Page 23 of The Merman’s Betrothal (Outcast Hearts #2)

R ory looked down slowly at the merman’s fist clasping his own. Fionn’s hands were almost twice the size, making him feel smaller than he was.

‘Their partner’s what?’ he echoed.

‘Eggs,’ Fionn responded, too fucking happily. ‘Do you see what this means? Your body is—’

‘What do you mean, eggs? ’ Rory yanked his hand away. The bath water was cold. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to get dry again.

He heaved himself out of the tub and shoved past Fionn for a towel.

The merman was still gabbling something about his fucking alien anatomy.

‘—and then we deposit our eggs through the organ that is like a human penis, into the bower where they are fertilised and developed by the birthing partner, until—’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Rory interrupted flatly. He tied the towel tightly around his waist while trying to ignore the hidden shape that was causing a tent in Fionn’s kilt.

Impatience flashed over Fionn’s face. ‘Haven’t you been listening? I am saying that because you have a bower it must mean—’

‘Fuck off!’ Rory screamed, stopping him dead.

It stopped himself dead, too.

Whatever post-bliss calm Rory had briefly enjoyed in the bath now rapidly left him, leaving only cold dread in its wake.

He didn’t want to know what gross conclusion the merman had come to while railing his ass.

Well, not railing, more like very gently massaging, and then sort of probing, followed by this really deep sort of ache that abruptly swelled into the most nut-shattering orgasm he’d ever experienced.

To Rory’s horror, instead of fucking off, Fionn took a step closer. His mouth was drawn into a grave frown. For an instant Rory thought Fionn was about to actually rail him, give him a good proper fucking, and wouldn’t that be an excellent way to spend the rest of the afternoon?

How am I still horny? Rory thought blearily, considering his balls now felt tender after their encore performance in the bath.

Fionn opened his mouth, surely about to repeat himself again.

Rory’s fist curled. Barely thinking, he swung for Fionn’s face.

The merman caught his arm easily, ducking the punch and closing Rory’s wrist in a steel grip. He had the audacity to look surprised.

‘I told you to fuck off,’ Rory ground out. His lungs were heaving. Panic. Why was he panicking?

‘But didn’t we just share an intimate moment? I thought we had made progress—’

‘ Get out of my house! ’ Rory shouted into his face.

Fionn glanced at Rory’s fist, still clenched. Cautiously, he let go. ‘I am clearly mistaken.’

Rory glared at the tiles as the merman left. The bond thrummed angrily in his chest with each pace that put distance between them. He couldn’t deny it existed any more. That there really was a soul bond of some kind, a tether that wanted to yank him in Fionn’s direction.

Presumably that was why Fionn had turned up with such perfect timing. Was the blue bastard going to get wind of it every time Rory decided to have a wank? Would he come running every time? Would he use his mouth next time, or maybe some other part of—

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

Rory slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands. Even when he was feeling angry and disgusted with himself, he couldn’t get Fionn off his mind.

Why was he disgusted?

Rory sat back, pressing his skin to the cool wall behind him. He stared at the bath, allowing himself a minute’s space to contemplate everything that had just happened in it.

It hadn’t been disgusting. It had been… strange, and new, and fucking exciting. Especially when Fionn got involved.

The way he’d moved his fingers… the way he’d looked at him, like the mere sight of Rory enjoying himself was enough to get Fionn off as well.

As if he, him, Rory, was enough to satisfy this sculpted, graceful giant of a man.

This man who was a prince and also fought sea monsters in just a kilt with a spear like some aquatic version of Conan the Barbarian.

Would Rory have ever dared ask a woman to do that to him?

Probably not. She’d have to be pretty hench to fit the dynamic playing out in Rory’s head.

Fuck, if she was stacked then maybe . Was it the thought of a partner with muscles that Rory liked, or the idea of them being in control?

He’d been at Fionn’s fucking mercy in the bath just now.

And truthfully, it had been fucking glorious.

For a moment back there Rory could have seen himself getting on his knees for Fionn. Taking the plunge to find out just how much he liked the thought of dick by offering to take a merman’s chub in his mouth.

But then Fionn had ruined it. Talking about… about eggs? Mermen laid eggs?

What about the merwomen? Mermaids? What the hell was Fionn trying to say with this bower shite?

Rory regretted the punch. That was the anger coming out to make things simple again. To stop him from falling right back into those beefy arms that threatened to upend his whole world.

Rory’s throat was dry. His heart was still pounding a little too fast in his chest. He refused to remember everything Fionn had said. Because it was ridiculous.

There was no way he was—

It wasn’t possible that he could be—

It just couldn’t.

Underneath it all, his skin itched.

There was something he knew he didn’t want to admit. That ever since he’d met Fionn that night at the club, he’d been uncomfortable in his body. His clothes were chafing. The air was too dry. Lately his spine felt like little ants were crawling up and down it all day long.

When he’d jumped into the water with Fionn to save the turtle, it had all disappeared. Like his body had just been begging to make contact with the ocean again. Or was it Fionn that his itchy skin was begging for? Itchy skin, itchy soul; every part of him was restless.

Glaring from the back of his mind, Hamish Douglas looked at him like he was less of a man.

Well, maybe he fucking was.

The bond churned like an ocean current in Rory’s chest. Promising a tidal draw that could rip him away from Ullapool, if he let it.

Rory rose unsteadily from the floor and finished towelling off. He kept his mind carefully blank as he got dressed, blank as he made himself a slice of toast for lunch, and blank as he picked up his father’s shopping list and left the house.