by May Sage
She didn't seem to like that, not one bit. From her expression, it was a good thing that the woman was presently mute. He might have been in for a world of verbal abuse, otherwise.
“I get it,” he swore. “But darling, it's a dragon. I have one child. I'm not prepared to take chances with him.”
While her gaze could still have killed, it softened a tiny little bit.
She turns to Seb and signed, explaining that Drake wasn't even a full year old; he wasn't dangerous. Even threatened, he couldn't spit waterfire. Seb walked up and, adventurous as always, reached out to stroke it; the dragon immediately uncurled from Silvia, jumping to Seb's level, and pushed his head into his open hand, demanding a harder scratch.
Ok. Not exactly a soulless monster.
Silvia turned to Erik, still antagonizing, but also triumphant, and visibly proud of her freaky little pet. He held her gaze, because looking into her deep blue eyes was a safer option than allowing his eyes to roam anywhere else.
Sometime within the next few seconds, she became conscious of her attire – or rather, her complete lack of it.
He’d imagined many possible reactions; she could have blushed, tried to cover up as best she could, shown some anger over the fact that he couldn’t help the occasional peak, but the damn woman laughed.
“That’s not very kind,” he told her, aware that her amusement was mainly due to his visible uneasiness.
Erik finally relaxed: he’d been uncomfortable because he’d expected some sort of accusation, and there would have been no way to deny that he was an ass for staring like a pervert.
But she didn’t mind. Fuck, that meant he could openly look, right?
By the time he’d figure out that, no, her lack of inhibition wasn’t an excuse for fucking her with his eyes, she’d started to turn around, walking towards the ocean.
God that ass! A voluptuous, perfectly rounded, juicy little ass...
Erik managed to pull himself out of the daze just as she made it to the water. No. No way. He was not letting her slip through his fingers again.
Before he'd consciously chosen to do so, his hand was around her waist; the intention had been to keep her in place for an instant but a jolt of electricity froze him as soon as his skin touched hers.
He took a while to find his words.
“Come to the house, there will be some clothes there. It's lunchtime, you should eat with us – Seb isn't ready to let go of your little freak.”
Just as he wasn't ready to let go of her, yet. If ever.
Silvia averted her gaze, looking at Seb and Drake and after consideration, sighed and nodded.
Erik called the kid before doing the gentlemanly thing and walking ahead, fighting the urged to stare at the most sensual women he'd ever laid eyes on.
•
She'd loved the castle of the Denkerian King, but given a choice, she'd move into Erik’s house instead; it was just as magnificent, but more like her.
To a girl who’d grown up in Fortswood, it was small. Built for a household of ten, twelve at most, the vast pale building – with its flat roof, the columns and the open space – belonged in a southern antique village. Yep, she was drooling a little bit.
Looking around, she wondered just who Erik was: she wasn't sure she could have afforded this place. It wasn’t the actual building as much as the subtly luxurious decoration. The walls were trimmed with gold and incrusted with precious stones, they walked on polished marble and the curtains seemed to have been made of wild silk.
Seb was yelling enthusiastic exclamations as Drake took his landside form; she signed an invitation to try and play fetch with him, a suggestion the child was soon putting in practice, throwing random things across the house. Oops.
Silvia apologetically turned to Erik, wondering how many things they'd brake, but judging by his expression, the man didn't give a damn about the vases and sculptures.
His look did violently remind her of her state of nakedness. Silvia wasn't particularly self conscious, it wouldn't be the first or last time a human saw her without clothes, but his eyes, without ever lowering from hers, were very... intrusive. Penetrating.
He bit back a curse, attempting to find something – anything – to focus on. Twenty seconds in, he was back to square one, stealing yet another peak.
She just had to release a soundless laugh, finding a little notepad on a desk and writing:
“You're a boob man, then?”
Where the hell had that come from? That had to be flirting; which meant that it was rather cold in hell, now it had entirely frozen over.
Silvia had never felt inclined to flirt. She was all for sexual release, but as far as she was concerned, it was a straightforward give and take; when a single man she was attracted to made his interest for her known, she went out with him, paid half the bill, made him suck and lick her flesh, sucked and liked his in return.
She'd planned to get to the penetrative part of intercourses when she'd met someone whose tongue made her feel better than – or at least, as good as – her fingers, but it hadn't occurred yet.
At no point had she taken time for coquettish teasing in her plan; a childish “do you like my boobies?” was way off character Of course he liked them: he was staring at them like they were made of candy.
Here she was, though. Flirting. She was doubly breaking her rules as it happened to be with a taken man.
What was wrong with her?
“Not particularly,” he lied, directing her towards the stairs, a hand resting on her naked back.
It was very cruel of him; as soon as he touched her skin, everything in her burned, set alight. Dammit, her inside clenched, moistened, preparing to take him in. That was a basic, visceral reaction she couldn't justify.
“There will be clothes in the wardrobe, help yourself.”
