Page 86 of Curse the Fae

I grip the sides of my dress, strip it over my head, and drop it to the lawn. “No.”

The Fae grits out, “You take many dangerous liberties with that word.”

My feet dip into the water and pick their way toward him until I’m hovering at his back. I set my palm on his lower spine, relishing his oath as I brush my free hand along the ovals of his ass, then slide my fingers around his waist to trace the incline of a hipbone. My hand skims down the steep V to the firm length, to that place where heat emanates.

I pause at the base of his cock, on the brink of strapping my fingers around that high, thick erection. “Then offer me something I’ll say yes to.”

Elixir shakes, his arms tensing like they might snap. His fingercaps dig into the edifice, and his second hand joins the first, bracing him there.

How did he manage to fondle himself with those sharp ornaments? Is his flesh that tough? Or was he being careful?

I could demand he turn and face me, but I like how his spine feels against my cheek, how his shoulder blades quake under my breath. I like trapping him this way, and I like feeling him this way, and I need more of it. So, when he swears and juts his hips toward my palm, giving me leave to dominate his body, I seize the offer. My greedy fingers brush the stem of his prick, tracing the ridges and width with gentle ministrations.

So very tender. So very unlike the life he’s led.

The instant I touch him, he belongs to me. This Fae is mine.

Elixir shudders, a garbled noise spilling from his lungs. I etch his mast, skimming around the shaft, grazing its height, and feathering over the crown. He’s long and firm, the head of his cock swelling under the pads of my fingers.

He mutters in Faeish, the intonation severe and transfixed. It sounds as though he’s never been handled intimately before. In The Mer Cascades, he’d confessed to having limited experience, and since we were both virgins that first time, this might be true.

I might be his first in every way.

I close my eyes, picture his length flushing darker, stiffening further. I imagine it the way he had imagined me. Possessiveness, sensuality, and power guide my hand as I find the head’s slit and flick my thumb across it.

Elixir groans, helpless.

“That’s what I long to hear,” I whisper into his ear. “I want to be so delicate, I’ll ruin you for eternity. I want you so pliant, you forget what violence feels like. Will you let me? Can you do that for me?”

That rasp hardens into a growl, and his hips lurch into my palm. I take that as ayes, do it, please.

My fingers sink to the base and wrap around him. I gasp at the size, at the hot weight balanced in my hand, my fingers unable to encompass his width.

I lick my lips. I’ve never done this, but a certain promiscuous sister of mine has been expressive about the experience. Back then, I had tried to plug my ears—a regretful action—but I’d heard enough to guide me now.

With my fingers gripping Elixir, I draw my hand up and down, up and down, up and down, while recalling the tempo he’d used on himself. As I do, his body trembles. Groans pump out of him, in cadence with my hand as it siphons from the seat to the head of his cock. I stroke the length, captivated by all that solid yet malleable flesh. Every carnal sight, sound, and touch wets me between the legs.

“Harder,” Elixir mutters. “Take it harder.”

I do, gripping him, pulsing him. I fist his shaft, tugging on it, drawing out his moans, yanking them from his throat.

He seizes the wall. Unable to keep still, his hips snap into motion. They jab upward, slinging in and out of my palm. His cock twitches, slickens from the mist, and broadens more.

Elixir hisses, agonized, overwhelmed. “Faster.”

I give it to him, over and over. His backside clenches beautifully while his cock rides my hand. The Fae’s pleas roughen, beginning to splinter.

My forehead drops between his shoulder blades. I sigh into his skin, press my lips there, and coax, “That’s it. Just like that.”

The cascades drown out his pleasure, so that only I can hear it. A thin stream of water splashes onto us, not enough to soak our bodies, but enough to dampen us. I pump him to the brink, until we’re chanting into the lily pond.

He’s smooth and solid and scorching. I clamp around him, claiming him with gentle firmness. And when I thumb the slot of his crown, swiping it once, twice, three times, Elixir spasms. He hunches forward, a final growl suspending itself…pausing…building…and erupting.

He shatters apart, his body convulsing. A gritty howl rages from his mouth as he comes into my hand. His cock bucks, warmth seeping from the crown and spurting down my knuckles.

Oxygen blasts from my mouth. The noises we make tangle together, keen and fearless. I roll my hand over his solid length, the motions slowing, growing languid.

“Say it,” I order. “Let me hear it.”

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