Page 62 of Curse the Fae

Deep beneath the water, a Snake bewitched a Viper…

My fingers entwine across his nape, climb up his scalp, and dive into the thick fall of his hair. Elixir lets out a haggard noise. When I reach his ears, I stroke them with my thumbs, offering the sort of touch he’s never known.

A tender touch that shreds him to bits.

Those pent-up irises blaze. He breaks down, the harsh edges cracking like a wave against the shore, every raging piece of him shattering.

I keen as Elixir whips me into his torso, our bodies colliding.

His mouth burns a trail across my lips. “Decide,” he growls. “Make your choice.”

Because he’s already made his.

Do I want it gentle with a chivalrous man, a hero who would nobly peck my hand and nudge his hips into me, as if I’m made of porcelain?

Or do I want it rough, with a venomous monster? Do I want a villain who would kiss the living hell out of me, then strip me down, spread me wide, and thrust raw and deep, as if I’m made of something stronger? Something sturdier and more lasting? Something that won’t break?

Do I want what I’ve imagined? Or do I want what’s right here, right now?

Do I want to make love with a fairytale prince? Or do I want to fuck a vicious Fae?

Unleashing a primal noise, I grab the flaps of his robe—and tear it from his chest.

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The material blows open, splitting to display an expanse of olive skin. A guttural noise claws from Elixir’s throat, the sound cutting through the silence. He stands still, his chest pumping with rapid outtakes as I wrench the robe down his biceps and let it plummet to the ground.

The pond light etches his torso, highlighting the clench of his abdomen and the erect points of his nipples. His pulse rams into the crook of his throat. I feel that same delirious drumming inside me, the rhythmic thud slamming against my wrists and between my legs, where the intimate slot grows damper by the second.

Elixir’s hectic gaze roves over me, a disorderly pursuit to seek me out. The black wells of his pupils bloat, and the gold reams of his irises incinerate every place they land. I yearn to melt with them, to swelter in their light.

My assault on his robe had forced us apart, but I consume the distance once more. Oxygen skitters from my lips as I press myself against him, and his hands return to my buttocks. The Fae palms my backside harder now, his knuckles curling, though not enough for his fingertips to pit my flesh.

There’s no room left for words, no space to question what this is or how we arrived here, whether we stumbled or thrashed our way to this place, this moment. I don’t care to reflect or agonize, to be modest or innocent. I have no urge to think virtuously, only feel passionately.

I’m unmoored, a vessel unbound and lurching into the raging sea. I’m pure instinct, my hands taking on a primitive life of their own. They race from the ridges of his shoulders to his pectorals, the muscles contorting under my touch.

Choppy exhalations rush from our mouths. He bows his head and follows my fingers as best he can. My forehead presses against his, and I watch my own hands moving, sliding down to his nipples and circling them.

We tremble, our mouths slackening as the peaks toughen. My mouth waters, longing to taste those hard disks of flesh. I thumb them, skating around the rim and brushing the tips, pride infusing my veins with every festering noise Elixir makes.

For the life of me, I can’t remain still. My digits plunge to his ribcage, where I trace the lattice of bone, then the flexing grille of abs, his temperature increasing on contact. My ministrations descend to the valley of his hipbones, which slope into his leggings.

My mind fogs. The cave disintegrates around me, my focus narrowing to the texture of his body, the heat emanating from inches below my palm. The thought of what lingers farther down sends my mind into a tailspin.

It slickens the crease in my thighs. I scrape my fingers down the smooth flesh below his navel, sneak into his waistband, and quest to the bulging base of his—

A single, savage hiss pierces my ears. A set of fingers snatches my hand and uses the momentum to drive me against him, the impact rocking my head upward to meet a pair of viperous eyes. My breasts mash into Elixir’s chest, our bodies going flush, and my gaze stumbles to his lips.

The water lord grips the back of my neck with his free hand, hauls my head forward, and sinks his mouth into mine.

It happens in one fell swoop. The Fae’s lips crush against my own, seizing and prying them apart. He wastes no time, his tongue lashing between my lips and stroking me with deft flicks. A moan flutters up my throat, and a groan skewers from his. The sounds collide from where our mouths clasp, searing together in a soul-crushing kiss.

Fables forgive me, we’re kissing.

My hands launch into his hair, getting lost in the layers, tangling in them. I taste fury, freshwater, and wine—satiny and intoxicating.

Elixir maintains a hold on my nape with one hand and drives his free digits into the side of my scalp. He holds me in place and fits himself to me, splitting my lips wider. The faint sting of his grip incites a brushfire along my spine. I curl into him, my mouth yielding under the strength of his jaw, the rhythmic swat of his tongue. Each lick of wet heat sends bolts of lightning streaking through me, so that I feel the punch of that tongue in my core.

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