The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea by Katherine Quinn

Chapter Forty-One

Margrete

It was nearlyeight in the evening when a knock sounded.

“Come in,” she called out, placing the book of poetry Bash had given her on the bed. She sat up and moved to the far edge of the mattress as the door swung open on its hinges. The sight of it was going to take some getting used to.

Bash shut the door behind him, his lips pursed as he strolled inside. Margrete noted how his jaw clenched, as if each step forward was physically painful.

“Good evening,” he offered, avoiding her eyes. Margrete’s aching heart throbbed against her ribs.

“Bash,” she replied. He shifted on his feet before running his hands through his disorderly strands. The subtle trembling of his fingers didn’t escape her.

Bash opened his mouth as if to speak but promptly shut it, glaring daggers into the wall instead. Margarete filled the uneasy silence.

“Adrian told me about what the council wants to attempt, and I have to say I agree with them.”

Bash’s eyes darted to her, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue.

“This is your last chance, Bash. If they can make this work, tie what remains of Malum’s Heart to another vessel and reinforce the gates, then they should.” She rose from the bed. She’d made up her mind.

“I...” he began as she slowly approached him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of the council meeting right away. Of what was said. I should have, but I—I simply couldn’t.”

“Why?” Margrete knew the answer, but she selfishly wanted to hear it from his lips.

His breathing hitched. “You know why, princess,” he said, voice cracking. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“I didn’t take you as a coward, Bash,” she teased, but it was strained.

Bash breathed in sharply and strode toward her, closing the distance. With fierce eyes brimming with anguish, he took hold of her arms. “You could die. You probably will die, even if they are successful.”

“It needs to be done, Bash.” She shook her head, tears prickling the back of her eyes. “It may be a long shot, but we need to do anything we can, no matter the risk. If we run out of time to procure the Heart, nothing will hold the beasts back. Especially with Ortum missing.”

If she died, then so be it. At least her sister and other innocents would be spared. She’d been making sacrifices her entire life, so what was one more?

Bash dropped his hands and turned, giving her his back. She could see how his frame shook.

“There has to be something else we can try,” he murmured, beginning to pace. “I wish Ortum was here to help guide us.” His voice broke on the name of his advisor and friend. “I’ve lost too much, Margrete, and for years I made it my life’s mission to protect this island and its people. To put everyone else before myself, and just when I find—just when I find something that could bring me joy, the gods decide to take that away, too.” He stilled and twisted around to face her. His admission warmed her soul. “None of this is fair.”

She sighed. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be.”

It felt decided at that moment, her fate cemented. Death hovered on the horizon—ready to finally devour her—and all she wanted was one more night with him. To act as if they had all the tomorrows to explore what could have been.

She boldly took his hand in hers. “It’s all right, truly,” she promised, praying he believed her even as her voice wavered. “It has to be done.”

Bash wrapped his warmth around her, the raging storm in his eyes beginning to settle. Outside, beyond the balcony, the air sizzled with electricity. Margrete smelled the promise of rain, and she welcomed it.

“I will always cherish our beginning, Bash,” she whispered. “Not many are lucky enough to even have that.”

He didn’t speak, but his nostrils flared slightly as he processed the meaning behind her words: that this could be the end of their story. A story that fate cut short.

She thought he planned to release her when his grip on her hand loosened, but then Bash did the unexpected.

“No,” he hissed. “I’m not chancing your death. Not on some last-minute plan that may or may not work.” That spark she loved returned to his eyes, the golden flecks igniting. “And no one but me is going to touch you,” he vowed, right before pulling her into his arms.

Bash tucked her against his heaving chest and his velvety mouth fell to her lips. His fingers were in her hair, grabbing at the back of her neck, keeping her in place as his tongue traced the seam of her lips and explored. His movements were savage, and she tasted his passion with every bruising kiss. Kisses she was helpless but to return with a fervor of her own.

He moved his free hand to cup her cheek, his fingers pressing into her smooth skin, and Margrete leaned into his demanding touch as she kissed him back. Their desperation grew into something beautifully wild, and she could feel his need for her push against her stomach, her hips arching in response.

