The Magic Between Us (Faerie)

by Tammy Falkner

  “I want to spend some time alone with him before the celebration.”

  “Are you at all afraid that Mayden is going to show up?” Sophia asked both of them.

  “Terribly afraid,” Claire admitted. She heaved a sigh. “The man is mad. And he needs to be stopped.”

  “Perhaps it was a mistake to invite him to such a gathering,” Sophia mused. “I’m not certain I want him in this house at all.” She shivered uncontrollably, and the hair on Cecelia’s arms stood up.

  “Finn will have men all over the place. If nothing else, we can get a warning to his wife tonight, if he even comes. He may not show his face. If he has an ax to grind, he’ll be here. But he may just want to live a quiet life now that his debts have been paid and he’s settled back into society.” Claire nibbled absently at a nail. “He threatened to throw me from the turrets last year,” she said. “He isn’t aware that I can fly.” She laughed lightly.

  “Not much use tossing one of us off the tower,” Cecelia agreed.

  “Whatever he does, it will be cowardly,” Sophia reminded them.

  “Well, this conversation has turned morbid,” Claire chirped. “Happy wedding day, Cecelia,” she said, taking a glass of champagne from a nearby footman. She handed one to each of the other ladies as well. Claire reached out to squeeze her hand. “You’re happy, aren’t you?” she asked, her gaze searching Cecelia’s.

  “Despite Mayden and the threat he proposes, I couldn’t be happier,” Cecelia said.

  Marcus caught her gaze from across the room. He motioned with his eyes toward the staircase.

  She shook her head, laughing. They couldn’t leave their families just because they wanted to be alone. Could they? Definitely not.

  ***

  Marcus nodded toward the staircase again, and Cecelia smiled and shook her head. His sisters looked over at him, and Claire shot him a scolding glance. Sophia shook a finger at him. Good God, would he never get the woman alone? He supposed there would be time enough to spend with her, a lifetime in fact, after the celebration.

  He nodded toward the staircase again, and she grinned, shaking her head. Her cheeks pinkened. “No,” she mouthed.

  He walked over to her, his gait slow and unhurried. The part of her bosom that was exposed by her bodice flushed, and Marcus wanted to peel her clothing off to see if she was that flushed everywhere.

  “Oh, dear,” he heard Claire say. “Your wings are blushing, Cecelia.” She laughed. She was right. Cecelia was a delicious shade of pink.

  Marcus put his hand at the small of Cecelia’s back and began to draw tiny circles. She flushed even more. “Worried about tonight?” he asked.

  “Which part of it?” she asked.

  He leaned down and spoke, his lips moving against the shell of her ear. “The part where I get to show you your wedding gift.”

  “Wedding gift?” she asked. “We weren’t supposed to purchase wedding gifts.”

  “We needed a house to move into, didn’t we?” he asked.

  “You bought a house?” she squeaked.

  “Just a small one.” He held his fingers a small space apart. “And I didn’t buy it. I just rented it. I thought you might want to help me pick the house we’ll eventually live in. This one is only temporary.”

  “Tired of living the bachelor lifestyle?” she asked.

  “Ainsley and Allen will live in our old quarters for a time, after their wedding. It’s not big enough for all of us, and I’m a little plumper in the pockets than Allen right now, so I volunteered to move out. I think you’ll like it.” He looked down at her. “And no one will be around to hear you scream when I have my wicked way with you,” he said softly.

  “I do not scream,” she scoffed. But a new blush crept up her cheeks.

  “Not yet,” he whispered.

  Claire made a gagging noise at the back of her throat. “If the two of you are going to carry on like that, I would suggest that you go ahead and leave. Or I’ll have no choice but to cast up my accounts.”

  Marcus looked down at Cecelia. “Do you want to go and see your new home?” he asked.

  “What about all the people?” she whispered.

  “All the people know what you’re going to do,” Sophia whispered back dramatically. She leaned in to hug Cecelia. “Go. Enjoy the afternoon. You’ll be back tonight for the celebration.”

