by Dawn Madigan
His voice breathed over the delicate shell of her ear, making a soft jolt shoot down Dara’s spine. Though Rowan held her gently, he gave her no chance of escape.
“They don’t seem to mind. Look.”
Dara shook her head, straining against Rowan’s grasp, when a breathless feminine moan sounded from the shadows, drawing her gaze to the tangled lovers.
The woman’s back was pressed against the murky brick wall. Her hair spilled to her waist in a dark red cascade, and a generous side-split in her gown bared the long curve of one raised thigh. Her flesh was milky-white against the robe’s forest green. She crooked her knee, squeezing her leg against the man’s thighs, trapping his dark cloak beneath her.
He pressed his hands hard against the wall, framing the woman’s face. His cloak fell away from his arms, baring bulging sinews gleaming with sweat.
She panted a small, excited laugh, her face partly blocked from Dara’s view by her lover’s broad shoulders.
His head bowed deeper, a shock of golden hair tumbling forward. The redhead’s hands were working low on him, concealed from view, doing something to his body that made him groan and thrust his hips with mounting need. His hands tightened into fists against the bricks.
“Mmmmm,” the redhead purred, working on him with a swifter tempo. She leaned her head back against the wall, watching his face.
“Enough,” the man growled hoarsely.
Still swaying his hips, he jerked one hand from the sweat-dampened clay and captured the redhead’s slim wrists. Dara could see her shifting against the wall behind him, face and torso mostly hidden.
He pinned her arms against the wall, and she responded with a tiny yelp.
“Leave ‘em there,” he breathed in soft command.
His fingers trailed a slow route up her trembling arm and back down again, then stroked up that never-ending, milk-white thigh. His lingering caress slipped into the gown’s deep split, his back muscles bunching beneath his cloak. The redhead gasped sharply as he buried his hand deeper between her thighs, her back arching against the wall with a violent shudder.
Then, slowly, he pulled his hand out, wetness dousing his fingers, and Dara’s breath caught in her burning throat as she watched.
Clutching the woman’s waist, the man easily heaved her back against the wall, and thrust hard between her thighs. She screamed as he drove himself inside her, spearing his cloak with her fingers. Both her legs locked around his waist as he started to pump into her in a lazy, steady rhythm. He cupped her ass through the twin side splits in her gown, forcing her tighter against him as he fucked her.
Her short, snatched moans swirled into the air. She tightened her arms on his back, crushing his cloak. Her head fell against her lover’s shoulder, mingling her fiery locks into his fair, lightly braided ones. Her eyes fluttered open for a brief second, staring directly into Dara’s, then fluttered shut again.
Dara, stunned by the redhead’s blunt stare, shifted at Rowan’s soft chuckle in her ear.
“You’re panting, sweetheart,” he teased, and laid a sizzling kiss against the long line of her neck. And then, feeling her stiffening in response, “Aye, let you go, right?”
Rowan’s grip loosened on Dara and she tore away from him, blushed to the core and struggling to calm her breathing. They resumed their walk along the winding pavestones, the couple’s escalating moans fading behind their backs. Dara almost stumbled, so vicious was the sweet tingling between her legs.
A sharp gasp tore from her mouth as Rowan caught her slim waist from behind, pinning her against his front. He seemed to be fond of that particular position. His arms caged her slender form in an uncompromising hug, his large body draping hers.
“You looked like you were in pain, sweetheart.” He dropped the soft words into her hair, his mouth teasing one cheek.
She writhed against his arms, her breath hissing out in a furious huff. “Rowan, dammit, let—”
“Do you truly wish me to let you go, Dara?” He eased one hand’s grip.
“Yeah,” she whispered, but her body quieted as his hand took a slow tour of her body. It lingered over one heaving breast, measuring its quickening rise and fall. A desperate moan breached Dara’s lips—Rowan’s gently pressed palm could surely feel the tautening nipple beneath it.
Her body always seemed to betray her, time and again.
“Come, sweetheart,” Rowan uttered as he guided her towards the mauve mouth of a narrow alley. Entwined with her, he was walking her, bit by bit, away from the wide street’s leisurely bustle.
