“Little bit o’ both o’ those. Little bit antisocial, too.”
Simon looked around at the deserted landscape. “This is the right place for you, then. Am I disturbing you?”
After appearing to consider that for a minute, she shook her head. “You can stay. You have a nice…” At a loss for words, she waved her hand in a way that looked like she was tracing an oval-shaped shell around his body.
“Body?” She shook her head and laughed.
“Backpack?” She shook her head harder and giggled.
“Energy?”
“Aye! Energy. Sort of. ’Tis another word.”
“Aura?”
“Aye. Aura. Yours is almost pure white. Very unusual.”
“Does that mean I’m boring?”
“No. It means I’m in no danger when you’re ’round.”
“Are you camping here?”
“Aye. Campin’.” She waved to a spot off to her left. “Over there.”
“Well, I have stuff for dinner. If you’d like to join me.”
She cocked her head again as her mouth pulled up into a teasing smile. “What kind of ‘stuff’?”
Simon built a fire on the ground, then using the iron skillet he carried with him, cooked bacon. When the bacon was done, he cooked sliced potatoes in the grease. All the while she watched him carefully.
“I’ve taken sabbatical for this semester,” she said. “I’m a post grad at Edinburgh.”
“Ah,” said Simon. “Is this what you study?”
“Partly. I’m interested in ‘myths’,” she used air quotes, “and their influence on religious evolution. There’s a lot of, er, intertwine and overlap I guess you’d say.”
“As it happens, I think so myself,” Simon agreed. “So you walked here, too?”
“No.” She chuckled. “I’m no’ nearly as romantic as all that. I had somebody drop me off here. They’ll be back in three days with supplies and a question about whether or no’ I’m ready to move on to the next spot.”
“The next spot? Where might that be?”
“I have no’ been to the ring yet.”
“Which ring?”
“The ring.”
“You must mean Brodgar.”
“Aye. I’ve no’ been there yet, but am thinkin’ I should like to save it for last.”
Simon grinned. “What’s funny?”
“We think alike. I had thought the same thing before I began this trek.”
She smiled with a gleam of mischief reserved for elves and fae. “So you’re curious about huge hard symbols of phalli pointed toward the sky?”
Simon laughed out loud. “Hadn’t thought of it quite like that.”
“Well,” she said, the attraction of her mischievous gleam ratcheting even higher, “I am a fan of a large rock-hard phallus.”
“Are you now?” Simon smiled as he wrapped a cloth around the handle of the skillet and pulled it away from the fire.
“Hold on. I have some cheese crumbles for those potatoes. We’ll think we’re sittin’ in Le Train Bleu in Paris.” Simon chuckled, shook his head, and looked up into Sorcha’s eyes. “No matter how good the food is, this is better.”
She decided on the spot that the pilgrim was charming. For a human.
Wiggling her eyebrows, she said, “I can do even better. I have a bit of chocolate for after.”
“After…?” Simon ventured.
“I was thinkin’ after this fine repast you’ve prepared. What were you thinkin’?” she teased.
“Once you start a man down the road of thinkin’ about a rock-hard phallus, not much else is going to occupy his thoughts.”
She laughed. “Then I suppose my purpose is accomplished.”
“You mean you set out to seduce me, Sorcha?” Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. “Because, if that’s the case, I will feel like I’ve won the lottery.”
“What’s a lottery?”
“It’s a gambling game. Winning means more treasure than most can imagine.”
She grinned. “I’m more treasure than most can imagine?”
He grew serious as he looked at her. It was hours before sunset. That far north the sun would shine until after ten o’clock in September. Stray beams filtering through clouds occasionally shone like spotlights on her hair picking up a hint of red mixed with the blonde.
“Much more,” he said.
“What if I said I feel the same?” Simon looked surprised before he caught himself. “You can no’ be so unused to bein’ pursued. You’re put together very well for a human.”
Unsure whether that was a genuine compliment or not, he said, “Thanks?”