He turned to leave, but stopped to add: “And Silvia?”
For the first time, he let his gaze take it all in from her legs to her bust, lingering over every dips and curves.
Ok, she blushed. It may never have occurred in the past, but she was pretty sure that the sudden warmth spreading all over her face meant that she’d turned to an attractive shade of tomato.
“Cover the damn boobs.”
•
Against the door. No, no, at the feet of the bed, bent over. Or better yet: on the floor, right where she'd stood, that luscious ass in the air.
The details barely mattered.
The water was frigid and he wondered how that was supposed to help; he'd aimed the shower head straight at his dick, and it still failed to go down.
Actually, he kinda liked the feel of it, the pressure was doing interesting stuff to his groins.
The only option was to take things in his hand. He closed his eyes, visualizing the dozen ways he would have taken Silvia Undine, if the circumstances had been ever so slightly different.
In a perfect world, Seb would have been at school, Erik would have been single, and she wouldn't have had the most mouthwatering pussy in the kingdom.
Yeah, he wasn’t a boob man. No even a little bit. Hers were gorgeous, though, which had been a very welcome distraction from the lower part of her body.
Her thighs were muscular and firm, but also very feminine – certainly not a pair of matchsticks – and they curved in a way that left a distinct triangular gap. That meant that instead of just getting a full frontal of her smooth skin, he go a plunge view of the pussy lips between her legs, too.
From the back, she was just as decadent. Her ass cheeks were perky, taunt, firm, and to make things worse, they were real. They obeyed to the laws of gravity when she walked. They bounced. They freaking bounced.
The rhythm of his hand quickened as he felt his release approaching, and soon enough he was coming, hard.
All better now.
Up until it wasn’t, three minutes later, when he was imagining her again.
Erik walked into the drawing room and wondered what sort of lowly creature he might h
Fate was a cruel bitch, to show him the life he should have led, before taking it all back.
Silvia was playing, chased by both Seb and her freak; the child had never laughed so hard, so freely. Since he’s started school two years ago, he’d become a withdrawn, careful boy, always wondering where he should – could – step. He’d met other kids and seen firsthand that he had powers he knew nothing of. Seb had done his utmost to avoid setting them off, which meant that he checked everything before acting.
With Silvia, though, he let go, allowing himself to be a kid.
Too overwhelmed to carry on watching a parody of his idea of a perfect world, there, in front of him, but completely inaccessible, Erik left them to it, making for the kitchens instead.
Some staff popped in once a week to tidy up the beach house and replenish the fridge, but there was no cook, no servant here; his mother had meant for it to be their family home, a place where they could be normal.
Erik had learnt to cook in this kitchen. He didn’t use to be great at it, but he’d persevered, somehow considering it a necessary accomplishment, as important as swordplay and politics, a step above ballroom dancing.
Now he got why. In the next room, there was a boy and a woman who would eat what he made from scratch. They might even enjoy it.
Why couldn’t he stop smiling? Such a simple thing.
He shook it off and cracked an egg.
Ok, there was a good chance that smile was permanently plastered on his face. Silvia was impressed. In fact, he was pretty sure that if he’d had a ring handy, he would have stood a fair chance right this moment, if the way she licked her lips for the third time, before closing her eyes in obvious delight, was any indication.
“That’s not daddy’s best,” Seb informed her. “The pies are better than the eggs.”
High five, little one. Sebastian was a great supporter to have on your corner.
The woman loved her food and his skills in the kitchen were a huge point on his favor.
That was what it was about. Scoring point. People drew pro and con lists about each suitor they encountered and chose the most suitable one.
He’d never had to, with Silvia. Before he’d even read her name, he’d wished he could get to know her, and it had nothing to do with her physical appearance, her knowledge, her identity; what he’d been after was the heart he’d had a glimpse of.
She was the kind of person who put everything in the line for others. That was how she treated strangers; what would it be like to be loved by her?
“Yes, we’re on holiday,” he lied when she asked, shooting Seb a plea, and somehow, the child got it; he grinned, but held his tongue.
There wasn't such a thing as a holiday from being King and Seb had three weeks before the nearest break, but a spreader beam wouldn't pull him away from the beach house right now.
“How long are you in Denker for?”
She had to consider that, biting her lip as she thought it out. Shit. First licking, then biting. She was ruthless. He shifted to hide the twitch of his dick.
“A few days, yet; then, I am sailing for an island in the Dark Triangle.”
Erik narrowed his eyes, not because every ship avoided that area – he knew better than to question a mer – but because of Silvia’s expression after she divulged that piece of information; she visible blanched. Why was it making her apprehensive?
“What’s on this island?”
“Home,” she wrote, still guarded.
While Erik wasn’t going to drop that particular bone permanently, he also knew when to step back and calm a skittish mare.
“Well, stay with us,” he offered, attempting to sound somewhat casual. “There’s enough food for an army.”
