Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
“Tomorrow,” I agree, turning to look up at him. “It’ll be nice. We can pack a lunch and make a day of it.”
“Lovely. Can’t wait.” His voice is flat with mock irritation, and he brushes my hair off my nape and kisses the side of my neck. “As for packing a lunch, you know I don’t eat food.”
Oh, I know he doesn’t. Months in and he still can’t stop himself from pointing out how gross he finds most foods. “I thought the lunch would be for me.”
“I’ll just have to get all my nibbling out of the way in advance.” His hand slides to the front of my dress and he cups my breast, skimming his fingers over my nipple.
I suck in a breath, glancing toward the road. I half-expect to see Omos wandering our direction with the strangers in tow, but they’re mere blots on the horizon. “We should go inside.”
“Later.” His seeking hands move to my skirt, hiking it up as his fingers make their way up my thighs. “The grasses are tall here and no one’s looking in our direction.”
“You’re terrible,” I tease, and bite back a moan as his fingers find my clit.
“Terribly good at this, you mean,” he whispers in my ear, teasing. “Don’t be too loud, my sweet Elsie. You don’t want to scare the goats. Or the monk.”
As if I’m good at being quiet? We’re both so noisy and obvious with sex that Omos has a hard time looking us in the eye. The monk blushes and stammers any time he sees Kalos reach out and touch me, as if I’m going to start sucking the god off right in front of him.
But I try to be quiet. I try really, really hard.
The next day is cloudless and lovely, and Kalos is clear-eyed, so after breakfast, we pack the book in my bag, prepare a lunch, and walk our way to the village. We leave Dingle behind so he can play with the other goats, and since we don’t have to hold his lead, Kalos holds my hand as we walk instead.
It’s…nice.
I feel normal. Happy. It’s strange, because I should be nervous about so many things, and yet I can’t think of anything other than Kalos’s smile or the way he swings my hand as we walk, just to make me laugh. He offered to carry the pack with the big, heavy book in it today, which surprised me—Kalos has never been one to offer to carry or hold anything.
“I don’t like the thought of you tired,” he says, as if this is the most obvious answer in the world.
“That’s sweet.”
“Also because it’s hard to lick your cunt when you’re falling asleep on me.”
Less sweet, but I’ll take it. “You’re a regular prince among men.”
“I know.” He gives me a lazy, sexy smile. “I don’t hear you complaining about having your cunt licked.”
I smirk back at him. “And you won’t.”
He grins and his gaze falls to the neckline of my dress. It’s tattered and the material thin and patched repeatedly. I know I have a massive hickey visible on the slope of my left breast because Omos turned bright red at breakfast. I’d looked down and seen the mark while Kalos had just seemed rather pleased at the sight. I rub my fingers over the tiny bruise and adjust my dress collar. “Is it showing again?”
“No, but your dress is falling apart. You need new clothes. The villagers offered to make me some. I should ask them to make you something instead. Something elegant that shows off your beauty.”
Again, sweet but misguided. “I spend my time either hunched over a table or helping Omos with the goats. None of that requires an elegant dress. This is fine. Besides, everyone at the village is so busy that I don’t want to give them even more work to do. I’ll sew myself something when I have a few moments.”
“No, you won’t. We both know you won’t.”
I shrug. A pretty dress isn’t high on my list of things to work on. There’s more important stuff to be done.
When we make it to the village, Metta races out to meet us, her apron flapping in the breeze. “There you are! About time you got here! It’s been two days!”
Oh. That’s…different. “Sorry? I was working on adding some pages to the book. I didn’t realize you were waiting on me.”
Metta grabs my hand, pulling me towards her cottage. “We’ve got visitors. They want to see our book of herbal magic.”
“It’s not herbal magic,” I protest. “It’s just medicine. Common uses for plants. Anyone can learn it.”
“But it’s coming from Lord Kalos himself,” Metta says in a serious tone. “That makes it magical.”
“It really doesn’t.” Here I am the one working on the book every day and Kalos is the one that gets credit. Figures. As we get to the front of Metta’s cottage, I notice she has Kalos’s usual chair outside the door, along with the wide-brimmed hat he borrows on sunny days.