  “No one will mind?” Cecelia asked.

  “No one will care,” Sophia said, waving a breezy hand in the air.

  And with that, Marcus took her hand and they sprinted for the doorway. As she ran beside him laughing, Marcus’s heart jumped into his throat. God, he loved this woman. He couldn’t imagine living a day without her. Ever.

  They reached the waiting carriage and Marcus handed her inside, just before climbing in himself and settling back against the squabs. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a mix of mouths, and her gentle response nearly undid him. “I have missed you so much,” he breathed.

  “You’ve seen me every day,” she corrected. “What’s to miss?”

  “Now that you’re my wife, I can kiss you anytime I want. I can hold you anytime I want. I can touch you anytime I want.” He touched her shoulder. “When we get home, I want to see you naked with just your wings. I want to touch them.”

  “They’re very sensitive,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be careful,” he breathed back.

  He spent the next ten minutes kissing her, and she was breathless and he was hard as stone by the time they arrived at their new address. It was a small town house in Grosvenor Square. “It’s charming,” Cecelia said.

  “Not as charming as you are,” Marcus said, tweaking her nose. “It’ll do for now.” He looked down at her and swooped her into his arms.

  “What are you doing, Marcus?” she squealed. “Are you mad?”

  He was. “Mad for you, yes,” he laughed as he sprinted for the door. It opened, and Cecelia squealed when she saw Mr. Pritchens standing behind the open door.

  “Mr. Pritchens,” she said, laughing, as Marcus walked by the older man.

  “Mrs. Thorne,” he said, his haughty nose in the air. Marcus stopped.

  “Say that again,” he commanded.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Thorne,” Pritchens said, grinning at Cecelia.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Pritchens?” Cecelia struggled to get down from Marcus’s arms, and Marcus set her on her feet.

  “We couldn’t have a household without him,” Marcus said. Cecelia wouldn’t have been happy if she didn’t have the old man. “He’ll go back and forth with us from one world to the other.” She looked up at Marcus, her eyes bright and shiny. “If that’s all right with you,” he added.

  She grinned and smacked his arm. “Of course, it’s all right with me,” she said. She turned and kissed Marcus quickly. “You make me so happy,” she said.

  Marcus looked at the older servant. “You, Mr. Pritchens, may take the rest of the day off, if you’ll have Cook leave some provisions for us in the kitchen.”

  “They’re already prepared, Mr. Thorne,” he said. “You’ll find everything you’ll need when you’re ready for it.”

  “There’s a good man,” Marcus said, and he took Cecelia’s hand, showing her the house.

  “It’s lovely, Marcus,” she breathed.

  It was actually a little too big, but it was all he could find on such short notice. “I thought we might have your father come and stay with us when he’s in Town. There’s plenty of room.”

  “He’s not coming today, is he?” Cecelia whispered dramatically. Her finger trailed down the front of his coat.

  “No one had better show up today,” Marcus warned, and then he took Cecelia’s hand and tugged her toward the staircase. He raced her to the top, and laughing, they stumbled into the master’s chambers.

  In the center of the room was a large four-poster bed. An adjoining door led to a dressing room, and a bath was on the other side of that. “It certainly is larg
e,” Cecelia breathed.

  Marcus had Mr. Pritchens take care of the furnishings, and he’d done an amazing job.

  Cecelia’s nose wrinkled when she heard splashing from the tub in the other room. “What’s that?”

  He turned Cecelia toward him. “I had Mr. Pritchens send footmen up with a bath for you.”

  ***

  She nodded. She was slightly overwhelmed. “You make me so happy, Marcus,” she said.

  He took her hand and laid it flat upon his chest. “You make me complete,” he said.

  Tears pricked at the backs of her lashes, and she blinked quickly to blink them away.

  “The house. And Mr. Pritchens. And chambers for my father.”

  “On a lower level,” he whispered. “Not up here with us.”

