What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?

by Cheryl Sterling

  Charlie’s loins twitched at the thought of his planned rendezvous with Jane. How could he get her back to the castle? She seemed intent on staying the night, to join in the ceremony of watching Lowth’s highest spire pierce the moons, the way a man would take a woman.

  “Is it like this every Midsummer’s Eve?” she asked, her gaze on the whirling dancers.

  “No.” He could barely speak. His throat felt raw with desire. “There’s a frantic energy tonight, as if this will be the last time, as if the Dymynsh will claim us all by next year.”

  “Live for tonight, for tomorrow we die?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he ground out. “Who knows what will happen?”

  The thrumming of the drums matched that in his body. He needed her. Now. He wanted her hot and shameless and under him.

  “Can we go back to the castle?” Impatience drove the question.

  She looked at him, startled.

  He watched her. Yes, this is Charlie, who usually runs from you. You don’t know him at all.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her voice husky.

  Charlie knocked back the last of his wine and threw the empty cup on the ground. The path to town dipped and rose again to the castle. He knew a quicker way, across the hill, through short grasses and hard rock. His footsteps were hurried as they crossed it, the moons lighting their way.

  On some level he was aware of Muttle trailing them. The Belwaith, as the king’s servant, was trained to be discreet. He would say nothing.

  Charlie’s wings hummed in anticipation. His hand on Jane’s bare back burned at the touch. If he didn’t get into her bed, into her soon, he’d burst into flames. Damn her for making him feel this way.

  They reached Sylthia’s gates, and long minutes later the keep. In darkness, he led her up the many staircases. Hunger gnawed at him. His heart pounded like the distant drums.

  He picked her up and swung through the archway, kicking the door closed behind them. Her windows faced the wrong way to catch the moonlight. A fraction of Slumber’s lavender blush glossed the room. It would have to do; he had no time to light candles.

  “You strive to tease me,” he growled, his control breaking. His hands tugged at the intricate lacing of her gown. “You think you’re safe, that boring old Charlie will remain unmoved.” He trembled, shaken by the violence of the emotions beating in him. Frustration. Desperation. Need. “You’re not safe with me, Jane Drysdale. There is only so much I can take, and I have reached that point.”

  The fabric of her dress ripped, splitting at the seams as he jerked on it. With a grunt of satisfaction, he peeled it over her head to expose her pale skin, dusted with a glimmer of gold. Her breasts, the perfect size to cup in his hand, budded in welcome. He lowered his head and sampled them, the taste of her honeyed skin lingering on his lips.

  Jane whimpered and pulled him nearer, her arms reaching around him.

  “Wings,” he whispered harshly. “You like them, don’t you, Jane? Touch them. Feel them.” He pulled off his shirt, stepped from his pants. His wings unfurled, encircling her, undulating over the skin on her back.

  His breath died in his lungs. He’d never felt anything so erotic in his life.

  Charlie pushed her against the door, pinning her against his erection. Through the roar in his head he was dimly aware she wore no other clothing. It made him want her more. Her smooth skin, the look on her face—

  Pale moonlight bathed her features. Her eyes, glazed with passion, watched him, unafraid. The beginnings of a smile curved her lips.

  “Not Charlie mild and meek,” she breathed. With deliberate slowness, she stretched to touch his left forewing.

  An explosion rocked him. If he couldn’t have her soon—

  She laughed softly. He stopped it with a kiss, taking her mouth by force, seeking, wanting, grasping for her sweetness. She kissed him fiercely, her tongue invading him. Her low, desperate cries escaped into the shadows.

  Yes, that’s what he wanted. Her surrender. She intruded into his life. He resented her, was fascinated by her, desired her. Needed her.

  She touched him again, sending a shudder to the core of his being.

  So close. He shoved her against the door, his hand reaching for her slickness, parting her to make an opening.

  “Charlie,” she gasped in response. She turned her head, her lips hot on his throat, kissing his jaw, seeking his mouth.

  He plunged his hardness into her, taking her against the door, gaining entry at last.