She laughed her throaty, seductive laugh that made him grow hard as an ancient standing stone.
Simon had heard that elves and fae were promiscuous before mating. They did not contract venereal diseases and there were no cultural mores that discouraged sexual encounters with whomever was attractive in that way. Still, it was his first experience with the phenomenon and he was feeling very lucky that he’d happened to choose a wild camping leave in the Orkneys.
“You’re a very good cook, Simon. Some woman is goin’ to be lucky to have you for a mate.”
“I don’t know. I think perhaps on balance my less desirable qualities might outweigh my cooking skills.”
“What are your less desirable qualities?” Simon opened his mouth to answer, but she changed her mind. “Never mind. I do no’ want to know. For tonight I want to believe that you’re perfect. A god fallen to Earth from that star,” she looked up in the sky and pointed, “right there.”
“Suit yourself.” He smiled.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three. How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine. You seem much older. I would’ve guessed that you’re closer to my age.”
He smirked. “Vampire hunting ages a person.”
“You’re stickin’ with that vampire huntin’ business, are you?”
“That’s my story.” His casual nonchalance would never be taken as cover for the truth.
She rolled her eyes. “How long are you on holiday?”
“I’m not exactly on holiday. A friend died. He was a close friend, more like family really. So I’m out here to…”
Watching him struggle to find the right words, she offered, “Clear your head and free your heart?”
If Simon had spent a year contemplating how best to answer why he was there, he would not have been able to come up with a more perfect and concise description of his reasons. He didn’t answer, just reached over and pulled Sorcha close enough to him so that he could kiss her the way he’d been thinking all through dinner. With the firelight reflecting on her face, she had him believing that she was the goddess who likely fell to Earth from the brightest star in the heavens above.
It took little urging to get her to scoot near, a look of sensual anticipation on her face.
“You done this before, human?”
Simon smiled sardonically. “Couple of times,” he said just before he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. When she deepened the kiss, with an unmistakable flavor of demand and insistence, he chuckled. He’d been thinking sweet and slow. She was apparently thinking eager and faster. He was just as cool with eager and faster. So he let her set the pace.
Flanked by the Atlantic to the west and North Sea to the east, the Orkneys enjoyed a surprisingly mild climate. At least that was what the travel brochures said. But forties didn’t feel mild if a wet wind whipped up after the sun finally set and sleeping arrangements were outside on the ground.
It took a few minutes to figure out how to reconfigure the sleeping bag zippers so that they could take advantage of the combination of modern fiber technology and body heat.
“How can it be so hard?” She laughed.
“It’s like a puzzle,” he replied. “We’re both reasonably bright, well-educated persons. We’ll figure it out. Just be patient.”
She growled. “I’m no’ feelin’ pati
ent. I’m feelin’ eager to have you inside me.”
Simon froze for a second before saying, “Why in the name of tarnation does this have to be so hard?” He grinned. “Looks like I’m earning my chocolate.”
“Oh, aye,” she said. “You will.”
They left hiking shoes and puffy vests outside the sleeping bag before climbing in together, then zipped up. As soon as they were cocooned together, the full force of sexual tension hit Simon like a physical blast of energy, a palpable living thing. The air seemed to hum with electricity. And, even fully clothed, Sorcha’s proximity, and availability, was easily the most erotic thing that he’d ever experienced.
She didn’t give him a chance to decide where to begin. She pressed her body into his in deliciously demanding ways as she pressed her mouth to his, playfully pretending to resist his tongue. The result of that made his cock hard as the old stones she’d talked about.
“So glad you’re wearing a skirt,” he smiled as he pulled the material up her long legs.
“It’s the best way to accomplish a private pee out here.”
Simon supposed that must be true, but didn’t want to contemplate the problem of relief options for females when camping. He was too busy trying to get her panties down her body within the confines of the sleeping bags, while she was intent on unzipping his jeans.