Dara breathed out a sobbing protest as Rowan’s hands captured hers, bracing them against the lilac wall. Behind her, he froze at the sound, his grip still fixing her against the tinted bricks. He let her trapped hands slip from his grasp, gently spinning her to face him.
“Dara…”
Her name tasted sweet and sharp, like the enticing scent wafting from her, like her vibrant, unique life force.
“Dara, sweetheart, relax.”
She shot him a dark, mystified glance, one that told him her thoughts were again being tormented by the ghostly presence of her long-dead lover.
Rowan drew in a shaky breath.
His fingers gently tilted Dara’s chin up, sliding to stroke along her satiny cheek. Finally, nestling her face in his hot palms, he bowed his head down to hers. He brushed his fiery lips against his mate’s cool brow, aching to banish the wraithlike chill from her eyes, wanting to infuse her body with his own heat instead.
He thawed her face with searing kisses as she sagged back against the wall. She tipped her head more to meet him, and he captured her mouth with a slow, probing kiss. Her dewy lips slackened to admit his tongue deeper. She countered him, hot and velvety, her lean fingers trembling against his unshaven jaw.
“Dara,” he finally whispered against her mouth, his tone raw. “Sweetheart, let me love you. Just a bit.”
Her response was a low, lingering moan that wrenched his insides.
Rowan took that as a yes.
Dara arched her neck as Rowan slid down from her mouth, tasting the crazed pulse throbbing beneath her jawline. She tunneled shaky fingers through his hair as he licked the vulnerable skin and then sucked it into his mouth. She groaned, pulling his head down harder as he feasted on her flesh. His hands were everywhere—molding her back, palming her ass, crushing her t-shirt and kneading her flesh through the battered cloth. He released her well-kissed neck and licked his way down to the sweat-slicked curve at the base of her throat.
“Rowan,” she panted, swaying against him, shivering uncontrollably.
He slid lower, his body tight against her deep curves. Her fingers twined deeper in his hair as he crouched down on his knees before her. His fiery gaze captured hers, unrelenting. His hands kept moving beneath her shirt. He watched her face as he stroked over her bare hips and made slow love to her belly button with his mouth.
She gasped, her fingers wreaking more havoc in the blazing mayhem of his hair.
His hands moved to cradle her breasts.
“Rowan. Yes!”
Dara’s back arched sharply, her head pressing against the mauve bricks. Her nipples wrinkled and tightened beneath Rowan’s circling, tugging fingers. A wave of heat washed over her writhing body. She called out as one of Rowan’s hands sneaked between her parted thighs.
“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he whispered against her navel, his head wrestling her shirt further up her rib cage.
She moaned, eyes shuttered, as one long finger eased its way inside her, another quickly joining it. Rowan braced her against him, kissing around her navel, as his fingers moved and kneaded inside her cunt.
She swayed against the wall, out of breath.
He granted her no mercy, kissing lower over the dark fuzz of curls shading her mound, ‘til his lips finally hit the spot.
Dara hissed out a sharp gasp as his talented mouth trapped her clit’s slick knob. Her eyes wrenched open, gazing upon the fiery head moving between her thighs.
Rowan gave her clit a vicious suck, then drummed his tongue against the hard, tiny bulge. His fingers kept fucking her, unrelenting. She closed her eyes again, shuddering all over. Breathing hard, she untangled her sweaty fingers from Rowan’s hair, digging them into his bunching shoulders.
“Rowan.”
His tongue stroked a sure path down her swollen vulva and drove inside her cunt, replacing his fingers. He tasted her fully, lapping up her pouring juices, dining on her engorged inner flesh. She danced her hips above him, her buttocks bunching, her thigh muscles taut with the effort. One short moan after another broke from her lips, in rhythm with her undulating motion. Rowan’s fingers dug into her ass cheeks, pulling her down hard on his face.
“Oh Goddess, yes!”
Dara jerked against Rowan’s face as orgasm hit her, swift and sweeping, her pussy clenching on his tongue over and over. She screamed, sinking back against the clammy bricks. He kept his tongue inside her, his firm grasp on her buttocks forcing her against his face until the tight waves of rapture dwindled and subsided.
He pulled her down then, nestling her prostrate body against his chest.
“It’s not fair,” she mumbled, in between quick gasps of air.