Bash let out a deep groan as she glided her body up and down his length, her nails digging into his muscled back as she held him in place. When he bit her bottom lip, she released a soft moan, the noise seeming to drive him mad.

With an eager touch, Bash trailed his hands over her body, and a barely audible hiss left her when he traced the swell of her breast. His mouth devoured the sound as though he couldn’t bear not savoring it.

“Bash,” Margrete murmured when he abandoned her lips to plant kisses up and down the length of her neck.

“Yes, princess?” He spoke against her skin, which burned and tingled everywhere he touched.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. It’ll only make things harder,” she whispered, trying to remember why that was so. It was impossible to think clearly with his body against hers.

His fingers pressed into her hips, and his voice was rough when he spoke. “I told you, I won’t allow the council members to touch you, and I damn well meant it.”

Shivers danced down her back. Such conviction laced his voice, hardening his words. Yet beneath the boldness of his tone, she sensed something else, something deeper—a trace of anguished sorrow.

“We will find another option,” he continued. “I would rather drive a sword through my heart than hand you over as a sacrifice. You’ve done enough of that for one lifetime.” Bash’s grip tightened on her waist. “And now...” He pressed his lips along the curve of her throat. “I want to give you what you deserve.” He nipped at the sensitive skin behind her ear as he whispered, “I want to give you everything.”

Margrete groaned in response to his sinful promise, her eyelids fluttering shut as he moved to kiss her breasts through the thin barrier of her shirt. He closed his talented mouth around her peaked nipple, and she reveled in the subtle sting of his teeth.

“I don’t want to be the reason Azantian falls,” she managed to whisper, though it was difficult to sound convincing when he began to suck on the sensitive bud. “Gods, we should never have crossed this line.”

Bash lifted his head, his gaze saturated with desire. “We crossed that line the moment you stumbled into my rooms and held a blade to my throat.” Bash peered into her eyes, a devilish gleam igniting the gold in them. “I saw how your body trembled.” He laid a gentle kiss upon her chest. “How your eyes darkened.” His mouth drifted higher, those luscious lips caressing her collarbone. “I knew then that while you told yourself you hated me, you still wanted me.”

She fisted his shirt, overwhelmed by the foreign sensations he brought to the surface.

His eyes found hers and held them. “But now…Now that I know you, see you, I want you all the more. Your body. Your mind…” He trailed off, nipping at her ear. “Your heart.” His hot breath sent tingles racing down her spine, his confession undoing her entirely. “I want all of you.”

Margrete shuddered, and her eyes closed as he kissed her neck, biting and sucking the tender flesh.

She couldn’t form the words to argue, not when he was doing this to her. When Bash pulled away, Margrete nearly whined in protest. “Tell me, princess…What is it that you want?”

She peered into those emerald eyes, full of desperation and desire. Hope. Bash stared at her as if her answer would be his salvation. Or his destruction.

“I want…” Margrete exhaled slowly, and Bash’s fingers bit into her waist as he awaited her reply. “I want you, Bash. Not the pirate. Not the king. The man.”

And Gods, did she mean it. In his presence, Margrete had never felt more alive, more truly herself. It was both frightening and wholly freeing, and she no longer saw the need to hold herself back from what she wanted.

Margrete knew all too well that a life of regret was not how she wanted to live, and she wasn’t sure how much time she had left.

“You are going to be the end of me,” Bash murmured in a rush. His eyes were alight with pure flame, and he kissed the tip of her nose sweetly, the tenderness surprising her.

“And you were my beginning,” she whispered, her nose pressed against his. From the moment she saw him, she knew he would be her ruin. What she hadn’t known was that he would also be her rebirth.

Sliding his hands into her hair, Bash kissed her again, his mouth pressing against hers as he breathed life and possibility and exhilaration into her lungs.

Bash untied the neck of her tunic and pulled it over her head. He palmed her breast through her silken undergarment, his thumb and forefinger squeezing her peaked bud as his gaze dripped with desire.

