He’s long and stiff. Yet not stiff enough. Not for me.
I tear my mouth away, snag one of his ears, and suck on the crest. Cerulean seethes, his cock rising into the nexus where my feathered skirt splits. Much better.
“Hot damn,” I purr, slinking my palm between us and cupping that hardness. “Is this for me?”
“No,” Cerulean answers, then pulls back to drift his hands along my bare limbs. Under my gown, he seizes my ass with one palm and shreds my drawers with the other, the dainty rip slicing through the air. “This is for you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
His digits comb through the patch of moist curls, his index finger ascending the cleft. Blood swirls within my core. My mouth parts on a silent moan as he teases the wet opening, drawing around my swollen skin to the point where I’m soaked and muttering who knows what.
He takes his time, grazing the contours while peering at my flushed face, then outlines the tiny root of flesh poised above my center. I’m a quavering mess, throbbing as he dabs and circles around the crest, a million nerve-endings springing to life. I surrender, pleading nonsense, and he yields, giving me his touch.
With an appreciative noise, he sinks a finger into me. My muscles flutter around him, the slick glide of his digit pushing a cry from my mouth—then another as he adds a second digit. I bow into him, my knees steepling higher astride his waist, my buttocks gyrating across the moss-covered rock.
Cerulean hits a spot that pinches, torments. Then he withdraws…and slips in again…and again…and again. With each thrust, I grow damper, pooling around his fingers. Helpless moans skitter into the enclosure, demanding more, please more.
“That’s it,” Cerulean encourages. “Give me that exquisite sound.”
I don’t sound exquisite. I sound like I’m falling.
He kisses me and picks up speed, cupping my bottom with his free hand and rocking me back and forth, jutting me against the fingers lodged within. I match his pace, gripping his shoulders and riding his hand, keening into his mouth.
Our foreheads meet. My insides clench, almost there, almost there. My inner walls tense around his fingers, gathering at the center—
“Yes, my Lark,” he urges. “Come slow and low.”
—until a rapturous blitz pitches me to the sky. I’m not falling, I’m soaring. I holler, shattering in his arms while he swallows my cries.
I sink back to earth and deflate against him, panting into his shoulder. He smooths out my hair and pecks my lips, his breathing frayed. We’re a shambles, our clothes in disarray.
And we haven’t even started yet.
Still spasming, I wiggle closer, rubbing myself against his prick. In response, Cerulean digs his fingers into my rear and utters, “I’m not stopping.”
“Good.” I lean in, flick my tongue along his mouth, and mumble, “Fuck me instead.”
His irises transform to a vivid shade of blue. He withdraws from under my gown and slips his glistening fingers into his mouth while studying my reaction. The act of him tasting my climax sends a fresh bolt of desire through me.
My bodice is next. One by one, he breaks the clasps, splitting to reveal a valley of pebbled skin. I straighten, enabling my tits to widen the gap, then wait for him to do the rest.
Cerulean frees the bodice, my breasts pouring into the firelight, into his line of vision. My nipples pucker, rising into dark pink crusts. They level, waiting for him, waiting for his mouth.
His pupils eclipse the irises as they take in the sight. He curses in Faeish, the string of words slanting upward at the ends. Hugging my lower back, he urges me to recline, my head tipping toward the shivering treetops.
And then a hot mouth wraps around my nipple. I give another cry, unleashing to the canopy as Cerulean sucks on me. Over and over, he tastes the disk of skin, licking and kissing. Then he shows mercy, his teeth grazing the opposite bud while I sputter his name, his name, his name.
“Minn ó Lark,” Cerulean pants into my breasts. He pulls back and jerks his head, knocking away the damp forelocks.
My intakes go shallow. “Take my clothes off.”
His lips coil into a grin. “A favor for a favor.”
Naturally. The gown trembles down my body, whispering over my curves and hollows. I let him run the material past my hips and ankles, the fringed skirt flapping, tickling me along the way. The fabric splashes to the ground, and then I’m naked, sprawled before him in the flames.