“Not fair, sweetheart?” Rowan searched her face, slowly licking her taste off his glossy lips. His fingers skimmed over her damp brow, tenderly brushing aside sweat-plastered clumps of raven-black hair.
“Each time, I swear I won’t do it,” she whispered. “And each time, you win.”
Rowan didn’t answer, apparently finding no suitable retort to her breathless accusation.
Dara gazed up at his face. Something raw flickered in his eyes, something like…pain, and was quickly pushed back. Unable to stop herself, Dara reached up for Rowan, stroking his rough jaw. His skin still felt hot, damp from her release.
She wanted to love him back.
“Dara—?” he asked, surprised, as she struggled up in his hold.
“Shhh…don’t talk,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck, drawing herself up against him. Her lips hovered over his mouth, bathing in his warm breath.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have t—”
“Shhh…” Her mouth sealed his lips, silencing him. She pressed against the softness, wanting entry, needing it. Her tongue tasted him, skimmed against the seam of his lips, hesitant, thirsty.
He froze against her. Suddenly his fingers threaded through her hair. Exhaling a soft breath, he let her in.
Dara let out a relieved moan, wrapping her arms tight around Rowan’s neck. She stroked her tongue over his lips, dipping into the gap between. His hot mouth invited her deeper, his tongue sliding against hers with a velvety caress. She pressed heavily against his body, her breasts flattening against his hard muscles. His strong heartbeat drummed against her breasts—steady, virile. She opened her mouth wide over his, deepening her kiss, hearing him groan. She felt his fingers stroking her hair. Felt his hard cock pressing demandingly against her stomach beneath his thin, green robe.
Dara broke their kiss, pulling back from Rowan with effort, and he mumbled a plea, or a soft curse, unknowingly slipping into Gaelic. She kissed down his throat, tasting salt, tasting him. His fingers convulsed on her shoulders as she shifted against him, her mouth falling to his chest. Damn that robe, she needed to feel skin. She covered Rowan’s hard muscles with kisses, dampening his robe’s light fabric.
“Dara.”
Rowan was trying to gain control over his rough breathing. He kneaded her shoulders, spreading his legs wider to make more room for her.
Dara dropped her gaze to his cock, rearing against the stretched fabric. She glanced up at his face. “Lean back a bit,” she whispered, gently pushing him to lean against the mauve bricks.
“Sweetheart—” he began roughly.
“Rowan. I—I want you.” She licked her lips. “Please.”
He slid his large hands from her shoulders in a slow caress, leaning back on his elbows. His eyes were afire, his body tense as if he was struggling to hold still.
Dara tugged at his robe’s hem, dragging the cool fabric up his muscled thighs. His breath hissed in as she lifted the cloth over his rampant erection, revealing his fully erect cock. She lightly touched his shaft, and he curbed a shudder.
“Rowan. You’re so hard.” She shifted between his legs. Her fingertips left his cock, trailing down the long, steely muscles of his thighs. His flesh was hot, silky-smooth, gathering sweat. He clenched his fists against the bricks. Slowly, she stroked him higher, to his naked, slim hips, deliberately avoiding his cock. He sucked in his breath as her fingers touched his soft ginger curls.
His cock head looked swollen, its tip oozing moisture.
“I’ll kiss it better,” Dara whispered, leaning low. She ran a hungry tongue over Rowan’s flat stomach, over his inner thighs, his heavy balls. She’d been wanting to do that to him since she’d seen him standing beside his motorcycle, raindrops slicking down his naked skin, trailing along his flat abdomen to disappear beneath the edge of his jeans.
Rowan threw back his head, his hips rocking slowly. “Dara,” he groaned.
