Solara reached behind her to clutch Roarke’s legs, barely able to stand. She cried out as he teased her entrance with his fingers, slipping just the tip inside her pussy.
“Please,” she begged, so near release that tears of frustration trickled down her cheeks. “Please, Roarke, I need you inside me.”
His whisper against her ear was harsh, tinged with the frustration they both felt. “I cannot fuck you, faerie, no matter how much we both want it.”
She didn’t understand. She no longer had the virginity barrier, having long ago dispensed with it by using the tubara stick in seeking her own pleasure. It was common for faerie to have no hymen when they reached the marriage bed.
“Oh, but I would know, and so would you. On my honor, I cannot fuck you.”
“Damn you, Roarke.” She whimpered, the combination of her deep arousal and frustration taking its toll.
The inability to become one with him when she so desperately needed it compounded the tension building inside her. And still, Roarke continued to stroke her sex, taking her ever higher to the edge of the cliff.
He licked the spot between her neck and shoulder, then grazed his teeth along her tender skin. When he bit down, she cried out, sparks of painful pleasure setting her afire.
“I cannot take this, Roarke. Please.”
He bit again, harder this time, at the same time driving his finger between the folds of her pussy. Her legs would not hold up and he wrapped one arm around her waist to steady her.
“Come for me, princess. Come hard. Scream for me like you never will for another man.” No other man could ever make her feel what Roarke made her feel. No other man would ever be able to elicit the response she gave him.
The tension built inside her like rushing water beating against a weakened dam wall. She felt it push at her, felt his fingers at her core, his thumb circling her engorged clit, and she could not hold back the torrent.
The dam burst and she screamed her orgasm, grinding her buttocks against his swollen cock and flooding his fingers with her juices.
He held tight to her, murmuring into her ear as she rode out the tidal wave of pleasure. Roarke stroked her hair, kissed her neck, then turned her around to face him, regarding her with a heated expression that nearly set her on fire.
With a low growl he laid her on the ground, lifting the shift above her hips and roughly spreading her legs apart.
She held her breath, afraid to move or speak, knowing what he wanted, what he needed, because it was the same thing she’d wanted since the moment she laid eyes on him.
His cock was swollen, the veins pulsing. The head of his shaft was purple and engorged. He squeezed the tip between his thumb and forefinger, droplets of pre-come spilling over his hand.
“Is this what you want, faerie? My cock in your cunt?”
“Yes,” she whispered, lifting her hips as if to guide him to her entrance.
“Then it’s what you shall have. Because by all that is magical, I cannot hold back any longer.” He reached for her sex, dipping his finger against the entrance to her core and spreading her silken fluid on the tip of his shaft. “You feel like soft butter, princess. Hot, creamy, butter. Tell me, are you as hot on the inside?”
“Make love to me Roarke. Make love to me now, and you will see.” He surged forward, then suddenly stopped.
She waited expectantly for him to plunge his heated shaft inside her, her body on fire for him.
But he did not move. Instead he backed away, tucking his hard shaft into his breeches and lacing them back up. He pulled her roughly to her feet and picked the straw from her shift.
“I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?”
He laughed, but it was bitter, not full of joy or the promise of pleasures to be shared. “You did nothing, Solara. It was my mistake entirely.”
Not again. Oh please, do not do this to me again.
“I almost fucked you. And that I swore I would not do. You are a temptation I cannot resist, Solara, and yet I must. We must. You are betrothed to another. Braedon deserves a virgin on his wedding night, and a virgin he shall have.”
He turned from her, opened the door and walked out, leaving her alone in the gathering darkness.
“He is so consumed with honor and duty, he cannot see past his chivalrous attitude to realize we are meant to be together.”
Solara muttered out loud and paced her bedchambers. She had not slept at all last night, her body quaking with the need to be possessed by Roarke. A need that, once again, had gone unfulfilled. Last night’s play had merely whetted her appetite for more.
More that had not been forthcoming.
“He thinks he can simply toy with me and use me, taking me to the brink of insanity over and over again, only to cast me aside as if I’m a trollop and he’s the gallant knight of honor.” She picked up a pillow and tossed it at the window. Sounds of the guards’ activities echoed over the courtyard and into the half open window. She heard Roarke’s voice bellowing out orders to the master guard taking over his training duties, but refused to look down upon the yard to watch him.
The morning sun sparkled bright and high in the sky, and yet Solara still had not gone downstairs. She’d been to see Noele already. Her sister remained abed, still apparently too ill to tend to her duties. After that, she returned to her chambers.
She couldn’t very well hide up here all day, although the thought was tempting. If not for Noele, she wouldn’t leave the room until Garick returned and she was on her way to Greenbriar.
Avoiding Roarke was not possible, unfortunately. She would simply have to endure him until it came time for her to leave.
After last night, it was a certainty he would not touch her again. He’d taken her to such heights of ecstasy, to a place she had never dreamed existed.
But he had left himself unfulfilled, all because he refused to take her virginity.
She stretched her wings and raised her arms, hoping to diffuse some of the tension inside her.
Tension caused by sexual frustration, no doubt. If she weren’t a virgin, she wouldn’t be having these problems.
She stilled, her thoughts jumbling one on top of another as an idea surged forward.
If she were not a virgin, Braedon would not want to marry her.
If she were not a virgin, there would be hope for her and Roarke.
No, she couldn’t. Dismissing the thought as a very bad idea, she started to leave her room, then stopped again, turning and walking to the window to peer down at Roarke.
How would her family react? Would she be disgraced? She wouldn’t be the first faerie princess to forego marriage to a king in favor of physical pleasures with a commoner. It had been done before.
Her parents loved her, as did her sisters. They would forgive her. Another princess could marry Braedon. There were other kingdoms. Other potential brides for the southern king. Why did it have to be her?