This time, she didn’t wait for him.

Margrete tugged off her camisole and tossed it to the floor, leaving her upper body bare for his heated perusal. His eyes flared as he raised his hands to either side of her, grazing her ribcage before he worked his way up to cup both breasts, his calloused fingers rough against her smooth skin.

“Margrete.” Her name was a request, a demand. Slowly, painfully so, Margrete exhaled a trembling breath, dizzy with a combination of fear and excitement.

His head dipped as he took one of her nipples in his mouth, the subtle sting of his teeth causing a shiver to wreck her. Taking his time, he lavished each bud, his wicked tongue worshipping her curves. Margrete released a moan when he bit down on the aching peak, only to quickly kiss away the delicious hurt.

As her hands twisted in his hair, his mouth still adoring her every inch, Margrete decided that if she was going to do what she planned the following morning, what she knew to be right, she wished to at least experience this. Him.

He would be furious with her later, angry she went behind his back, but she knew that, in the end, it would all be for the best. She would find a way to get to the council members herself, and if they had to disobey their king for the greater good of Azantian, she had no doubt that they would.

With her mind made up, Margrete’s hands dropped from his silken curls and flew to undo the belt securing her trousers. When she tossed it to the side, strong hands grasped her wrists.

“Are you sure you want this, Margrete?” Bash’s chest rose and fell rapidly, a look of uncertainty flashing across his eyes. “We can stop—”

“If we stop, then I might actually kill you,” she threatened.

Bash’s hold on her loosened. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He chuckled, the sound so joyous and pure that it nearly broke her heart.

He moved to his own trousers and discarded them with a skill she found impressive. His shirt was next, the buttons ripping free as he tore it from his muscled body.

Seeing him bare and standing before her sent a fire through her blood and a deep, raw ache between her legs. An ache only he could satisfy.

Bash didn’t utter a word as he scanned her from head to toe, taking in every dip and swell, eyes pausing briefly at her chest before he continued his roving. The edges of the room blurred until she only saw him and the hunger darkening his gaze.

“You’re so gods damned beautiful,” he said, his voice a low growl.

In a move that stunned them both, Margrete curled her fingers around the back of his neck and yanked him to her, shoving her lips against his as she let herself go. Nothing else mattered except the need to be close, to breathe him in.

His hands roamed up and down her spine, settling on her backside right before lifting her up and forcing her legs to wind around his broad torso. He carried her to the bed and gently lay her down upon the cool satin sheets.

Bash leaned down, ready to crawl over her, but she pressed a hand to his chest. “Wait. I haven’t gotten my fill of you yet.”

His eyes shuttered at her words, but he straightened obediently, letting her gaze rove over him. She studied his broad shoulders and sinewy arms, the many tattoos painted across his skin, and then she let her stare drift down to his thick chest and muscled stomach.

Finally, she took a breath and dropped her attention even lower, following the dusting of dark, burnished hair trailing to a part of him she’d touched but never seen.

Gods and stars, he was beautiful. Long and hard and so swollen with need.

Margrete wrapped her fingers around him, her thumb brushing against the sensitive tip. His stomach rippled as he flinched, eyes fluttering and lips parting.

“You do so love to torture me,” he murmured, letting out a groan when she released him.

“Don’t worry. I plan on torturing you all night.” Margrete moved her hands to his shoulders and wrenched him impossibly close.

She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him with an animalistic need, the feel of his bare skin on hers driving her to the edge of sanity. It was her turn to groan when Bash slowed his movements, drawing away to lift her hands above her head and forcing her to still.

Margrete arched her hips and pressed against his hold on her wrists. She urged him to continue, to ease the delicious throbbing he’d caused.

Trapping both of her wrists with one hand, Bash moved the other between her thighs, leisurely gliding a finger into her wetness, the friction eliciting a whimper. When he added a second finger, Margrete nearly broke.

He moved in and out of her in lazy thrusts, drawing almost all the way back, only to drive into her again. Just as her body tensed, preparing for release, Bash pulled out.