My thigh cuff glints, the only object I’m wearing. My breasts hang heavy and needy, sweat builds behind my knees, and my soles grind into the boulder. I brace myself on my elbows and inch my thighs apart, exposing the slit where he touched me.
His stare roots deep. None of my lovers have ever looked at me this way.
Like I’m rare. Like I’m irreplaceable.
I don’t need him to tell me that. I know what I’m worth, yet my soul warms.
The wind lashes at his clothes. Too many clothes.
The shirt exposes a bounty of skin. I straighten, flatten my palms on his chest, and scale the grid of abs. I map out the solid planes before coming to rest on his heart, the organ ramming against my hands, the pace accelerating.
From there, my hands loop over his shoulders, taking the coat with them. It floats to the grass. With anxious fingers, I grab the hem of his shirt and drag it over his head. Cerulean moves with me, his sinuous arms rising, displaying the iron scars trickling up his forearms.
He peels off his boots, tossing them aside. I react quickly because those low-slung trousers gotta go, my hands shaking as I hustle them down. Again, he helps, stripping the trousers the rest of the way.
I’m lucky I don’t swallow my tongue. He’s beautiful. His wiry muscles contract over the toned cliff of his body, easy to strap myself around. Aside from a few sprigs of dark hair—under his arms, along his limbs, and at his center—Cerulean’s made of marble.
Sloping hips frame his length. It pitches high, flushed at the apex.
I can’t decide what I crave first. To wrap my mouth around that thickness or feel it pumping into me. I’ll be damned if I can make up my mind, so I choose neither.
Instead, I scoot to the edge. Our centers brush, both of us grunting softly from the contact. I swerve and attach my lips to his throat. Cerulean’s fingers capture my hips, the nails biting as I lave his skin with my tongue. My kisses travel from his neck to his collarbones, then to his nipples twitching between my teeth. I sample his torso, where the feather dangles from his hair.
And then I peck each iron crater branding his arms. Above me, Cerulean expels a ragged breath.
When I reach his navel, he yanks me upright and jerks me into him. “Not so fast, pet,” he warns, the nickname spoken with an endearing lilt. “You’re not permitted to taste me until I’ve made you shout to the sky. If not, this will be over fast.”
“Who died and made you ruler?” I taunt.
Cerulean smiles, but the smile drops in no time. “Spread your legs so I can see where I’m going.”
That alone sends me into a tailspin, arousal streaking up my legs. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know where to go. He’s asking because he wants to savor the visual, a broader view than I’d given him moments ago. But if this Fae thinks he can order me around, he’d better learn the truth right fast.
I shake my head. “Be polite.”
Standing in between my limbs, Cerulean braces his palms on my scarred knees, sketching them with his thumbs. Then he bends his head to those marks. “Please,” he entreats against the mangled flesh. “Please, let me.”
It’s not the pleading that does it. No, it’s the gentle strum of his fingers, the light kisses on my chimney scars. A bulb grows in my throat, and my kneecaps loosen.
I fan out my thighs for him, for myself, for this. I bare everything.
Meanwhile, I enjoy the shape of Cerulean. His sinewy figure. The powdery blue vein that wanders up his inner forearm. That pulse that beats against his neck. The bob of his t
hroat. I relish the exposed dips, steep hipbones, and the scars peppering his arms.
I savor that erect part of him suffused with color, the shaft straining.
I squirm, nestling him deeper, cradling him into the vent of my thighs. My hand descends to the stem of his cock, my fingers linking around the base. “Spread me with this.”
“Greedy human.” Cerulean snatches my lips, his tongue devouring mine.
At the same time, he palms my rump with one hand, holding me in place. With the other hand, he hooks my leg over his waist.
My wandering fingers discovering another sexy part of him. His ass is toned, the indentations yielding under me.
Our lips open and seal as if this is a dire moment. We kiss deeply, trading sighs, shivers.
And his tip pushes forward.
Our voices tangle into a single, stunted half-moan. The sounds trip out of us, clashing because our faces lean so close to each other. My eyes lock with his, refusing to miss this.
Cerulean’s pelvis braces at my entrance. His eyes glitter, menacing, lovely.
