn’t go on like this.

He used the spare key Sylvie had given him to unlock the big wooden door. The smell of herbs hit him like a punch to the gut. He’d become so accustomed to it he’d stopped noticing it. He’d miss it he realised, as he looked lovingly around the cottage as though it would be his last chance to do so. He lit the light by the front door, to guide her home just in case.

He splashed his face with cold water by the kitchen sink, taking off his shirt, using it to dry off his face when the front door slammed shut behind him before he’d even registered it opening.

Startled, wet shirt in hand, he turned to see Sylvie standing there, out of breath and wide eyed. Fury etched across her beautiful features.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

-Ardál-

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Has something happened? He asked urgently, fear rising within him at the thought of her hurt or upset, his heart pounding beneath his chest. He’d destroy anyone that hurt her.

“Me?” she shouted back at him. Ardál stared at her blankly, taken aback, not sure what to think as she stormed toward him. Though he had to admit the sight of her so unravelled sent his blood racing. The way her tits jiggled as she moved hypnotised him.

“You,” she said, pointing a finger into his bare chest. “You’re the one who just went and disappeared. I looked back and you were gone.” She said frantically.

Had she been worried about him?

He didn’t think she would have cared about his leaving. He hadn’t realised she’d even noticed him earlier.

“I looked everywhere for you.” The admission sent his heart racing.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, showing his palms, pretending to be unaffected by her display of heightened emotion. “I didn’t think you’d care where I was. You looked like you were having a great time with Toby,” he said in a tone laced in jealousy and yes, deliberately pretending not to know Torban’s name was childish but he didn’t care.

She took a step back looking at him in bewilderment, her brows furrowed. Staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place while his stupid mouth continued spouting shit at her. “The two of you looked pretty cosy from where I sat. I didn’t expect you to even come home tonight. Sure as Hel looked like that was his intention.”

“I’m not interested in him you fool!” She said in genuine bafflement, before her gaze fell from his eyes to his mouth in nothing but primal lust.

That was all he needed.

He pushed her against the kitchen cabinets, pinning her between them and his body. His eyes darkened as he brought his hand under her skirts and undergarments in one swift motion, rolling her clit between two of his fingers, she let out a hitched breath as he dropped his fingers lower to find her soaking wet for him. He let out a groan of his own at the revelation, coating the tips of his finger in her sweetness before bringing them back to her clit.

“Is that so Sylvie?” he whispered against her ear in a low guttural, animalistic tone, the heat of his breath caressing her skin and she let out a moan as she buried her head into his shoulders. Her hand reached for the buttons on his trousers with need. But he swiftly grabbed her by the ass lifting her onto the kitchen counter.

“Then who is it that you are interested in Sylvie?” he said, as he parted her thighs, trailing along her leg with his nose and lips, drinking in the scent of her, she smelled so damned good, before he began slowly and tentatively licking the insides of them, digging his fingers firmly into the softness of her thighs until he reached her dripping wet cunt. His cock strained, begging to be released at the taste of her. He brought his tongue over her wetness, Gods she was so wet for him. He worked his tongue over her clit as her breathing became more rapid, her chest raising and falling heavily, her moans of pleasure nearly sent him over the edge. She was close, he could tell as he alternated pressure on her.

But before she could reach her climax he lifted his head to again meet her gaze.

“Who is it Sylvie?” he asked, his voice rough, practically begging to hear the sound of his name on her lips.