“Don’t stop,” she whined, not caring how desperate she sounded.

Bash shook his head as a smirk played across his lips. He brought his fingers—the same ones that were just inside her—to his lips and sucked them into his mouth.

Margrete panted as she watched him. The lewd act only made her ache more.

“I’ve dreamt about your taste on my tongue. Fantasized about it.” His body shook as he growled his approval. “It’s so much better than I could have ever imagined.”

He wrapped his powerful hands around her thighs and gripped them tightly. Then, he lowered his head between them, and Margrete’s thoughts scattered.

Warmth fanned across her exposed flesh as he gazed at her body, his eyes wild with desire and something akin to awe. Slowly, he placed a featherlight kiss on each hip, his warm breath trailing down, down, down—

He paused just above her entrance, and it took everything in her not to arch her hips. To feel his mouth on her most sensitive place. She craved it, needing to feel him more than she needed air.

“Tell me you want this,” he rumbled against her, sending vibrations dancing up and down her hypersensitive skin. “Tell me you want me just as badly as I want you.” He kissed one thigh, then the other, and then lifted his eyes. “I need your words, princess.”

She opened her mouth, but only a strangled whimper escaped.

Gods, this man.

One side of his lips quirked as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her. “That wasn’t quite the answer I was looking for.” She groaned when his tongue flicked out, and he traced the seam between her thighs.

“Yes.” She panted, flinching as his tongue glided back up. “I want this, Bash, I want you. I just…”

“Just what?” he asked, raising his head when he heard the apprehension in her tone.

Margrete’s cheeks heated. “I’ve never…I mean, no one has ever…”

Possessive desire hardened his features, and then he brought those sinful lips back to her center. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

A violent tremor wrecked her as his mouth closed around her bundle of nerves. There was no hesitation now, no teasing. Bash devoured her, sucking and biting, his movements eager and full of desperation. Warmth pooled between her legs, and Bash groaned.

“Gods.” Margrete dug her fingers into his scalp, and her body bowed from sheer pleasure. She was so damned close—

“The gods won’t help you now,” Bash said as he drew back, his eyes molten fire. “And they certainly aren’t going to be the ones to make you come.”

Margrete lost control.

Bash’s words set fire to her core, and she thrust her hips up, meeting his lips. His fingers bruised her thighs as he held them open, his talented tongue toying with her, bringing her closer and closer to sweet release. She almost shattered—she felt so much all at once.

Toomuch.

Instinctively, she pushed against his head. Her need for him had turned her into nothing more than a quivering mess.

Bash growled against her flesh.

“No. I’m not done with you yet,” Bash warned. His hands grasped both of her wrists and moved them to her sides. “You taste too fucking delicious for me to stop now.”

He lowered his head once more and dipped his tongue inside her. It took everything in Margrete to breathe. To simply take the ecstasy that he gave her.

When his tongue thrust deep inside of her and his finger thrummed her bundle of nerves, Margrete broke, her mouth opening in a soundless scream.

“Yes,” Bash praised, still moving forcefully against her, wringing out every ounce of pleasure. Only when she stilled, her core throbbing, did he release her wrists and crawl up her body.

“Beautiful.” He placed a single kiss on the corner of her mouth and cupped her cheek. “Fucking beautiful. Every damn inch of you.”

The reverence he radiated as he took her in only made her want more of him.

“I want you,” she whispered against his lips. “Bash, please.”

He shivered and pressed against her, his hardness molding perfectly to her softness. He taunted her, sliding his throbbing tip up and down, teasing, not taking her the way she craved.

She gripped his shoulders, but he ignored her soundless plea. Margrete was about to protest when his lips drifted to the shell of her ear. He wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck. “I’m going to savor this. Every. Second. Of it.”

In the next heartbeat, he thrust into her, pressing so deep, impossibly deep.

“Bash,” she whimpered, stretched so full of him, filled so completely. She tightened around him and arched her hips, trying to draw him even deeper, even closer.