In frustration she flopped onto the chaise and stared into the dark, cold hearth, realizing there was no way she could ever be with Roarke. As much as she wanted him, she would not disgrace her family. She had a duty to perform, and she was honor bound to do so.
Hopeless. Her wants, her needs, did not matter. To anyone.
Except her.
Could she not control one aspect of her life? Did she have no power at all?
Then she smiled. Perhaps she did wield some power, small though it might be.
Roarke may have done the honorable thing by not making love to her, but he’d certainly taken her to the brink and beyond, before stopping abruptly and leaving her aching with want for him. Toying with her, teasing her, heating her, then tossing a cold bucket of water over her inflamed senses.
Perhaps it was time she showed him exactly what he
wasn’t
going to have.
Soon, it would be time for her to leave. By now, Garick and Trista would have arrived at Greenbriar, delivering the message of her delay and heading back to Winterland.
She did not have many days left here.
But what time she did have, she would make of good use.
Before Garick and Trista returned, Solara would make certain Roarke knew exactly what he was letting go.
* * * * *
No, she was certain she was doing the right thing. Telling Braedon of Greenbriar that Solara did not want him would release her sister from having to marry. Braedon could simply choose another wife, and Solara would be free to marry whomever she chose.
For love, not for duty. The way it should be with all of them.
Temperatures soared once they’d reached the southern lands. She’d long ago pulled off her cloak, then discarded the heavy overdress until all she wore was her sleeveless shift. She opened and stretched her wings, thankful for the freedom the warmth allowed. Now if only she could fly instead of sitting on the horse Garick had provided her.
Reluctantly, she pulled forth her overdress and refastened it around her shift, feeling the heat press down on her.
“Are you tired?” Garick asked, sidling his horse beside hers.
She’d purposely evaded Garick for nearly a week, speaking minimally to him in order to avoid confessing her plot to keep Solara from having to marry Braedon.
“Aye. I am anxious to get back home.”
“As am I. Hopefully Braedon will be understanding, and we can impart the news of Solara’s delay, turn around and head back to Winterland.”
And in the process, allow Solara the time she needed alone with Roarke. What would happen when they returned, she did not know. But she was hoping Braedon would give up on Solara and allow her to make her own choice of mate.
This custom of the faerie princesses having to marry a king was ridiculous. Too many faerie and elvin laws were antiquated and should be changed. Trista’s own marriage to a king was coming up soon, although in her case one had not yet been chosen. The king she had been betrothed to since birth had died two years earlier, leaving no siblings and no other heirs. Had he lived, she would have been domiciled in lands adjacent to Noele. But since the king had no heirs, Garick had taken in the kingdom of Boreas as his own, so the people would be protected.
She glanced to her other side at her father, who had insisted upon accompanying them to Greenbriar. In truth, this made her deception more complex, as her father knew her better than anyone. When they’d arrived in D’Naath, the first thing he’d asked upon hearing of Solara’s disappearance was whether she had any part in it.
Trista denied it, of course. Her father would be furious if he knew what she had done.
The castle loomed before them, surrounded by lush green meadows littered with bright yellow wildflowers. The sun sat high in the sky, illuminating the gray stones until they glittered like silver.
As if they were expected, the gates opened as soon as the front hooves of the lead horses struck the wooden planks of the drawbridge. Trista’s throat went dry at the thought of having to go through with this charade. Yet she loved Solara and would do anything to see her sister happy.
If only Garick and her father would let it happen.
But she knew protocol, knew if she spoke first, her words would be heard.
They rode through the gates into a courtyard littered with people, who suddenly stopped and stared in awe.
At her.
Heaven’s stars! Hadn’t any of these people ever seen a faerie before?
But as she looked at them, she realized they were different from her, from Garick, from any people she knew.
By all that was magic, these people were humans! She fought hard to think, wondering if her father had ever mentioned that the people of Greenbriar were neither elvin nor faerie, but human.
Surely she would have remembered a fact as important as that.
An entourage approached, several men holding swords flanking one in the middle.
The one in the center was extremely tall. As tall as Garick and Roarke, she would guess.
Garick dismounted, as did her father, who came over to help her down. She stayed behind her father, curious and yet still shocked at having her first glimpse of humans.
Not that different from elvin or faerie men, actually. Although the faerie men tended to be shorter in stature than the others.
She squinted in the heated sunlight, trying to make out the features of the dark shapes approaching them.
Her father reached for her hand and she grasped his fingers with gratitude, suddenly more nervous than she expected.
This plan had sounded much better in theory. Now that the time approached, she wondered if she would be brave enough to see it through.
Peering around the ample girth of her father, her eyes widened as the giant in the center of the crowd came into view.
“Stars,” she whispered against her father’s back. The man was beautiful. Dark brown hair bore golden-flecked streaks as if kissed by the very sun that shone down on them. Eyes as blue as the southern sea studied her.
What he could see of her, anyway.
His lips were full, his face clean shaven, rugged, his skin dark as if he spent his time outdoors. His ears were small and flat, nothing like the elvin men she was accustomed to meeting. Kind of funny-looking ears, actually. Where were the points?
But his body had surely been shaped by celestial beings. Broad-shouldered, muscles stretched taut against his leather jerkins, lean-waisted with strong legs.
For the first time in her life, Trista was incapable of speech. Not a very good thing, considering what she must do.
“Braedon of Greenbriar, we finally meet. I am Garick of Winterland.” This was Braedon, king of the southern lands? Perhaps she was remiss in keeping Solara from such a fine specimen of man. No, not true. No matter his beautiful appearance, this man was not destined for Solara.
“’Tis good to finally meet the king of the northern lands.” He held out his hand and clasped Garick’s.