The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bash

Bash staredat the ceiling as pre-dawn light filtered into his room, trying to do anything but think of her. He’d barely slept, his lips still tingling from her taste. Her touch. Margrete had branded him, right there on the beach. She had utterly destroyed him.

Never in his life had he felt so out of control. He needed control as much as he needed air. It helped him cope with the weight of his crown. It was the only way he could see clearly. Think clearly.

But now, that control was nonexistent.

He thought of that kiss. The way she crushed her lips to his, fearless and hungry. She’d pressed her soft body against him and gasped when she discovered him hard for her. But she’d only pushed against him more, her desire matching his own. He’d wanted to strip her bare and take her on the sands in the middle of the storm, and he was fairly certain she wouldn’t have protested.

He slid his hand below the covers. So much for not thinking about her.

Gods, he ached. He didn’t know if this blinding lust was from the remnants of the drug still flowing through his veins or if she’d simply affected him that severely. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he needed release before he died of want.

And certainly, before he saw her again this morning.

Bash closed his eyes, letting himself envision what might’ve been if he’d taken her right there on the sands. He would’ve stripped her of her clothing, allowing the rain to wet her golden skin. He’d have licked the raindrops from the hollow of her throat before moving on to explore the valley of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the apex of her thighs. Bash imagined tasting her there, and a groan escaped him at the thought of the sweet sounds she’d make when she released upon his tongue. How her head would roll back, and she’d call out his name.

His hand moved quickly beneath the covers as images of her writhing beneath him, eyes hooded in ecstasy, drove him closer to the edge.

He could almost feel the bite of her teeth as she nipped his lips, his throat, her hands pressing against his back in a demanding plea to move faster. Harder. She would match his every savage thrust, taking everything he gave her.

Pleasure ripped through him in a violent wave. He buried his face in his pillow to muffle the moan he couldn’t hold back.

Gods. All he had managed to do was torture himself further. Because now he desperately needed the real thing.

“Fuck,” he cursed, slipping out of bed to clean himself. After, he sat in his chair by the fire, resting his head in his hands. His breathing slowed, and his heartbeat gradually eased into a normal rhythm. Control was simply not possible when it came to her—and for some reason, Bash didn’t fear the loss of restraint. Not when it felt so damn good.

Too good.

Abandoning the fire and his wicked thoughts, he dressed in a rush, yanking on his boots and sliding a trembling hand through his hair. He glanced to his nightstand, at the book of fables his father had gifted him on his sixth birthday. For the past few days, he’d sent Margrete his favorite books along with her breakfast. After he found the old adventure novel, he circled her favored word for him—pirate—and sent it to her in hopes he’d get a reaction, though he wasn’t sure at the time why he craved such a thing.

But of course, when she ignored him at dinner that evening, he grew more determined.

So Bash delivered another the next morning, this one more…personal. When she smiled at him that night, he’d gone straight to the library after dinner to select more. And like a fool, he found he wanted nothing more than to see if a smile graced her full lips when she read the notes he scribbled on the pages. If they made her laugh.

Without another thought, Bash grabbed the book from the table, tucking it below his arm. He was restless, anxious to see her again, and when he walked into the hallway outside his room, the guards eyed him with curious expressions.

Of course, they quickly averted their stares when he shot them a look of warning. He was still a king, and he didn’t want his men witnessing him acting like a schoolboy.

Steeling his spine, he climbed the stairs and marched down the corridor to her room. With a nod to the guard, he placed his palm on the portal and inhaled a sharp breath as it cleared.

Her scent was everywhere. Floral. Innocent. Wild. She smelled of a summer’s day by the water, and he breathed her in as he arranged the book of fables on her dresser for her to discover later.

He turned toward the bed with a quickening pulse. Margrete was sound asleep, curled up on her side, her deep chocolate hair splayed across her pillow. He wanted to run his fingers through the strands, to feel the silken smoothness of them. He pictured her hair wrapped around his fist, her back arched—

Bash shook his head, cursing himself. He had to stop this madness before it consumed him.

Swallowing down his insatiable need for her, he took a seat beside her tiny frame, the mattress groaning beneath his weight. Gods, she was beautiful.

Focus, he chided, hesitantly raising his hand. It fell on her bare arm, the smooth skin warm beneath his calloused hand.

He gave her a gentle shake. Bash had come here for a reason. He told her he would share his secrets, and last night he decided that she should know what her father stole. What they were up against. Ultimately, he was starting to…trust her.

The thought sent his heart plummeting.

“Bash?” Margrete’s lids fluttered open, and he quickly withdrew his hand. “What are you doing here?” She sat up, wearing nothing but a flimsy ivory nightgown. His eyes drifted to the clear outline of her body. The thin material did little to hide the most tender parts of her—curves he wanted to map with his hands, his mouth, his...

He clenched his fists and forced himself to meet her sleepy stare.

Margrete’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, which was almost humorous given what they’d done last night.

Yanking the sheet above her chest, she lifted her hazel eyes to his.

“I wanted to show you something today. Explain some things.” He knew that was all she wanted—answers. “Dress, and I’ll return for you in twenty minutes.”

Bash stood and turned for the portal before she could utter a word in reply, not trusting himself around her when she looked like that, all soft and warm and inviting.

He cursed, marching past his guard, venturing to the open terrace below her chambers. It was the same one she nearly killed herself trying to get to. Gods, he wanted to wring her neck for her recklessness. He also hated how much it impressed him.

Bash let out a weary groan, propping his elbows on the railing. He listened to the song of the sea, trying and failing miserably to clear his mind. He must be under some sort of enchantment. That was the only explanation for this insanity. This hunger.

When twenty painstakingly slow minutes had come and gone, he pulled himself from the railing. His blood roared in his ears as he walked back to her chambers.

When he entered, she was dressed and sitting on her bed, cradling her injured palm as she looked to the balcony and the sea beyond. She was uncharacteristically quiet, and he found he missed the edge in her tone whenever she battled with him.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice coming out gruffer than he intended.

She turned to face him and nodded. Her steps were light as she walked to his side, following him through the portal and down the corridor to the stairs. Every now and then on their silent trek to the main floor, Bash stole glimpses of her, wondering if she was thinking about last night. If she’d lain awake in bed as he had.

“This is Azantian’s library,” he told her before pushing open a set of double doors off the main hall. Instantly, they were assaulted by a breeze of dust and the potent smell of old books. “And within these walls lay all the answers you’ve been searching for.”