A guttural curse, low and raw, roared out of his chest. He pulled back, only to drive all of that glorious hardness into her heat once again. Margrete couldn’t hold back the moan that left her, and Bash swallowed the sound, his lips molding to hers.

He kissed her like a man starved—like he lived for the sole purpose of tasting her lips and feeling her shatter around him.

Margrete’s heels pressed into his backside as she urged him on, frantic with a desire that consumed all else. Her eyes peered between their bodies, watching where they joined. The tension grew as she took in the sight of him entering her, of him claiming not only her body, but her soul.

She became drunk off his kisses, how his every forceful movement made her dizzy with pleasure. His essence enveloped her until all she could taste was him—freedom and power and dominance. Everything that Bash was and ever would be.

When his teeth gently grazed her neck, Margrete dug her nails into his back. She was likely leaving little crescent moons on his tanned skin, marking him as hers—just as she was now his.

“Your body was made for me, Margrete. In every way.”

Her eyes fluttered open, half-hooded as she lay caught beneath his penetrating gaze.

Margrete kissed him hard, biting his bottom lip and eliciting another groan. “Show me,” she whispered.

Holding her stare, he gripped her knees and opened her to him more fully, and then he drove into her with a thrust that pushed her body farther up the bed. She whimpered when he took one of her nipples between his lips, making pleasure strike everywhere at once.

Tingling heat swelled in her core, and with every savage advance, Margrete climbed higher and higher, chasing after sweet relief.

“Come for me, princess,” he commanded. “I need to feel you.”

Her body tensed, preparing for the inevitable fall.

Bash groaned as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Sparks flashed behind her closed lids, every nerve electrified. It was a moment of freefall, one where she couldn’t breathe or think or move.

“Fuck,” Bash cried, beginning to chase after his own release. He moved harder, faster, his length thickening, throbbing.

She gripped his arms, desire coiling tight inside her again. His eyes were so dark, and his body glistened under a fine sheen of sweat.

“Margrete,” he whispered.

Her name was a plea, and she wrapped her legs around his waist in reply, holding him secure as his brow furrowed in pleasure. The muscles in his abdomen tensed as he rode out his own euphoria with a rumbling groan that made her body clench.

Watching him fall apart nearly set her off again.

When it was over, his chest rising and falling in uneven movements, he propped himself up on his elbows, thoroughly caging her in.

“Margrete.” He said her name over and over again, resting his forehead against hers. “That was…”

“Amazing,” she finished for him, a satiated smile tugging at her lips.

Bash smiled. “Now that I know what you feel like”—he kissed her jaw—“I don’t think I can ever stop.” More kisses landed on her cheeks, her nose, her lips. “And I don’t plan to.”

Margrete touched his cheek, and he leaned into her embrace, eyes fluttering shut. Although she’d never been happier than at this moment, inside a battle still raged. She was falling for this man, so hard and so fast. What they’d done went beyond sex. It was a molding of two souls that called out for the other.

She felt a complete sense of peace and adoration, and, because of that, she refused to think about what she had to do when the sun rose in the morning. Rather than ruining this moment with the truth, Margrete chose to say words that were equally as true.

“You are the freedom I’ve been searching for, Bash.”

He was what she’d sought whenever she hid away in her tower to watch the wild waves play with the sands, dreaming of a life she never thought she’d have. This was it. Bash was her choice.

“Mon shana leandri le voux,” he whispered against her lips. His smile was radiant.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

One word stood out amongst the rest. Shana. The name Malum used for her.

Bash’s smile blossomed. “It means, my heart beats with yours.” He kissed her as deeply and fervently as before.

Margrete felt his smile with every kiss, sensed his unbridled joy with every lash of his tongue. He was hopeful; it was a side of him she’d not seen before.

She shut her eyes as his tender words repeated in her mind. Shana. Heart. It confirmed everything she already knew.

“Where did you just go?” Bash asked, and she willed her eyes open.

“Nowhere.” She flipped Bash onto his back and straddled him. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”