Page 4 of The Bull's Beauty
“Please,”she’ll whimper, her hips rolling, her body begging for more.
Only then, when she’s writhing and desperate, when she’s chosen me as fiercely as I’ve chosen her, will I finally sink my cock into her.
And as her walls clench around me, her milk spilling over my fingers, as she comes with a cry that shakes the stars—
I’ll know it wasn’t because she surrendered to me. It will be becauseshe chose me.
That’s when I’ll claim her.
Not as my captive.
As my mate.
Chapter Four
Beatrice
Maeve is all sunshine this morning, standing beside the wagon with her hair braided and looped in gold cord. She laughs at something Dakar says as he is packing and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a soft smile.
I watch her from the edge of the drying line where clean linens flap like sails between us. My hands fumble with the clothespins, pretending to be doing something when I’m really just stalling, trying to gather the courage to say goodbye without wounding my pride completely.
We haven’t spoken since our fight. But now, she’s about to ride off with her warlord on a new adventure, and my heart twists sharply in my chest. I don’t want her to leave without knowing I don’t hate her. I could never hate her.
I step out from behind the linens and walk straight toward her. She looks at me when I’m halfway there, and her smile falters.
“Beatrice?” She says my name almost like a question.
She shifts as if she’s bracing for another argument. I walk up to her and, before I can talk myself out of it, I wrap my arms around her. She stiffens instantly, and for a breath, I think she might push me off. But then she melts, slowly, like snow on warm stone, her arms folding around me. I smell the rosemaryoil in her hair, and my throat tightens. I don’t know what to say. Just, “Take care of yourself.”
She pulls back enough to look at me, eyes wide. “You too, Bea. I’ll see you when I get back.”
I give her a half smile. “I’ll be here.” I lie as Dakar helps her climb into the cart. I don’t watch her leave. I just turn and walk away before I start crying.
The healer’s cottage smells like crushed pine and lavender oil and something sweetly sour. It’s warm inside despite the open door, a thin breeze stirring the pale curtains. Annie is bent over the central table, sleeves rolled, her curls tied back in a loose ribbon that’s already coming undone. She’s working on a poultice, fingers stained green, face pinched in focus as she grinds leaves into a paste with her small mortar and pestle.
She’s completely in her element, and for a second, I don’t want to interrupt her. She’s already found her place here. I wish I could say the same.
She glances up just as I step inside. “Oh, hi, Beatrice.” She gives me a sweet smile like she is genuinely happy to see me. Annie is the only one who ever looks at me that way.
“Didn’t expect you.”
I shrug like I don’t know why I’m here. “I wanted to see how things were going. Thought you might need someone to mock your herbal skills.”
She snorts. “You wouldn’t know comfrey from cow dung.”
My mouth drops open a little, then I grin. Annie is making fun of me? That’s new. She doesn’t throw jokes like that around, especially at someone else’s expense. Seeing her this comfortable is…nice.
“That’s probably true, but I know a fire hazard when I see one. Is that cauldron supposed to be boiling over like that?”
She yelps and rushes to the little stove in the corner, lifting the bubbling pot off the flame and muttering something under her breath. I stay near the door, leaning against the frame with my arms folded. She moves like she’s been here forever, not just a few months. She seems to have memorized every drawer and shelf, and I feel an aching feeling that whispers,You could’ve had this too, if you didn’t ruin everything.
She turns back, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’s going on?”
I blink. “Nothing.”
“Bea.”
“I just…wanted to check on you. In case things get busy.”