“And I can play with Drake!” Seb chimed in, working the dimples, the rosy cheeks, and the little gap on his front tooth.
He meant business.
After a beat, she nodded. Good. No need to plan a kidnapping.
He didn’t know why he needed her here, when her proximity was so freaking painful, however letting her go wasn’t an option.
Damn if he wasn’t fucked, and not in the way he’d like to be.
The woman played chess like a pro, without even trying. He did save face by saying he had been distracted by Seb and the meal he hadn’t wanted to burn, but they both knew she’d completely whipped his ass.
The second round, after dinner, was an eye opener. He lasted thirty minutes, before realizing that she freaking owned the board; whatever move he made, he’d be toast, she had him ten different ways.
She was smart – smarter than him – and that was so damn hot. The smile she shot him resonated all the way to his crotch, like everything else she did.
“Lose the innocent grin, wench. I’m not going to fall for it again.”
He’d fall everyday, every time, without fail.
The plan had been to prohibit any physical interaction, yet, as thought they’d been blessed with a will of their own, his fingers were brushing her forehead, pushing a strand of golden hair off her eyes.
“There’s more than you reveal in there.”
She didn’t give her full potential, he was certain of it; the fact that she’d yet to take his King, when she’d so completely controlled the board, was proof of that.
He didn’t think it was out of the goodness of her heart; if she’d wanted to play nice, she might have let him win.
Erik thought he’d understood it; amongst strangers, he didn’t mention his name, to make them believe he was one of them. To be accepted.
She was dumbing herself down to fit in and it pissed him off. He wanted to see and know her on every level.
The atmosphere was thick with layers of barely concealed want and need, now Seb was in bed. The game of chess had cut through it, for a time, but if anything, it was worse now.
She managed to completely disperse it by writing the one thing that could have made his erection go down:
“Where is the fiancée, by the way?”
Effective. She was right, they had to keep Vanessa’s existence in mind; not because she mattered in the least, but because succumbing to temptation now could and would give Silvia the wrong idea.
Erik wasn’t a cheat; he didn’t take promises, pledges and agreements lightly.
He would resist. If only she stopped glancing at his lips like she wanted a taste.
Fuck it.
•
“Ah. Dear Vanessa. You might have heard that my son and I were in a ship wreck a while back? Well, she took us back to the village. It was logical for me to court her: people said she saved us.”
Hell if she did! Silvia grabbed her pen, all but ready to write something very rude, in capital letters, but he was hitting her with a second arrow before she could read a piece of paper.
“She’s in my bed,” he told her, without averting his eyes, taking in the expression she was attempting to keep blank; but it had been a direct hit and she knew he could read the hurt. “And I sincerely doubt she’s there alone. She’s gone as soon as I can prove it; the position is all but vacant. Feel free to drop in your application.”
She had to laugh, although that hurt, too.
Application. It was how it worked, she was well placed to know it. Most of her school friends were married to rich or noble men and she’d helped them all fill in the questionnaires. Questions such as their political connections, net value, the state of their hymens were common.
Silvia knew she was a strong applicant on paper; actually, now people knew of her parentage, many called her the most eligible lady of Europa. She could probably wed anyone she set her eyes on.
Something else she’d owe to who she knew: the husband she’d get.
She didn’t want to be on a line of rational possibility; not even first on the line. She wanted what her mother had promised her.
According to Amphitrite, who’d never lied to her, everyone in the world had one person actually meant for them, a person who had no other choice than to love another unconditionally, because that was part of them.
Humans generally didn’t find their other halves: there were too many people in the world and hormones could get in the way, confusing lust for love and love for destiny.
Silvia wasn’t human; the forty nine percent of mortal blood in his veins was dormant, overthrown by the rest. She’d live forever, if she didn’t do anything silly; she had all the time in the world to find her man, in this life or his next one.
She wanted it, wanted him, the one who was made for her, the one who wouldn’t need an application to claim her as his.
However, she also had to acknowledge that the forty nine percent of mortal blood did like to make itself heard, from time to time.
Lust was a pain; she curbed it, ignored it, up until Erik told her about the whore.
She’d know the Melusine wasn’t faithful, but the fact that he did, too, changed the game.
She didn't really know when that particular decision was made, but sometime within the next few seconds, she was on her knees, slowly unzipping Erik’s strained trousers without looking away from his dark eyes.
He was shocked into stillness, at first, but when she took him in her hand, everything disappeared under a cloud of lust and the next instant, she was against a column, his tall frame caging her in.
Then, he kissed her and the world ended, exploding around them. Oh, yes.
He grabbed her by the waste and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Damn. She felt him through her dress and he was gloriously hard; she couldn't help herself from grinding against him.
He groaned in her mouth, before completely shedding the trousers, which fell on his ankles, and pushing her dress up; she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, as borrowing a stranger’s panties hadn’t appealed to her, somehow.
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