“His name’s Rata, and he’s a squirrel,” she reminds me.
I roll my eyes. “Truly don’t give a fuck. Did the rat get the keys for you?”
“He did,” she affirms with a little lift of her eyebrow.
“Where is he?” Little fucker could be hiding anywhere and I don’t have all day to search for him.
“Probably outside with Ruxi and Svend,” she tells me with a shrug. “Why?”
“Go get him for me. Now.”
“I’m busy. If you need him…” She frowns, her gaze tracking to the shackles around my wrists. “Right.” Shaking her head with a frustrated exhale, she lifts her hands to her hips in the gesture I’ve grown to love. I don’t know if she realizes what it does to her tits when she lifts them just right, but I thank the gods my huffish little skjaldmær prefers this stance when she’s annoyed with me. “Is it important?” she asks, dragging my attention away from the nipples starting to respond to my presence.
“Would I be asking if it weren’t important?” I point out, the epitome of reasonable patience, despite her delays.
“Yes, you probably would,” she counters.
And, okay, she might be right. I’ve been known to be demanding.
“Yes, it’s important.”
“Fine. Stay here. I don’t want to have to track you down.”
I smirk, pushing past her into her room and heading straight to her dresser to lean against it. “I’ll entertain myself while you’re gone.”
“Stay out of my drawers,” she barks, glancing at one of them and then back up at me.
“Of course,” I agree. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
It’s not those I’m after, tempting as they are.
Finaan glares. She knows me well enough to realize what she’s unleashed, but she turns toward the hall anyway, letting the door slam behind her.
I go straight to the closet. That’s where she keeps what I want. A little heap lays in a basket, and I thank the gods she didn’t send them out to be laundered. Probably doesn’t want to risk having to leave without them. Digging through the little pile, I find my prize, and then another.
Her bed calls to me, so I take my treasure over there. Laying down on the side closest to the door, where she slept last night, I lift her underwear to my nose and inhale.
Fuuuuuck me. I am the most fortunate elven mongrel to ever walk any of these worlds.
My mate’s essence coats her garments, a tantalizing combination of clove and mint that somehow is perfectly Finaan. But these are not lightly worn. Theyoozethe scent of my skjaldmær’s cum. And I have no doubt whose imagedominated her thoughts when she released on her fingers, probably moaning my name.
I lay there, bound by her fragrance, unable to do anything except wallow in it until she returns. I’ve nothing to hide. She wouldn’t expect anything else from me.
I forgot she’d have the rat with her. Not that I’d have stopped if I had remembered that.
Still, I’m annoyed when he squeaks, “Ewww,” from the open door when they return. “Is he … smelling … your private clothes?” the rat asks in that shrill tone he likes to use.
Finaan rolls her eyes again—a charming response that I need to elicit more often—before walking over to snatch my prize out of my hands.
“Those are mine,” I bark, sitting up as I grab for them. But she moves too quickly, dancing out of my reach before I can take them back.
“I told you to stay away from my clothes,” she mutters as she opens the closet and tosses them back into her basket.
“What you told me,” I remind her, “is to stay out of your drawers. I did.”
She spins, narrowing her eyes at me. “Fuck, you’re frustrating,” she mumbles, slamming the closet door, as if that could stop me.
“And I always will be,” I tell my skjaldmær with a smirk. “Make no mistake.”
