by Mary Winter
Flynn stilled, waiting for her quaking to cease. She looked up at him, and for one moment, wondered why she only found men like him in her dreams. The show, her farm. She had too many things on which to focus, and then Flynn kissed his way back to her lips. He drank from her, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She stroked it, legs twining around his waist, hips lifting in silent invitation.
In a dream, the need for air became irrelevant. She sucked on his tongue and drew it deeper into her mouth. Sweat slicked their bodies, facilitating the silken glide of flesh against flesh. Him. Her. She knew nothing except the two of them, and the burning, ever present need to become one.
Flynn moved. The head of his cock brushed against her labia.
Clarice moaned. Pleasure rippled through her body, her channel clenching with anticipation.
One smooth thrust and he buried himself balls-deep inside her.
For a moment she held him, her hands on his ass, his cock deep inside her. It might be a dream, but she wanted to remember it after the sun rose and life intruded. And then, he began to move.
Long, deep thrusts, making sure he brushed her clit with each stroke. Clarice gave herself up to the pleasure coursing in her veins. Dreams, magic, hell, even his pointed Elven ears didn’t matter, not right now, not when they fit together so good and so right. He stretched her, filled her.
She struggled to increase the pace. Fingers digging into the flesh of his buttocks, trying, needing to feel him pounding into her, and yet, Flynn kept his pace steady. She whimpered. Her channel tightened around him. “Please. Fuck me, please,” she demanded.
The base of her spine tingled. Release was so close, yet Flynn wasn’t giving her any quarter. Then, with a guttural cry he thrust forward. Whatever restraint he had fled as he plunged his cock into her, over and over again. Yes! Exactly the way she wanted it, hard and fast, so deep she tasted him.
And then, she saw nothing but the swirling colors behind her closed eyelids. An orgasm the likes of which she hadn’t felt in a while washed over her. Over and over her body convulsed its pleasure. Her breath caught in her throat. Her mind tumbled toward blackness.
Above her, Flynn stiffened. He roared as he came, hot jets of his seed shooting inside her. Clarice forced her eyes open to watch. He looked like a god. Face etched with pleasure, sweat coating his body. He slumped onto her.
She relished the sound of his heart pounding next to hers, the twitching of his cock inside her body. He rolled to the side, still cradling her in his arms.
“Flynn,” she whispered, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “Just like my horse.” Then, she drifted toward blackness and the haven of sleep.
* * *
Damn, that had been good. No, better than good. The best fucking sex he’d had in a long time, dream or real. He sat outside the window, noticing Clarice lying on the bed. The covers had been pushed down toward her feet, her legs spread. Her casted arm reached across the bed. With a wistful smile, he wondered if she sought him. He imagined her scent on the breeze, the scent of a woman well satisfied. In her dreams, at least Clarice had no problem having fun.
Except what happened in her dreams didn’t translate into real life. Flynn rose to his feet, reluctant to leave. He sensed the waning night, knew he needed to return to the stable and to his other form. That he had control over her dreams and power in them thrilled him. It would make his job easier if he could be his true self when she was awake, as opposed to his elemental form.
Flynn smiled, turning away from the house. To think, an Elf tied to the earth, in the form of a horse. He chuckled with the knowledge Clarice wouldn’t believe it. And she, with her power for good, so important to their mission. He sighed heavily. In spite of what they’d shared tonight, or maybe because of it, he knew his mission was more important than ever.
Once in the barn, he stepped back into the twelve-by-twelve stall he called home. He closed the stall door behind him. On the freshly swept concrete aisle floor, no telling footprints were evident. With a thought, he teleported his clothing to his home in Underhill, and then he shifted. Once more Flynn the horse stood where Flynn the Elf had been.
He lipped at the tepid water in his bucket, wishing he’d thought to drink before changing forms. The hay he’d already dispersed to the other horses, and he made it a point to make a few circuits of his stall so the shavings looked disturbed. Already Clarice commented on how neat a creature he was. She’d never believe the truth.