  It was more than he dreamed, wild and wet, a raging storm. His whole body vibrated in rhythm with hers. Jane moved against him, her nipples pebbled against his chest, her hands in his hair, scratching his back, tracing the edge of his forewing.

  Charlie thrust harder, fighting for control, aching for release. He wanted to fly with her, to soar on the drafts of the night wind, coupled in flight.

  “Yes, yes,” she breathed, curling one leg around him, granting him better access. She gasped as he plunged deeper.

  Her cries incited him. He picked her up, molding contours, opening, delving to inmost folds. Buckling, sure he would break before he climaxed, trembling at this madness. He wanted more—softness, roughness, ecstasy, wetness, her touch. This was what he wanted, needed—to be with her.

  She called his name. Charlie felt her convulse around him.

  “I can’t wait,” he gasped. He tried to hold on longer, to give her release. Her intense pleasure broke his control. He exploded, hot, wild, and violent.

  “Anjinaine,” he cried, and fell into darkness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Oh my God, I’ve killed him!

  Charlie lay motionless on her bedroom floor. Moments earlier, he’d slumped against Jane, pulling out of her right when things had started to get interesting. Blind luck, dexterity and one foot almost on the ground had saved her from tumbling down with him.

  “Charlie, don’t die on me,” she cried, tears in her eyes. She dropped to her knees at his side, trying to remember the CPR her brother Kevin had taught her. Lowth didn’t have an equivalent of 911, and anyone with medical experience was probably passed out from too much midsummer partying.

  She shook him, and when he didn’t respond she clamped her ear to his naked chest. Wha-thump. Yes, a definite heartbeat. Thank God!

  Muttle had probably heard their violent lovemaking through the door, thick as it was, but Jane hesitated to call him. If Charlie had simply fainted, he’d be embarrassed by the attention.

  Speaking of bare asses, he was completely exposed to her. At any other time she’d have enjoyed the sight, but it would be voyeuristic, not to mention sick, to ogle an unconscious man. She wrestled him back into his pants and snatched a blanket off the bed, grabbing her robe at the same time.

  “Don’t die on me,” she sobbed, covering him. “I need you, Charlie Whelphite. That crack about Klingon love-making was a joke. How was I to know I’m too much woman for you? No wonder you fled from me.” She slipped her arms into the robe and belted it. “I promise to be gentle next time. I love you, Charlie.”

  And there it was, as simple as that. She’d fallen in love with an Elf. An I-love-my-rut-don’t-mess-up-my-day Elf who happened to be half fairy. And a lawyer. And a dozen other important things to a small kingdom in a parallel universe. Who said love was easy?

  You really know how to pick ’em. Tears rolled down Jane’s cheeks, and she halted a sniffle before it could escape. It was hopeless. She’d finally found a man to love and instead of celebrating, she was headed into a battle with a wizard.

  Well, she wasn’t going to lose that fight, and she wasn’t going to lose this man, either. Not for a wizard, the Dymynsh or any other curveballs Lowth threw at her. Jane shook herself, ashamed of giving in to weakness.

  “Charlie, wake up.” She patted his cheek gently.

  He groaned and moved his head.

  “Jane?” he asked, his voice thin and distant.

  “How are you?” She bunched a corner of th
e blanket into a pillow under his head.

  Charlie opened his eyes, blinking several times, as if trying to focus. “Confused. What happened?”

  She winced. “I’m not sure, but I think I knocked you out. We were making love and you fainted. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was so potent.” Jane brushed his hair from his face. It fell through her fingers like fine threads.

  He struggled to sit, looking sheepish. “That’s the first time I’ve fainted during sex.”

  “I’m sorry.” She helped him stand, catching him under the arm when he wobbled.

  “Don’t apologize. Unless you used your ‘powers’ on me,” he said in a half-joking manner.

  Jane bit her lip to keep from replying. She’d have to be more careful next time, at least until he built up some tolerance to her vigorous lovemaking. There went her plan for using her vibrator for mutual satisfaction. He’d probably go into cardiac arrest.