Again, he rocks his hips, swabbing my wetness. Another moan strays from my tongue. He kisses my chin, punctuating the contact with a flick of his waist, nudging his prick further. My core flares around him, then seals the crown inside.
We keep our eyes pinned, but it’s a struggle to hold them open. Cerulean moves with predatory grace, slow and steady. With controlled circles of his waist, his cock probes me a little more, each pivot agonizing. The prolonged friction drives me so crazy, my palms imprint on his rear to spur him farther, but that only incites a wicked Fae grin. He denies me, responding with a swat of his groin, splitting me farther.
“Oh, Fables,” I whimper. “Cerulean.”
“Do you like that?” he asks. “I like it, too. I like it so much.”
But it goes on. And on. And on.
Until I’m cracking from the inside. Until I’m weeping with need. Until I’m incoherent.
And not only me. Cerulean’s plaintive growl is a thread pulled taut. We cling to one another, a film of sweat building on our skin. Moisture floods from my body, drenching us both. He moans with enthusiasm, swirling his length in that place—that beautiful, brutal place.
“Now,” he promises.
At last, his prick slides, and slides, and slides. And then he’s inside me, fully inside me, my muscles closing around him.
Our cries inundate the park. He fills me to the brink, our bodies jolting upward from the impact, then sinking onto the rock. I’ve never felt anything so painfully good. I’ve never felt this way with anyone, complete and incomplete all at once.
Cerulean mutters an oath. His face presses against mine, and we take a moment—a scant moment—before starting to move. With gentle snaps, his hips whisk back and forth. He strokes in and out of me, never completely leaving my body, allowing me to feel every inch of him.
We groan into each other’s mouths. The surrounding flames crackle and sputter. My thighs ride his movements, our waists bumping.
It’s too much. It’s too little.
My fingernails travel from his backside to cleave his lower spine, laced with perspiration. Reflexively, Cerulean delves deeper, harder. I whine, my head lashing.
He takes the opportunity to twist his head and suck on the flesh between my clavicles. Of their own accord, my knees vault higher, my hips meeting every thrust.
The wind flails about, because here we are, in this park, in this wild, teetering on the brink. In a sudden hurry, Cerulean urges me backward. I unwind, draping myself across the mossy rock and linking my ankles around his waist.
Cerulean pins my wrists above my head, looms over me, and attacks with sharp shallow thrusts. I give a shout, and he matches that shout with his own, his cock whipping into me. The momentum increases, along with the octave of our moans.
His waist lunges forward with abandon, and my back ruts into the surface. I knead his ass, burrowing him more, more, more. Revolving beneath him changes the angle of his entrance, so that I pump upward as he pumps downward. Our pelvises crash together, and my legs fall apart.
“Fuck,” he grates out, his muscles tensing. “Lark.”
“Don’t,” I wheeze, grabbing his face. “Not yet.”
He clenches his eyes shut, fighting the climax as he swings his hips into me. He lets go of my wrists and flattens his palms on the boulder, caging me in. My head arches, and my back arches, taking each punch of his waist.
Cerulean’s eyelids fly open, his gaze landing on me. His open mouth hovers over mine, on the verge of a kiss. Yet he can’t, and I can’t.
But we have to. We need to let go, or we’ll break each other.
I grasp his snapping hips, the flesh dripping with sweat. He clasps the back of my head and covers my sobs with his mouth. Our lips mimic the rhythm of his thrusts. But I don’t want it to end like this, not walloping across this rock. I want us charging into clouds, into the stars.
I squirm until Cerulean understands. He twines his arm around my back and hoists me to a sitting position, where he stands within my splayed thighs. We wrap ourselves around one another and heave upward, his cock surging into my wetness. My inner walls tighten, the clutch of my body taking him in, taking him, taking it. His length spasms, pounding into me, fucking into me, the tip hitting a threshold.
We chase that peak, chase it. We climb higher, higher.
Our bodies stiffen. The friction gathers at my center, blood coursing to where he tenses inside me. We pause, then spring off that ledge. Our groins contort around one another, warmth exploding from where we’re joined.