* * *
Four hours later, sounds of the barn waking for the day stirred Flynn from his sleep. The whickering of horses greeting Clarice filled the air. Horses milled in their stalls. A chicken crowed outside, and a dog barked. Flynn snorted and shook himself awake.
He glanced through the bars of his stall, watching Clarice push the wheelbarrow loaded with grain buckets down the aisle. With only one good arm, getting the buckets up and dumped took a bit of maneuvering. He nickered softly, the only way he had of telling her he was sorry.
“Hungry?” she crooned, dumping the mixture of sweet feed and supplements into his feed bin. She reached in through the open feed door and patted his neck. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to ride you for a few more weeks. You would have done so well at the show.” With a lingering rub, she moved to the next stall.
I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m the one who ruined your chances. He knew she didn’t hear him and wondered if perhaps, in another dream, he might get a chance to tell her. Then, the smell of molasses tugged at his equine senses. Well, when in a barn, act like a horse… He buried his nose in the feed bin and ate. Apologies and another chance to get to know Clarice could come later. After all, it wasn’t like he could shift and reveal everything to her. And a part of him really wished he could. There was something about Clarice and it wasn’t just her magic. He thought about his mission and, yet again, hoped he hadn’t ruined everything.
Chapter Two
Being so close to Clarice and unable to reveal his true self or his mission hurt more than Flynn expected it to. A member of the earth Elf contingent, his father holding a seat on the Council, Flynn D’Artange never had to explain himself to anyone. He never wanted to before Clarice. After polishing off his breakfast like a good little horse, he waited to be let outside. Now he stood in the pasture, nose-to-nose with the only other earth Elf on the premises.
An older gelding, Jake looked as rough-and-tumble as his name. Scars crisscrossed his hide, his knees swollen from too-hard work. Stuck in his equine form, Jake happened to be another rescue for her farm. He’d lacked the ability to communicate with anyone in Underhill, and from what he’d told Flynn, it’d been years since he’d walked on two legs.
“You shouldn’t have done it.” He spoke telepathically in the way of the Elven people. Jake swished his tail and reached down to snatch at a succulent patch of grass. “I mean, you’ve got it made. You can go back if you want. You have a mission, contact with anyone in Underhill. I can’t go back now even if I wanted to. I’ve lost my connection.”
The connection, a mental path that allowed him to send his clothing to Underhill or, if need be, communicate with Elves there, was as natural and a part of him as breathing. Losing it seemed abhorrent, unforgivable, and he had no idea how to help Jake get it back. “I told the Council about you. That’s all I can do.”
“Well you shouldn’t have dumped Clarice. You broke her arm!”
Flynn winced at the accusing tone in Jake’s voice. “I didn’t mean to.” He hung his head and snorted into the lush grass. “My horse self got the better of me. But it felt so good to run, to buck, to play. I couldn’t help myself.”
“You were sent here with a mission, watch over Clarice and teach her not to work so hard. Surely even someone like you, who lives for the moment, can manage to focus and do that.” Jake snorted, his disdain reminding Flynn so much of the old Elves on the Council that he nearly turned away and trotted across the pasture.
“I know,” Flynn insisted. “I k
now.”
“You don’t want to make them forget about you,” Jake said softly. “You don’t want to lose that tie.” He shook his head and kicked at a fly. “You don’t know what it’s like being unable to talk to Underhill, unable to change form. You don’t know what it’s like to be trapped in this form. People are cruel. I used to think the Elven court cruel, but they, in all their superior beliefs, have nothing on humans. It’s people who are the cruelest of all.” Jake fell silent.
Flynn had nothing further to say. Instead, he thought of Clarice, her kind and gentle nature. There had to be a way he could make it up to her. His ears twitched when he heard the gate opening and closing, then Clarice’s singsong voice. With no chores to do because of her broken arm, and no horses to ride, she had leisure time, too much if she were to be believed. Giving a whinny of greeting he trotted in her direction, hoping to make it up to her.