  He spun her so that her back faced him, and he began to unfasten her dress. As he worked at the fastenings, he kissed his way down the center of her back. “If this thing wasn’t my mother’s, I’d have to rip it off you,” he growled. He nibbled on a tiny freckle on her shoulder. How many of those did she have? He would have to count them after he got her naked. He would count them again and again.

  He shoved her gown and her dress down over her hips and tapped her leg, saying, “Step,” so she would move out of it. He tossed the dress onto a nearby chair.

  Cecelia crossed her arms in front of her chest. He pulled the ribbon of her drawers and repeated the motion, the silk sliding along the inside of her thighs like fire, followed by his hand, which slipped up her thigh. She opened her thighs to give him access, but he just chuckled and said, “Not yet,” as he untied her garters and rolled her stockings down her legs.

  “I’m naked and you’re not,” she protested.

  “I can remedy that quickly,” he said, as he began to tear at his own clothing. He was breathless and hard when he stopped, his manhood arching up toward his stomach. Or toward her—she wasn’t certain which. “Would you like to avail yourself of that bath?” he asked.

  “Only if you’ll join me,” she taunted.

  His brow arched. “A bath? With you? Nothing would please me more.” He took her hand and walked with her to the bathing room, his footsteps quiet beside hers. She wasn’t even feeling self-conscious. “How should we accomplish this?” he asked.

  The claw-foot tub was huge, not one of the simple bathing tubs some houses had. It was large enough for two. “How should I know?” she asked. “I’ve never bathed with anyone before.”

  “I saw you, you know,” he said as he settled into the tub, his back to the wall. He opened his thighs and motioned for her to get between them. “Come on,” he encouraged.

  “You saw me do what?” she asked.

  “On the night I returned to the land of the fae, I came directly to see you. You were in the bath and you were crying.”

  She nodded. “I spent a lot of time crying back then.”

  She laid her head back on his shoulder, and he wrapped around her. The water lapped at her breasts, and his manhood pressed hard and insistent against her bottom. Marcus reached over and picked up a bar of soap from a nearby table. “I have a feeling I’m going to smell like roses by the end of the bath.”

  She flipped over so that she was on her knees between his, and she took the soap from him. “You’re going to smell like me,” she warned fiercely.

  “I should have come to you immediately and asked why you were crying,” he said as she began to soap his chest. He stopped her hand with his, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Marcus. But why didn’t you come to me when you saw me crying? Why did you leave? I missed you so much.”

  “I didn’t know why you were crying,” he admitted. “And you were naked. Totally naked.” He reached out and caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it gently. “Much like now. Minus the crying.”

  Her breath left her quickly, and she forced herself to focus on her task. Focus on the bath, Cecelia. “I’m not crying now,” she said.

  His brown gaze caught hers and held. “I never want you to cry again.”

  “I can’t promise that,” she warned. “There will be events like births and marriages and anniversaries that might make me weepy. I’m warning you.”

  “Those I can tolerate,” he admitted. “But I never want you to be sad again. Not like you were then.”

  Cecelia soaped her hand and ticked his abdomen with it, and the muscles of his stomach rippled beneath her touch. “Enough of that,” he warned playfully, grabbing for her slick hands. He drew her to lie on his chest, one of his thighs between hers, and he took the soap from her, running it up and down her spine, and down her arms slowly. If they didn’t get out of the tub soon, she would go mad.

  “Marcus,” Cecelia said. “Do you think we’re clean enough?” she asked.

  “Clean enough for what?” he asked, flipping her over so that she lay atop him again.

  “Clean enough to get out of this tub.”

  “Not yet,” he breathed, taking her earlobe in his teeth and nipping it gently.

  His slippery fingers parted her thighs, and he draped one leg over each side of the tub. She still lay atop him, with her head upon his shoulder. “Marcus,” she complained.

  But then his slick fingers slipped into the tuft of hair at the top of her mound. He tugged it gently, and she stilled. She opened her thighs in invitation. His fingertip raked gently up and down her folds until he found the little nub that had been pounding like mad ever since he’d touched her. He circled it with his finger, as he said very close to her ear, “How badly do you want to come?”

