He remained restless. The cloying scents that had blanketed the pack as female after female reached their season was beginning to fade—a reprieve, perhaps.
But Mae had been sullen the past while. The fierce stubbornness she had held before had dwindled to fatigue and she remained withdrawn from him—avoiding him.
At night, he lie awake, watching her as she slept. The rise and fall of her chest reassured him—but in the break of daylight each day, she would wake, and rather the spitfire girl emerge from the den, instead he was met with a girl who remained listless… lethargic.
He stalked the borders this one day. The glinting sun cast itself upon Silvertongue, and he felt a surge of something—he could not place it. He began to near her, gaze intent, studying her with a partial smile that did not truly meet his eyes.
She sensed something in him—reading his mood without a word to be spoken, and then she was in his arms, melding them together as she swiftly knocked all thought from his mind that did not involve the lissome woman in his embrace.
He could not dwell on just how right she felt there, against him—how she smelled… Her heart was unavailable, that much had been made clear.
She had laid their terms out quite plainly in their first interlude—it would do him no good to linger on possibilities of anything further. But that did not mean he would not enjoy these stolen moments, and as she seared him with kisses, eager for him, he found the rumble of his chest a more feral sound, his own kisses returned with a need for release of it all.
He shifted. His teeth trailing heated kisses to her collarbone--murmuring to her words of endearment in whatever language came to mind at the time--gaelic, french, english... No word in any dialect could truly describe how he felt in that moment.
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Her words returned to him—her tongue foreign and yet the touch of her with a promise he understood well. He couldn’t get close enough to her—she was a treasure to be ravished, and he would do so, as many times as she would let him.
“Need you,” he rasped, and from there he would position her roughly, exploring her intimately and to the edge of their dance, only to stop before the implosion of it all—allowing it to fade before he would begin another onslaught. All of it to forget for the moment, and to hear his name sing from her lips.
His name. Only his name.