  Charlie lurched, throwing her off balance.

  “Dizzy,” he murmured. With one hand he reached for the edge of the bed.

  Jane steered him toward it. “Maybe you should lie down for a while.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  Carefully she helped him, then retrieved the blanket. Fascinated, she watched him fold his wings so they didn’t take up much room. Jane scrunched in bed next to him, her back to his front, spoon-fashion.

  “This isn’t so bad, is it?” she asked when they’d settled, the blanket covering them.

  “No, it’s nice.”

  His breath ruffled her hair, the sprinkling of hairs on his chest rubbing through the thin fabric of her robe. Knowing he couldn’t see her, she smiled, her heart doubling in size with her love. Who would have imagined she’d fall for a levelheaded, brown-eyed Elf? Her mother had worried about her taking off with a biker or a circus performer, and instead she’d tumbled for a lawyer. A rock of the community: he’d done so much for the kingdom. If only he realized it.

  “Why did you call me Anjinaine?” she asked, entwining her fingers with his.

  “Did I? I don’t remember.” His voice sounded tired.

  “It’s the second time this week I’ve been called by that name. Someone’s trying to tell me something important. Did you grab it out of the air, or what?”

  “I think it was in a dream,” he murmured. He shifted her in his arms, pulling her closer.

  A warm purr escaped from Jane. I could get used to this. She knew when she’d dressed for the festivities that she’d end in bed with him. It was a matter of time and patience. It sure helped when he took matters into his own hands. And what capable hands! Stick-in-the-mud Charlie had depths she’d never dreamed about. It’s always the quiet ones.

  She rolled over, intent on interesting him in an encore.

  He slept.

  Jane stirred softly, a weight pressing against her back, side and stomach. She opened her eyes; the gray predawn light outlined an arm across her. Charlie. Oh, this is interesting. Morning sex?

  Her head hurt from too much wine the night before, but she knew of an effective hangover treatment. Endorphins. The best way to get the little chemicals—she thought of them as mini Pac-Men—shooting through her blood involved some heavy breathing. An adrenaline rush. Definitely some arm wrestling. Toe, foot, and tongue wrestling while they were at it. Oh, and fingers. Wings, too. A tingle started in her middle and spread outward.

  “I’m awake, you know,” Charlie said from behind her.

  “Oh,” she squeaked, half-turning to look at him. Guilty thoughts made her blush. “You scared me.”

  “You scared me last night.” His eyes looked incredibly brown and sexy and dangerous. “What was that about?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think . . . it’s outside the both of us.”

  “Lowth playing more tricks on you?”

  “Yeah.” Jane found it difficult to lie in his arms and not shout out that she loved him. Restraint came hard to her. “I wish I knew what it all meant.”

  He moved his hand so that his fingers played in her hair and touched her face. “I think we’ll find out soon. We leave today.”

  Reality. Such a cruel intrusion. She wanted nothing more than to stay here in his arms for a long, long time. “I know.” She rubbed her cheek against his palm. “How soon?”

  Charlie glanced at the sun’s location.

  “Oh, I think there’s time,” he said, smiling.

  “Time for what?”

  “For what was interrupted last night.” In a quick movement, he flipped her onto her back, the sheet falling away to expose his naked form. Jane gulped at the sight of his erection. When had he shed his pants?

  “My, my,” she said, reaching to cup him. “Mrs. Claus needs to say hello to Santa’s big helper.”

  Gentle, gentle . . . Jane tried to convince herself to go easy, but in reality, she wanted to savor loving him. His caresses, his nakedness, the brush of his long hair against her nipples—every movement created new sensations.

  She closed her eyes as he rained sweet kisses from her mouth to the inside arch of her foot. She cried in passion as he raised her to him, bare thigh against bare thigh, his fingers massaging her throbbing need. They twisted in the bed, limbs entangled, heated mouths against even hotter skin. Pulses raced in unison. He slid into her as if he’d been there a hundred times. But she’d never felt this way before—whole, bursting, fused with another into one being. Charlie. Her love. Her reason for living. How strange the way she had found him.

