Page 64 of Curse the Fae

It’s not enough. I want his mouth on my breasts, tugging on the studs until I’m writhing. But he continues to torment me, sketching the undersides of my breasts before resuming his assault on the buds.

“What color are they?” he demands.

“They’re…” I lick my lips, my words faltering as he brushes them. “They’re dark pink.”

“And this?” he hastens. “Tell me about this.”

His fingers surge down my stomach, past my navel, and reach the thatch of curls between my thighs. I give a stunned cry—and that’s before he’s done anything crucial. The heat of his palm cups me, his fingers scooping over my folds, where heat and wetness spill from my body.

Elixir twists his head into my neck, a muffled “Fuck” staggering from his mouth. He feels how drenched I am. The slot leaks onto his fingers, coating them in slickness.

“It’s warm,” I chant. “It’s…it’s throbbing…”

“And soaked,” he mumbles against my hair. “And open.”

I nod vehemently, about to describe more, but Elixir finds out for himself. His fingers draw through the curls and begin to trace the shape of my core, so that it forms in his mind. He skims the folds and etches the crease.

Whimpers squeeze out of me. He murmurs in approval, lightly skating over the groove, back and forth. I cling to his muscled form and fling my head back, labored breaths siphoning from my lungs, recitations shooting from my mouth.

He tilts his head as his fingers rustle, brushing my passage. They trace the oval hole—then two fingers dip inside. I gasp, realizing he must have knocked off the fingercaps, because all I feel are rounded appendages.

Yet nothing about this is soft. His fingers sink into the recess, my walls suctioning around him. My air supply drains. A silent moan gets stuck in my mouth, which falls open.

I’ve known rapture of the sweet kind, tentative and experimental. I’ve listened to many graphic stories of Lark’s dalliances. But I never knew it could be like this, ecstatic and gut-wrenching, vigorous yet sensuous.

Elixir accomplishes several things at once. His mouth clasps the curve between my shoulder and neck, and he sucks my flesh into the cavern of his mouth, into the scorched wetness of it. He suckles there, feasting on me while one hand returns to my breast, scooping its weight. The other hand fills my entrance, his fingers stoking more fluid from my body.

It’s all too much. He’s everywhere, inside and outside, behind me and around me.

He pumps a steady tempo, his hard digits jutting into me. I melt around his fingers, coating them in liquid. Again and again, his hand enters and retreats, wetting me into shamelessness.

My hips gyrate of their own accord, seeking depth, cadence, and friction. Mindless, euphoric intonations fill the cave, one wispy and the other serrated, so that I can’t tell where his voice ends and mine begins.

All the while, Elixir suckles my throat and palms my breast. My concentration scatters like debris, splintering into a tumult of sensation.

My backside rolls into his erection, rubbing against the stiffness. The long mast of his body thickens, rising high from his hips to plague me with curiosity, triumph, and a new type of yearning. That I’ve produced this reaction in such an impervious male—a Fae—intensifies the need.

I’ve always thought of this body part in demure terms: length, member, and phallus. To the contrary, wicked alternatives now swim through my head. One of them dangles on the tip of my tongue: His cock.

Elixir’s cock is hard for me. I press into that ridge, savoring his stunted breath. In response, his lips and hands release me, and his fingers withdraw from inside me. I half-grumble, half-whine from the sudden retreat.

I blink, my mind still drowning in bliss. I twist partway, in time to see Elixir bring his glossy fingers to his mouth and suck them clean.

My face burns. Yet his eyes produce another reaction, one that eddies low in my stomach, as though someone has dipped a spoon into my veins and stirred them to life.

Elixir slithers to my front, completing a full circle. He hoists me against him, only to steal a quick and violent kiss—his lips snatching my own, his tongue flaying into me—before plunging toward the ground, his body dragging down mine. Along the way, the serpent’s mouth wreaks havoc on the dip between my collarbones, the valley of my breasts, and the little burrow of my navel, his lips suctioning and blistering.

While kneeling on the grass, Elixir’s mane falls over his shoulders, the mass of hair blocking out his expression. I gulp in anticipation. Wasting no time, he unstraps the sandals, tosses them aside, hitches my right leg over his shoulder, and returns his fingers to my passage. He swirls his hand to gather my dampness, then glides his digits along the split—up, up, up to the kernel of sensation that swells from the center. Oxygen vents from my lungs as he smears my dampness there, then a startled cry bursts from my mouth as his lips follow the same path.

I buckle and grip his roots, nearly toppling to the ground from the stream of pleasure. Elixir prevents me from losing balance by slinging one arm under my buttocks. With his head bent, he raises his free hand in the air and gives a flick of his wrist.

Trickles of water cascade from chinks in the ceiling, the downpour expanding into a wall of water. Elixir nudges me backward against the liquid partition, the water bracing me. I bow against it, still fisting his hair while his mouth tastes the delicate flesh between my legs.

If I thought I’d been making noise before, it’s nothing compared to what happens next. Elixir laps at my folds, tracing me anew, only this time with his tongue. The tip curls along my opening and probes into me, reestablishing that excruciating rhythm. He mops up every drop that seeps from me, and as errant rivulets bead down my body from the waterwall, he swallows those, too.

My pulse pounds in that spot where the flat of his tongue flexes. He licks in and out of me, collects the moisture on his tongue, and slides the tip across the seam, to that pearl of nerves rising from the thatch of hair.

Nudging my left limb to the side with his shoulder, Elixir groans and brushes his tongue over that stub, swatting the peak with quick lashes that have me sputtering his name.

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