She steadied his cock against her lips, running her tongue up, licking along his shaft. She heard him hiss, felt him buck. Moistening her lips again, she took his smooth cock head into the wet heat of her mouth. He was big. There was no way she could take him all the way inside. Cupping his shaft, she swirled her tongue around his engorged tip, gathering his briny fluid. His hips gave a slight jerk as her mouth closed on him, he was breathing hard. She loved the feel of him against her tongue. His taste. Smell. The texture of his skin…
“Dara,” Rowan heaved hoarsely, his hips picking speed. “Sweetheart, no, wait—”
She wasn’t listening. She kept laving his cock, one cupped hand pumping along his shaft in wicked rhythm with her mouth. Goddess, she wanted Rowan to come in her mouth. Wanted to give him back as much as he’d given her. Wanted—
“Dara!” Rowan’s hips gave a violent thrust and he exploded deep in her mouth, shuddering with the force of his climax. Her hands were still cupped around him as his hot semen washed down her throat. Slowly he sat up, sweeping her into his arms. He hugged her to his chest, stroked her hair, pressed his mouth hard over her salty lips.
She didn’t respond.
He whispered her name, softly, urgently—
With a sudden moan, Dara struggled against Rowan’s embrace.
He let her go, watching her in silence. Saying nothing.
She leaped to her feet, tugging her shirt down over her sweaty skin. Drawing away from Rowan, she lifted her trembling fingers to her mouth.
Aidan.
How could she have done this to him?
He’d been her first. Her only one. She’d never slept with another. After he’d died, she’d never wanted to take another man inside her—
“W-we should go and find that Leprechaun,” she stammered, refusing to meet Rowan’s gaze.
“Aye, I guess we should,” Rowan whispered. Slowly, he climbed to his feet.
The mauve street opened to an ivory-white plaza, its air flavored with sweet pipe music and a salty-sea taste. Manannan the Ocean Lord had made his presence felt in the vicinity of each river joining his Ocean realm. Rowan plucked a plump green apple from a nearby tree, slipping it into Dara’s hands. Famished, she burrowed her teeth into the fruit’s flesh, sour-sweet juice bursting down her chin. Rowan laughed, wiping the dribble from her jaw with gentle fingers, then giving each finger a thorough, meaningful lick. Huddled close together, they wended their way through the slowly gathering throng, finding themselves carried towards the undulating melody. Slow and mellow, it sounded like an old tune, long forgotten. As they neared, the music picked up the pace.
“That one over there looks like some ancient version of Uilleann pipes,” Rowan remarked. “The girl uses only one big bag instead of two, see it tucked beneath her arm? The way she squeezes it?”
Dara nodded
, watching the trio of players. Dressed in sea-green, hair tucked into numerous flaming braids, the three women huddled in the small clearing made by their listeners. The girl Rowan had pointed to was seated with a spread of pipes spilling over her lowered right thigh, her left hugging a large inflated leather bag. Her agile fingers ran over a wooden chanter held lightly in both hands. Her two companions were standing to either side, half a step behind, one of them holding a panpipe and strapped with an assortment of slim whistles, the other carrying what looked like a Highland bagpipe. Neither woman was playing, allowing the seated one to play solo with her bewitching tune.
“Reminds me of music I heard once, spending a night on a fairy mound,” Rowan whispered.
“What, all by yourself?” Dara quipped.
“Well, I actually had with me a—”
“They’re mainly carved from the wood of an elder tree, their pipes.” The admonishing voice made them both swivel around sharply to face an irritated banshee. Their ears tuned to the music, they had missed Brighid’s flutter of wings as she descended into the crowd wearing her raven form.
“Took me a bit to find you,” she said reprovingly. “Shouldn’t you two be elsewhere, right now?”
“The river’s bridge,” Dara muttered sheepishly.
“Aye, the Third Bridge at the least, on your way to Inis’s Leprechaun Alley.” Brighid’s thin eyebrows drew together in a frown. “But no time to look for bridges now, there’s been a change in plans. Instead we’ve got ourselves a date with the Merrows.”
She slipped her small hands into theirs, pulling them with surprising strength through the thinning back rows of the small crowd, and then further away over the cerulean cobblestones that snaked away from the Plaza.
“Merrows?” Dara panted as she scampered after the small Sidhe, struggling to wrest her hand free.
“Princess Grian agreed to help us, sort of,” Brighid tossed over her shoulder. “Here, turn here, quick!” She waved them both into a cherry-themed alley. “The Princess made contact with her father.”
“Her father?” Dara groaned. The combination of a crimson lane and the two fizzy redheads with her was overloading her senses. Otherwise she welcomed the sudden sprint, it was an acceptable alternative to her usual morning swim.