  As the sun broke into the room, Jane crested in a series of increasingly larger waves. She took Charlie with her on the last, their combined cries splintering the dawn.

  They drifted into day, satisfied aftershocks rippling through them. Jane sighed and fell asleep, one arm wrapped around the man she loved.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “A little more,” she said, raising her arms to let the cooler air flow over them. “Ah, that’s perfect. I love it. Don’t stop.” She wanted to purr in satisfaction.

  “Jane?”

  Charlie’s voice snapped her from her contentment. She spun, her eyes seeking to distinguish his form from the other half-shadowed objects around her.

  It was after dusk, almost fourteen hours since they’d departed that morning from Sylthia’s gates. Fourteen hours of unrelenting heat. She couldn’t remember being so hot, even during Michigan summers, when the temperature and the humidity battled to reach the nineties.

  The sun blazed in the sky. The air, vibrating from the heat, shimmered with hallucinogenic irradiation. Even during the short time they traveled under the canopy of the Malin Forest, they saw the lack of vegetation, the effect of the Dymynsh. Whirlpools of dust kicked up from the path, and all the shadows had a tawny cast to them.

  Eagar drove them relentlessly. Breaks were short and infrequent. They hiked until Hugh protested they would not have light enough to strike camp.

  God, she’d hated camping since she was little. Cooking over an open fire and sleeping under the stars sounded romantic until the first time you needed to go to the bathroom or take a shower. It sucked then, and it sucked now.

  “Jane?” Charlie called again. She heard the dry undergrowth crack as he made his way through the small stand of trees Hugh had selected as their campsite.

  “Over here,” she directed. Darkness hid him so well he seemed to spring from nowhere. The moons’ light had not found its way into the valley.

  “What are you doing so far from the others?” he asked, taking her hand.

  Her heart zinged at his touch. Last night and this morning had been wonderful, but she doubted they’d have any opportunity to make love on this trip. Not with ten pairs of eyes watching.

  “You shouldn’t stray,” Charlie said, his other hand cradling her head, drawing her against him. “It’s dangerous.”

  She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Like a moth to a flame. She had such an obsession with him now. She ached to feel his touch. His mouth, hand, anything,
it didn’t matter.

  “It’s more dangerous at camp,” she confessed, tossing her head back so she could see him in the dying light. “I thought Eagar was going to skin me for dinner. Capp’ear’s not much different. They hate me.”

  Charlie’s fingers made slow circles against the base of her neck. She leaned into him.

  “I don’t understand Eagar. He’s acted strangely since you came to Lowth.” He chuckled. “I’ve acted strangely.”

  “Charlie . . .” She stopped herself from confessing her feelings. Bad timing. He might act tender to her, he definitely wanted her, but he’d freak if she said she loved him. It hurt to keep the secret. He was her anchor, the eye of the hurricane raging around her.

  “Shhh.” His thumb rolled across her bottom lip. “We’re alone, and I don’t want to spend the time talking about Eagar.” He lowered his head and kissed her.

  A low, desperate sound escaped Jane. It felt so right to be in Charlie’s arms. They might come from different worlds, but nothing would separate them. She’d find a way to make it work.

  “Do we have to go to the swamp?” she asked later, snuggled in his arms. He leaned against a tree, and they waited for the appearance of the first moon before going back to the others. The camp wasn’t far, but they’d agreed on the moon’s rising as their measure for returning.

  “We don’t have to,” he stressed. “Though I suppose, formally, we should be there for Capp’ear’s punishment. Eagar likes things tied up neatly.”

  “Can’t we skip going to the swamp? And Malik?” Jane watched him as she drove her point home. “Can’t we run to the portal, Charlie, and slip away to Earth? I’ve probably lost my job by now, but we can start over, find a new living for you.”

  He shook his head. “We can’t do that. We have to see this through, good or bad. And it will be good, Jane.”

  “Can you promise?” His words had dashed away any hopes of escape, but she didn’t expect less of him. He’d always do the honest thing. It was another thing she loved about him.