* * *
Clarice stared at the horses in the fields, her gaze going to Jake, the old gelding whose walls she hadn’t been able to breach. He wasn’t a mean horse or unkind, but he did what he wanted to do. He didn’t listen to her cues, and she’d started to take him back to the basics, but she got the impression that he hated the work -- that he simply wanted to be left alone.
She empathized with the horse. With her cast heavy around her arm she wanted to be left alone too. Except out here, with the horses, she could forget her problems for a while. The matter of coming up with prize money to help expand her therapeutic riding program weighed heavily on her mind. So many kids, disadvantaged and disabled, relied on the service she provided. There simply wasn’t enough to go around.
Flynn trotted across the pasture toward her. She paused, noticing his floating gait, the way his silver mane bobbed on his golden neck. The horse’s mane, the same color as the man’s -- or whatever he was -- conjured images of her dream. She flushed red with embarrassment, thinking of the way his lips, his tongue, had caressed her body. His cock had filled her. He had brought her to heights of passion she’d never felt before, at least not with anyone physical. Lucky her that her perfect lover existed only in her mind.
Flynn slowed to a walk. He stopped in front of her and stretched out his nose to touch the cast. His big, soulful eyes looked at her. Reaching up, she scratched behind his ears. When he looked at her like that, she couldn’t blame the horse for her accident. Though really, she knew she shouldn’t blame him at all.
Why he’d ignored his training and been so full of high spirits, she didn’t know, but until she could read the horse’s mind, she doubted anyone could either. No, it wasn’t his fault that his exuberance had broken her arm and ruined her chance at a nice, fat show purse.
“I wish I could stay,” she said. “But I’ve got things to do.” She turned and walked away. Flynn followed her for a few steps and then halted, as if he realized she was leaving. With a snort and a shake of his head, he turned back.
Clarice stepped from the pasture and struggled not to feel as if she’d let Flynn down. The show would have been a perfect opportunity to showcase his skills. She couldn’t show him with her broken arm, and she had no one else to ride him. The girls who worked in the barn hadn’t the riding skills to take on such a high-spirited horse, and other people who might ride already had horses entered and couldn’t ride another. Frowning, she went back to the house and her den with its near-toppling stacks of papers and plans.
Once inside, she sat down in the plush chair behind her desk. Smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear, she contemplated the estimates of work it would take to expand her therapeutic riding program. Unable to face them right now, she slid the papers into the folder and hid it in a desk drawer.
Coward. The entry form for the show sat on the desk. Red writing on her blotter, with the date circled, reminded her she only had a few days left in which to send in her entry fees. Clarice sighed. A glance out the window showed the horses in the pasture, Flynn grazing close to the fence. She watched him for a moment, wishing she could wave a magic wand and heal her arm. She couldn’t.
Clarice balled her good hand into a fist and pounded it on the desk. Damn it! So many hopes and dreams lost in a moment of inattention. Her arm ached. She contemplated getting a saw, anything, and slicing off the cast so she could ride Flynn in the show.
In the end common sense won out. Well, common sense and the fear that if she hacked off her cast, she might slice her arm open. She had to be honest with herself. She wouldn’t be going to the show. Dragging her fingers through her hair, she stared for a long moment at the entry form.
Clarice breathed deeply. She picked up the blank entry form and held it over her shredder. Outside, Flynn raised his head. He appeared to look into the window. “I’m sorry,” she said, blinking away the sting of tears. “I’m so sorry.” She lowered the paper and the shredder turned it into confetti.
Through her window, she watched Flynn as he stared at her for a long moment. Then, he turned and trotted away. Clarice knew he couldn’t have known what she’d done. After all, horses had no notions of entry forms and paperwork. Yet, on some level, she sensed that he did know, and that he was sorry too.
She picked up a stack of bills and fired up her computer. There’d be time enough for other shows. Right now, she had to focus on keeping the farm afloat. She and Flynn would have their moment in the show ring, she had no doubt.