We fling back our heads. I cry out my orgasm while Cerulean comes with a holler. The frantic sounds mingle into one, the wind sweeping them away.
28
The flight ends. We slump against one another in a nest of sweaty arms and limbs. Our sluggish breaths merge with a canary’s lullaby, cast from someplace in the boughs, the birdsong distinct from what I’m used to hearing. It’s richer and brighter than a dozen bells, the notes layering over one another, soothing me from the inside out.
A blanket of air merges with the trees. The sweet, musky scent of perspiration floats into my nostrils.
Cerulean burrows his head into the crook of my throat, and I sail my fingers over his damp scalp. This happened. It happened with a Fae who’s lived in my heart for so long, and I don’t have one damn regret.
His husky lilt travels across my shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I mumble, the word limp on my tongue.
I’m not all right, because this wasn’t all right, because it had to end. I don’t want it to be over, not ever. He’d worn the shit out of me.
Cerulean chuckles, his naked body shaking with mirth. The texture of his laughter brushes my skin, the sound akin to something released from a stopper, something that’s grown headier, more flavorful and potent with age. Something invaluable.
He tilts his head, gazing at me with a measure of trust that crawls inside my stomach. A captivated shade of blue saturates those irises, making him appear younger. I like this look much better on him, the look of someone with earnest blood running through his veins.
I’ve always assumed that Faeries don’t have hearts, not the way humans do. Not authentic ones, with the ability to care for beings other than themselves. But here he is, shattering that assumption.
Cerulean straightens. His arms weave around my middle, my legs still encasing him. “I’ve thought about you every day since that forge,” he whispers. “You planted a seed, but I wasn’t until after I left you that I fell in love. You made my heart beat at a new pace.”
It’s everything I want to hear, too good to be true. “We were tykes,” I say, charting his lower back.
He pecks my lips. “I believe there are endless of ways to love. It comes in many shapes and across many timelines—some short, some long—from a multitude of diverse bonds and encounters. I think what I felt for you was but one way.” He angles his
head, the torches illuminating his frown. “How did you feel?”
“The same.” My answer is immediate, and it rinses the doubt from his face. “Why didn’t you seek me out again? Or was that you, slinking into my room over the years and fondling my bedsheets?”
His astonishment is genuine, but so is his smirk. “Are you saying the wind visited you? Indeed, that was me, but I had no idea it was you. Don’t glower like that—allow me to explain. Through the wind, I’ve antagonized numerous mortals, sneaking into homes and disturbing the peace. Rest assured, it was solely to petrify the mortals with illusions and glamour. However, it was never to force my body on them.”
I nod, though Cerulean hadn’t needed to say so. Faeries may dabble in enticements, but the Fables say his kind are rarely sexually tempted by mortals. Even if they were, I know he’d never do that to someone, human or not.
“Call it a coincidence, but it seems you were one of my targets,” Cerulean says. “I can’t see whom the wind makes contact with. Rather, I feel its progress and direct its trajectory toward their aura. I’ve done it so often, I wasn’t able to place you when we reunited. In any event, if I had known it was you, the mortal girl from my childhood, I wouldn’t have intruded.
“Or perhaps I would have, merely to tuck you in. It’s fortunate I remained unaware, or I might have grown obsessed and forsaken my duties. You have that power over me.” His features lift into a naughty grin. “However, my visit to your guest chamber last night is another Fable. I knew precisely what I was doing. Am I right to suppose you enjoyed my antics?”
“You know the answer to that,” I say. “You knew how I’d respond. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tried.”
Though I’m not sure how to feel about being his exception, other than guilt and anger at him for assuming it’s fine and dandy to plague humans. Nonetheless, he was always my exception, too.
And tonight…well, maybe tonight is our exception. There’s so much to say, and if we start, we won’t stop. But we’re greedy, and we’re traitors to our people, because this night’s too special to muck up. We’re so damn happy, and we might not get another shot at this. I sense Cerulean thinking the same thing.
Kiss the Fae (Dark Fables: Vicious Faeries Book 1) Page 27
