"I know what you need, my princess." Roarke trailed kisses along her jaw and down her throat, licking along her collarbone and just below. She stood on her toes as if the very act of doing so would align her aching breasts with his mouth.
But he continued to tease her, swirling his tongue just above the swell of her breasts. His hands moved over her waist, then her hips, before traveling to her buttocks. He squeezed the twin globes there, then raised his head, crushed his mouth to hers and lifted her off the ground.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and he pushed her back against the wall of the falconry, rocking his erection against her pussy.
"Roarke, please," she cried, raining kisses along his throat, finally licking at that spot where his pulse pounded erratically against his neck.
"What do you seek, Solara? Tell me what you want." Read my mind. You know my thoughts. You know my needs.
Aye, but I want to hear it. Talk to me, faerie. Tell me what you desire.
I need release. I want you to make love to me. I want your thick cock buried deep inside me. Please, Roarke.
In response, he muttered a curse and set her down until her feet touched the ground, then tore open her shift, baring her breasts. He covered them with his hands, finding her sensitive nipples and plucking them until they stood hard and needy. He bent over her, licking first one tip, then the other, until she could not think, could not breathe, could not do anything but experience the glorious sensations catapulting through her.
She reached for him, desperately needing to feel him in her hands.
"Not yet, faerie. Right now we will see to your needs."
Before she could utter a protest, he turned her around so her back rested against his chest. His fingers grazed her thighs as he raised her shift and gently slid his palm over the curls of her sex. He unlaced his breeches, his hot, hard cock pressing against her buttocks.
Despite his heavy breathing and the rigid length of his shaft thrusting between the globes of her rear, he was surprisingly gentle in his quest of her pussy. He lightly trailed his fingers over the swollen lips of her sex, slipping his fingers between the folds and finding the nub. With fingers moistened from the juices of her arousal, he circled her clit in relentless pursuit of her release.
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.
Chapter Eight
"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 dream
ed 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.
*
Trista inhaled sharply and pulled back on the reins of her horse. Looming ahead of them was the castle of Braedon, King of Greenbriar. The sun glinted off the moat like a shining beacon. For the first time in her life, she wondered if her impulsive nature had led her to make the wrong choice. 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 B
raedon, 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.
"This is the father of my bride and king of D'Naath, Fraynor." Her father nodded and also shook Braedon's hand.
"I welcome you to Greenbriar."
Once again, he stared at her. Surely he didn't think she was Solara. If so, she would have to correct that misconception immediately. She was not destined to marry this man.
If she had her way, she would marry no man that she did not choose for herself.
Open your mouth and say something, Trista, before your father or Garick does. It would have to be now or she would have made the trip for nothing.
Slipping her hand from her father's, she stepped boldly in front of him, trying to quell the shaking of her legs.
Braedon frowned as she stood before him and looked her up and down, assessing her from head to foot. Heat that had nothing to do with the sun had her flapping her wings to create a cooling breeze.
She tried a polite smile, but his facial expression did not change.
Did the man know how to smile? Maybe he was completely toothless. A grim line sealed his lips together.
Where was her voice? She swallowed and tried to speak, but no sound came out. If she did not say something soon, all would be lost.
"Braedon of Greenbriar, I am Trista, faerie princess of D'Naath and younger sister of your betrothed, Solara. I wish to speak." Her voice quaked and squeaked, but she pressed on. The last thing she wanted was for her father or Garick to stop her.
Braedon arched a brow, then nodded. "State your piece." Breathing a sigh of relief that he had given her permission to continue, she nodded, wiping the sweat from her palms onto her shift.
"Trista," her father warned under his breath. She ignored him.
You can do this, Trista. Remember, it is for Solara.
"I am here to ask for release for Solara. It is my right as kin to request that you choose another bride, and that Solara be released from her betrothal to you."
"Trista!"
She winced at the sound of her father's booming voice, refusing to turn around and see what she knew would be his very angry face.