  She whimpered, clutching his thighs below her. “Badly,” she admitted.

  The length of him pressed against her backside. She shifted, letting him slide along the crack of her bottom, until he hissed between his teeth. “Be still,” he warned with a laugh.

  “I want you inside me,” she told him, turning her head so she could kiss the side of his mouth. He took her lips with his, a fierce mix of teeth and tongue, as his fingers continued to play around her nub.

  “Put me inside,” he taunted, lifting his lips for only a moment.

  “Me?” she asked.

  “You,” he breathed, pressing his manhood against her forcefully.

  He reached down and arched his staff away from his belly, and she balanced herself on the edges of the tub, sliding back far enough that he could push at her entrance.

  “Take me inside,” he whispered, his lips grazing her neck.

  “I don’t know if I can do it here,” she said.

  But then Marcus took over and lifted her bottom. She grasped the edges of the tub, hovering over him as he fed his length inside her. “Sink down on me,” he said, his voice broken and harsh.

  Cecelia impaled herself on his shaft, taking him inch by slow inch. “I’ve never felt so full,” she breathed.

  “You should see the view from here,” he chuckled. “Amazing.” That was when Cecelia realized that he could see his manhood being slowly fed inside her. He pulled her hips lower and she took more of him. And more. And more, until he was inside her fully, and her bottom was pressed against his stomach. “Sit back,” he said.

  Cecelia leaned her back against his chest, his fullness adjusting to her new position. Marcus let out a hiss between his clenched teeth.

  “Don’t move anymore,” he warned.

  “Why not?” she whispered playfully.

  “Because you’re all warm and snug around me. And I want to stay like this forever.” He licked the rim of her ear, and Cecelia felt his manhood jump inside her.

  But then his fingers started their slow slide around her nub again, and Cecelia rocked against him. The warm water of the tub lapped against her breasts, and Marcus must have seen it, because he took one breast in his hand and cupped it, pinching her nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I’m going to come if you can’t be still,” he warned.

  She
stilled. But she squeezed him inside her, her walls pulsing madly around his length.

  “Don’t do that either,” he said, and she tightened around him again. “Oh, God,” he cried.

  He bit down on her shoulder gently, his teeth abrasive and tender at the same time. Heat shot straight to the center of her, and her breath rushed out in tiny pants. “Marcus,” she cried.

  “You feel like a silken glove on me,” he growled next to her ear. “You’re tight and wet and hot, and you’re squeezing me so tightly.”

  “I think you’re too big for me in this position,” she said. “I can’t even move on you.”

  ***

  Thank God she couldn’t move. If she didn’t stop fisting him within her depths, he would come. And he wasn’t ready to come yet. He wanted to pleasure her. He wanted to take her in their bed, with their magic surrounding them. He wanted all of her, and he’d yet to have it. He wanted it. Dear God, he wanted it.

  But first, he would make her come. He would make her gasp with pleasure. Then he would pull himself from her silken depths and carry her to bed.

  His fingers traced a circle around that sensitive little nub, his touch growing less and less gentle as her body responded. Her sheath quivered around him, squeezing him tighter as she moved closer and closer toward the peak.

  “Cecelia,” he called. “Please come for me,” he whispered into her ear. He kissed down the side of her wet neck, and he licked and sucked his way across her shoulder.

  With his other hand, he tormented her breast. He tugged on her nipple, elongating it with his fingertips, tugging it none too gently. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  But his only reward was a loud growl from Cecelia as she thrust his hand away. She pulled her legs inside the tub and sat forward on her knees. Marcus adjusted the angle of his back so he could arch to meet her as she rose and fell on him. Her pace was frantic, and he could tell she was reaching for something she couldn’t find.

  “Marcus!” she cried.

  Marcus lifted her off him. She protested loudly, crying out at their parting. He stepped from the tub, nearly sliding on his arse in the process. But he didn’t care. He needed her. He needed her in a bed. He needed to be inside her. God, he needed this woman.