* * *
Out of the corner of his eye Flynn watched Jake amble in his direction. He snorted, not wanting to be bothered. When night fell, he’d switch forms, and go to her. Perhaps in her dreams he could lend comfort that he couldn’t provide in his equine form.
Flynn turned his rump toward Jake, hoping the other horse received his message loud and clear. There’d been a reason, a damn good one, why he’d retreated to the far pasture. He’d expected Jake to respect that. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
“You should tell her.”
Those weren’t the words he expected to hear from Jake. Flynn whirled to face him. He pinned back his ears and swished his tail. “What do you know? You’ve lost your connection to Underhill.” As soon as he said the spiteful words he regretted them.
Jake lowered his head. “You’re right. I did lose my connection. You can choose whether to believe me or not, but I think you should tell Clarice exactly who you are and why you’re here.”
Flynn snorted. “That’d go over as well as a fat horse trying to leap a tall jump.”
“You’re not going to know until you try. And you certainly don’t want to incur the Council’s wrath by failing your mission.”
Bugger it, but Jake was right. “You know, for being away from Underhill for so long, you have an uncanny grasp of their politics.” He stilled his swishing tail. “But how? And to tell her I’d been sent to make sure she doesn’t work so hard, and I chose to do that by breaking her arm? She’d probably just send me to the glue factory.”
“If you believe that, then you’re not giving Clarice enough credit.” Jake reached out and nipped Flynn’s shoulder.
Flynn squealed with protest and lashed out with a front hoof. Jake nimbly jumped aside. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“Because you needed it.” Jake pinned his ears back. His tail lashed from side to side like an angry pendulum. “If you think Clarice doesn’t care for all of us then you’re crazy. She’ll understand. She has to. After all --”
“She has the power to spread good in the world. I know. I know.” Flynn snorted. He hated being told what to do. Hated it when he lived in Underhill under the watchful eye of his father, and he hated it now. Underhill housed the Elves. Magically made, the otherworld catered to the noble and the most dour of the Council members. Like a land perpetually wrapped in rules and tied with expectations, Underhill stifled him. With his Elven powers, he teleported objects and himself between the two realms. Flynn frowned. Jake had left Underhill behind, and in doing so, had lost his connection. What could he know about Flynn’s job to make Clarice slow down an
d have fun?
Unless Jake had been given a charge and failed. Flynn stilled. That’s what it was. It had to be. Jake had been given a mission by the Elven Council and hadn’t accomplished it, so they’d cut him off. He felt the tug inside, as clearly as Flynn did, the knowledge that a thought and a dream carried him home. And yet he couldn’t go home.
“I think you see now,” Jake said, neither confirming nor denying Flynn’s thoughts. If the other Elf knew the conclusions to which Flynn had come, he gave no sign. “Tell her. Show her the good she does.”
“And if she doesn’t believe me?” For the first time since accepting this mission that he’d at one time thought was oh so easy, he was scared. More than just his reputation in his father’s and the Council’s eyes was at stake. His connection to Underhill, to the very things that made him Elven, and not a horse. To think Jake had been punished by being forced to remain in this form. Flynn shuddered to think it might happen to him.
“Then make her understand.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And this might be your chance.” Without saying anything further, he trotted toward the horses waiting at the gate to be brought in to the barn.
Flynn lagged behind. He heard Jake’s querying whinny, gave his own back. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I hope so,” Jake replied grumpily, and then Clarice slipped a halter over his head to lead him back to the barn.
Truth to tell, Flynn hoped he knew what he was doing too. In his Elven form it would be too easy to sweep Clarice off her feet. A few kisses, some caresses, and he’d have her naked with the grass cushioning her body. He’d bury his cock balls-deep inside her, each stroke making her come apart beneath him. Oh yeah, if he were in his Elven form that’s what he would do.
The swish of booted feet in the grass warned him of her approach. Steeling himself against the pull of her presence, the need to rest his muzzle against the soft mounds of her breasts, Flynn swished his tail and acted bored. He snatched at a tall blade of grass, more to give her the appearance of disinterest than from hunger.