“What if someone comes?” Simon asked.
“Well, we will no’ get out to greet them, will we?”
He reasoned that, if she could be so casual about sex out in the open, he could manage to set modesty aside. All questions of impropriety vanished when she freed his zipper and plunged her hand into his pants to take him into a grip that made him gasp with pleasure.
“Sorcha, I didn’t bring condoms. I really didn’t think that…”
“Shhh. Do you no’ know anything about us? We can neither get nor give ugly diseases.” Pushing his jeans down his hips as she smiled against his mouth, she said, “Just pleasure.”
He groaned at the implications in her purr, but managed to keep his head long enough to ask, “What about pregnancy?”
Sorcha’s hesitation was so brief he wouldn’t have noticed it. “There will be no pregnancy.”
The way she said it led Simon to believe she knew it for a fact. And he believed her.
When she had his jeans around his thighs she straddled him in frog position and used her hand to guide him inside.
Simon had spent years practicing a brand of lazy build foreplay because he’d learned that patience reaped the greatest benefits, but he was more than happy to ditch slow burn for fast now since it was clear that was what Sorcha wanted. Badly.
He groaned as she pushed down on him. He thought he knew the pleasures of the flesh, but he’d never felt anything quite like the fae girl who had just lifted her body away from his so that she could slide upward and back. Slowly.
Now she wants slow?
Simon was so worked up, he was desperate for more friction. He took hold of her hips and tried to force her to move faster, but the effort just made Sorcha laugh and she continued to set a leisurely pace that was torture.
“Gods, you’re strong. And killing me.”
“Killin’ ye?” He took her face in both hands and kissed her so thoroughly she forgot what she was doing. “Very well, human. You shall have anything you ask.”
Simon wasn’t sure whether to believe that ‘anything’ meant ‘anything’, but he was optimistic. As she quickened the pace his body flexed, rising away from the ground like he was seeking to somehow get even closer. Somewhere deep in his heart, as Sorcha moved against him with such ecstatic precision, he knew that he loved everything about the fae.
The sound of her laugh.
The smell of her hair.
The feel of her body.
The exotic look of her eyes that looked like honey on fire.
Even the way she demanded sex on her terms.
He almost laughed out loud when he realized the word that had crossed his mind was smitten. He’d never thought he might want a woman of his own. He certainly never thought he’d call himself smitten. But he wanted Sorcha. When she came in a spectacular explosion of feminine fireworks the likes of which he’d never before experienced, he realized that he needed to see that again and again and again.
He flipped them over so that she was on her back, which wasn’t as easy as it sounds within the confines of the conjoined sleeping bags, and was shocked to realize that she was building again. When she came a second time, gripping his cock in a deliciously relentless pulsing squeeze, he yelled out, which was a first for him.
As he lay there panting, thinking perhaps he’d just seen heaven, a plan began to form in his mind. He was keeping her. He’d have to go slow so as to not scare her away. Because somewhere between Sorcha nuzzling his neck and biting his earlobe, he’d made up his mind he wanted her forever.
When he raised himself up on his elbows to peer down at her, she giggled at his flushed look of male smugness and satisfaction.
Her head jerked to the right.
“What is it?” Simon asked.
“You do no’ hear that?”
He stopped. “No. I don’t hear anything.”
She pushed him away and began fighting the sleeping bag for room to right her clothing. “Humans,” she said in exasperation. “’Tis a wonder you’ve survived, being practically deaf and all.”
Taking her word for it, Simon began adjusting his clothing to be presentable just in case. “What do you hear?”
“Vehicle. Jeep, I think. ’Tis probably Sven.”
“Sven?”
“I told you someone would be bringin’ me supplies.”
“You did. You just didn’t say it was a guy named Sven.”
The frantic clothes-donning frenzy came to an abrupt halt.
“What is that?”
“What?”
“That thing you’re doin’. Is that jealousy?” He said nothing. “Great Paddy. It is! I’ve heard about it.”
