Page 93 of The Seeker
“Anticipation is a beautiful thing,” he whispered. “Watching your pleasure was like seeing the sun rise.”
“And rise. And rise.” She smiled. “If you’re determined to play the martyr, then we should sleep.”
“No martyring for me.” He rolled to her side and drew her to his chest, pulling her leg over his thigh. It left his erection nestled between her thighs, making Meera groan. “I’m going to make myself very comfortable.”
“You’re not playing fair.”
“You’ve found me out.” His voice dropped. “When it comes to you, I do not aim to be fair. I want you to be mine and mine alone.”
His words cooled some of the heat in her blood. “Whoever becomes my mate will have to share me, Rhys. The heir of Anamitra belongs not only to herself but to the Irin world. I will never be able to ignore my duties. Have you thought about that?”
“I understand duty better than most. But I’m not talking about the heir, I’m talking about myreshon.”
“We are one and the same.”
“Tell me this, if the heir of Anamitra belongs to the world, does the world belong to her?”
No. No one belongs to me.
Rhys tilted her chin up. “Listen to me. The human poet Solomon spoke with the wisdom of heaven: ‘I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.’ Part of you may always belong to the world, but the whole of me would belong to you, Meera. Who better to care for the woman in the role than a scribe who was created by heaven to love her?”
Meera blinked. “That’s very logical.”
“Your gift of memory was given by heaven, and the Creator must know it would be a burden. So wouldn’t it make sense he would create for you areshoncapable of sharing that burden?”
Meera frowned. “Yes.”
He smiled. “So we are agreed. Logically, I am the best mate for you.”
“I’m not sure—”
“I do love reason.” He closed his eyes and tucked Meera’s head under his chin. “Makes decisions like this very simple.”
Tricky, tricky scribe. She knew he was taking advantage of the oxytocin flooding her system, but she couldn’t find it in her to protest. She was tired and all she wanted to do was cuddle.
“This is an ingenious debate strategy,” she said before she yawned. “Bring a woman to multiple orgasms, tire her out, flood her brain with positive hormones, then make your argument. Have you used this strategy in the past?”
“No, but I plan on using it often in the future.”
“Use it on anyone other than me, and I’ll hurt you.”
“Sha ne’ev reshon,” he murmured, “I would not even be tempted.”
She dreamedthat night of walking through a forest flooded with silver water reflecting the sky above her. She waded through stars as the distant sound of night birds called. But the wind didn’t carry the scent of salt and cypress to her nose. It carried the rustling sound of sugarcane and the wet, sweet scent of the fields beyond the haven.
Why are you walking in the forest when you know where your love resides?
The fox perched on the cypress stump, staring at her with bright green eyes.
“I don’t know love.” She knelt in front of it. “Show me your magic.”
I have no magic; I am merely a messenger.
“For whom?”
For you.
“Whose message do you carry?”
