Page 117 of Goldilocks

Fionn had told Sam in a low voice without meeting his eyes that he’d looked through the rest of Gary’s phone. According to his texts, he had no friends, no family. The last texts between him and his mom had been a one-sided barrage of hate when she wouldn’t send him money, and months ago his relationship with someone called ‘Dickhead’ had ended similarly. His internet history was a peek into a mind set on violence. And further down in the photos was Sam. Sam’s house. Sam’s boat. In the notes was Sam’s weekly schedule, from his classes to his hours on the boat. The rest of his plan to frame Sam for sinking Fionn’s yacht was there too, and with that erased, the anonymous report of Sam messing with Fionn’s yacht had come to nothing.

Sam didn’t know what to think. Guilt loomed. Not guilt because Gary had died, but rather because Sam was relieved that he had no family ties and no friends to come looking for him. Guilt because Sam wanted to forget all about him. No matter what motivated him, Gary had been set on violence. He had come to the house with gasoline and who knows if he would have set it alight with his dad still inside?

Another kernel of a memory shook loose. As Sam lay flat on his back in the garden and Gary loomed over him, the ghoul had come. The ghoul hadn’t tried to feed on Gary. Hadn’t tried to restrain him. He’d grabbed him and broken his neck. Killed him. And then, while Sam’s head was swimming because he’d cracked it open on the rock, the ghoul hadfussed.The very last thing he felt before it all went dark were fingers, achingly careful, prodding at his injured head.

“Sam?” Roan cupped his cheek.

Sam pulled his thoughts from it all. It wasn’t something he could change, and he’d rather focus on things that he could do. He would find Austin, explain why he never called or text him, and go from there. “Thank you,” Sam said. “You’re too good to me.” He leaned in, and he kissed his mate on the mouth as Roan’s chest rumbled with a pleased purr. “You’re doing so much for me, and for my family.”

Roan hummed, chasing after Sam’s mouth as he relaxed back into the pillows. “I told you I would provide,” he said, all sweetness.

Sam didn’t know how Roan managed to offer so much, and for Sam not to feel pressured into accepting. For him to take what was offered without an itch under his skin or a voice in his head telling him that it was pity. He was an inconvenience. People were sick of him.

Sam tugged at Roan’s hip, feeling the slide against his thigh as Roan’s cock emerged.

“Vi said you need rest.” Roan caught Sam’s wrist.

Sam leaned into his embrace, humming. He kissed Roan’s throat, careful to avoid his healing gills, and travelled his mouth down chiselled chest, warm skin, soft scales, until his mouth was where scales parted and Roan’s cock prodded out, slick and hot.

Roan’s hold on Sam’s wrist tightened.

Sam grasped Roan’s shaft with his free hand and peeked up at Roan, gauging his level of restraint. His eyes glimmered, and there was a tensed muscle in his jaw. “I said rest,” Roan said. His cock slid out further, and Sam tilted his head so it prodded him in the cheek, resting against skin.

“I’m not saying you should mount me.” Sam pumped his hand base to tip, and back again. “But I should take care of this, shouldn’t I? I’m your mate, after all.”

Roan purred. Stopped. Purred. His brows knit together and Sam, without breaking eye contact, nuzzled his tip. Let his tongue slip out to taste warm brine. These creatures really were the ocean embodied. Calm. Ethereal. Capable of savagery, yet all the more wonderful for it.

“I’ll be restful,” Sam promised. The clear want in Roan’s eyes was a particular thrill Sam didn’t think would ever get old.

“Restful,” Roan repeated.

“Restful,” Sam agreed solemnly.

By the time Roan realised he’d lied, it was too late; Sam already had the merman where he wanted him.

Chapter Forty-Three

Goldilocks

Sam lay out in Roan’s lap, his artistic pursuits abandoned on the stone behind Roan. The first time Roan had brought Sam to the glade, he had shown the shyness Roan knew to expect. Then, as he’d examined the trees and ferns, the mosses growing on the stone, the flowers that required little sunlight to flourish, every bird that perched on thin branches above their heads, Sam had relaxed. Removed the outer layers of his clothing so that he stood in just his shorts, and those too, Roan knew he would relax enough to discard as well. If not now, or the next day, or the next month, then perhaps in the next year. Roan was confident he would eventually earn Sam’s total trust; he would be comfortable to show himself before Roan in his truest form at all times, and not just in moments of passion.

Roan would not rush his shy mate, nor would he begrudge Sam any of the patience he showed now or in the future; his mate was a tormented soul. A kind soul, bruised by anguishes that Roan sorely wished he might have spared him, if only he had known him sooner. If only he hadn’t shown quite so much patience with coaxing him to his home…Roan stopped that line of thought. If Roan had pushed harder, encroached upon his independence, he might have driven Sam away forever.

Roan ran his fingers through his mate’s beautiful red curls that he had grown to adore beyond all else. Sam leaned into his touch and rested his head on Roan’s tail, tilting back his head to offer Roan the sweetest of smiles. After that smile, he adjusted his knees, retrieved his drawing pad, and rested it on his thighs.

Sam’s pencil scraped against the page, cross-hatching shadows in his sketch. Roan watched, enjoying the lazy harmony of the glade. He knew when he’d found it as a child that he would share it with his future mate, though he did not realise at the time his future mate would love it as much as he did. More so even, as Roan could plainly see Sam’s appreciation of their surroundings in his drawings. Sam was reserved in sharing his emotions verbally, but that reservation did not extend to his art.

Caressing Sam’s hair, Roan spoke, his voice joining in with the chattering birds. Roan hardly got a few sentences in before Sam’s face was buried in his hands, and he was groaning, as if in physical pain. Sam always did this when Roan told his mate what parts of him he admired. He found his shyness endearing – and he said as much to him – and he enjoyed watching it fade away to joy or pleasure, to a smile or a groan, depending on what they were doing.

“Stop, please, stop,” Sam begged. “I get it.”

“I did not think that I would tolerate a mate who defied me,” Roan said, coaxing Sam to lower his hands. “But I find your independence so incredibly endearing that I adore to see you even in conflict with your brother and his mate. To see him make a sound and you to fix a look – my sister would havelaughedfor me to tell her that such looks bring me delight.”

Sam’s eyes softened. He caught Roan’s hands in his. “You like me giving Ivan dirty looks?”

“It is very amusing,” Roan said. Though he couldn’t care less for anyone else, even if they had the exact same conflict. When it wasSam,it was amusing. When it wasSam,Roan wanted to be there to witness everything. Every thoughtful smile, every word, every silence.

“And my defiance?” Sam’s eyebrow rose. He had atoneto warn Roan he was venturing into dangerous waters.