“I’m not jealous, Sorcha,” he lied. “I just don’t like being caught with pants down and somebody called Sven bearing down on us with…” he stopped and listened, “what sounds like single-minded eagerness to get here.”
“So you can finally hear him comin’. A good two minutes behind me. If Sven was a large predator, you’d be pushin’ daisies. Know that, human?”
“Yet, as you pointed out, somehow we’ve managed to survive and become the most populous species on the planet.”
“I would no’ be braggin’ about that if I were you.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause look how you’re misusin’ the power of numbers.”
That was a point he couldn’t argue with. “You’re an environmentalist. I can appreciate that. So am I.” She made a belligerent scoffing noise. “What was that?”
“’Twas disbelief in the form of a snortin’ sound.”
“Huh.”
“What do you mean, ‘huh’?”
“Most girls don’t own up to stuff like that. They do passive aggressive bullshit.”
“I’m no’ a girl. I’m an fae. And a fully grown one at that.”
Simon grinned salaciously. “Agreed.”
“Do no’ try to distract me with your very charmin’ smile when I’m tryin’ to say that all the packaged stuff you have in your backpack is usin’ up valuable resources that will end as toxic gas in landfill. In short, gods save us from your sort of environmentalism.”
He wanted to argue, but realized that she didn’t have anything with her that was either made from petroleum products or packaged in stuff made from petroleum products.
They managed to free themselves from the sleeping bag, more or less dressed, but plainly disheveled just as the Jeep was pulling up.
“Aye,” she said. “Sven.”
“Beautiful evening, Sorcha,” Sven said in Gaelic, unfolding long legs from the Jeep. As he stepped out he smiled and said, “I see you’ve found a friend.�
��
Though he smiled, Simon got the impression he disapproved of the newcomer, which made them even because Simon wasn’t especially taken with the tall blonde fae. Who may or may not have been extraordinarily striking depending on your point of view. And your sex.
His hair was longish on top, but the sides were close to shaved which gave his ears a dominant look to go with the rest of Sven’s alpha vibe.
“Human,” she replied in Gaelic.
“I see that,” said Sven.
“His name is Simon. Speak their language.” She glanced at Simon and waved in Sven’s direction. “’Tis Sven.”
Without giving Simon a chance to say anything, Sven went on in English. “Brought spinach pizza. Probably no’ hot, but still warmish. If you want.” Sorcha looked at Simon. “Looks like you might have worked up an appetite.”
Simon wanted to say their appetite was none of Sven’s business.
Sorcha smiled. “We ate, but I could manage a nibble. ’Twas thoughtful of you to bring my favorite.”
Simon turned to look at Sorcha. Her favorite?
Sven built the fire back up a little, stayed for half an hour, then rose. “How much longer’ll you be out here?”
“Just a day. Come get me mornin’ after next?”
“Aye.” He seemed to calculate what sort of supplies to leave. He unloaded then said, “Where you headed after this?”
“I’m thinkin’ the Ring of Thorgall.” Sven nodded.
“Ferry runs midday. I’ll need to fetch ye at nine.” He looked at Simon. “Will that be one or two?”
Sorcha hadn’t expected to be asked that question before she’d had a chance to invite Simon to tag along with her. She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say, when she heard him speak up.
“Two,” he said definitively.
She smiled at Sven, feeling a warmth rush through her bloodstream. “Two,” she repeated.
Sven shook his head and laughed. “The fever, is it?” he asked switching to Gaelic again. “Looks good on you.”
After Sven drove away, Simon said, “You want the last slice of pizza?”
“You take it.”
“It was really good.”
“Aye. Sven’s mother bakes it fresh in the town.”
“Sven,” Simon said simply as he chewed a bite of spinach couched in three mouth-watering cheeses melted onto pizza crust like none he’d ever had. “This crust is magical.”
Simon Says (Order of the Black Swan, D.I.T. Book 1) Page 2
