Page 77 of Sweetling
A hissing sound slithered against her lips, and Molly shuddered to feel those fangs. She traced each with her tongue, her cunt throbbing at their sharpness.
His fingers sank into her sides, and a needy sound escaped her throat.
“Azai—”
Ah, there you are.Without care or shame, Bellarand clomped into the meadow, stalking right up to hang his long face over them. He unceremoniously nudged Molly with his muzzle.Come along, I need more thumbs.
“We’re busy,” Allarion grumbled.
No, you’re not. You’re laying there playing with your mouths. You can do that any time. Quit lazing about and come be helpful.
“I told you before, I’m not helping you murder woodland creatures,” said Allarion.
Molly laughed, rolling off him onto her back. She wouldn’t be riding her fae in front of the unicorn. She didn’t need to hear how two-leggeds were disgusting or a critique of her form or whatever other asinine thing Bellarand thought.
Allarion’s face scrunched into nothing less than a pout to have her retreat, and it was Bellarand who got the brunt of his displeasure.
“You need to give up this pointless feud with the squirrels,” he told the unicorn.
Me? They are the ones who started it. War criminals, all of them.
“If you would simply parley with them…”
Molly lay in the soft grass of the meadow, chuckling under her breath and watching the branches and leaves sway in a soft breeze as her fae and his stubborn pony argued over the merits of eradicating every squirrel on the estate.
Just another day at Scarborough, where strangeness was the norm.
Touching her lips, still tingling from his fervent kisses, Molly smiled to herself. Maybe not just another day. Maybe a very special day. A beginnings sort of day.
17
Molly should have known that once she started, she wouldn’t want to stop. That was the dangerous thing about kissing Allarion—now that she had, she wanted to again and again. And she did.
It was the most pleasurable kind of game, finding little ways to sneak a kiss. Molly enjoyed the surprise that always met her ambush, as if he was equal parts shocked and grateful that she’d kiss him again. If she was honest, that sense of gratitude went straight to her head—and her cunt.
Molly had been known to like a little forceful bed play; she enjoyed a partner who took charge and knew what they were about. Still, something about being the instigator had her pulse thrumming at her neck and between her legs all day. To know she was wanted so badly…there was no other feeling like it.
Her favorite was thanking him for another of his kind gestures by pulling him down to her by his stiff collar. She loved sliding her lips against his surprised smile, tasting his pleasure and devotion.
She also liked how he’d come to hover near as she cooked, wrapping his arms around her middle. Sometimes he hooked his chin over her shoulder to watch—unless she was cutting an onion, then she was on her own—or even balanced it on the crown of her head. Sometimes he hummed or sang as her meal boiled or sizzled, and he rocked them to the tune as Molly giggled and stirred.
Or perhaps her favorite had been the night they sat at the harpsichord, singing another lovelorn ballad of parted lovers, when he suddenly stood from the bench and held his hand out to her. Between the house and his magic, the instrument continued to play while she slid her hand into his and followed him to the center of the room.
Facing each other and holding hands, he led her through a popular jig, the harpsichord plinking merrily as they danced. His footwork was impeccable, and Molly laughed breathlessly as they twirled and stomped their feet. He even knew when to lift, taking her by the waist to hoist her high. Molly squealed, balancing on his shoulders as the music crescendoed.
Flushed with delight, Molly kissed him senseless after that dance. They swayed in the center of the room for a long while that night, her body tucked tightly to his, the music softening to a gentle melody.
That night was…perfect.
Another to add to her growing collection of perfect moments here with him.
When she stopped to think about all that had happened, Molly realized that maybe Allarion’s fae sense of time had begun to rub off on her a little. Other than the deepening browns of late autumn, there were no other indications of the passage of time alone as they were out on the estate.
For all that Allarion had his goals to establish the estate and bring his friend here, Molly never felt rushed or the need to decide anything urgently. She filled her days however she pleased, happy with nurturing what was between them with lively chatter and gentle kisses.
She loved that his idea of grubby work clothes still included immaculately polished boots and a tailored jerkin and that showing off shirt sleeves somehow counted as casual. She loved how when he was confused, the top of his nose wrinkled in a charming little frown. She loved how often she saw his fangs, for he only showed them when he smiled. She loved that he endeavored to learn food and cooking despite not eating himself, and that he could wiggle his pointed ears, and that she could scandalize him with the simplest swears.
Molly didn’t think she’d made a lover wait this long for sex before. She usually enjoyed sex and wasn’t overly picky about the circumstances, but as with everything else about the fae, sex with Allarion would be different.
