by Renee George
Their tongues tangled in a dance of heat and passion as he fisted their erections in slow, sinuous strokes. Sol’s excitement spilled over him as their foreskins added to the friction. He could feel his growing heat against Lucien’s cooler skin. The temperature change elicited heavy breathing and a glorious moan from the water sprite.
Lucien rocked his hips, thrusting his cock into Sol’s hand before reaching down, his fingers melting around them into a viscous fluid, creating a slick path for their lengths. The blood rushed from Sol’s limbs and his shaft stiffened even more as a wave of pleasure bore down on him. He matched Lucien’s thrusts with his own. With each stroke, the thrill threatened to tear him apart.
“You feel so good,” Lucien whispered. “I can feel your desire, your burden.”
The depth of Lucien’s words struck Sol to the core. He quickened his pace, curving his thumb over Lucien’s firm, round head as he continued thrusting his cock against the nix’s. “Don’t talk. I’ll come.”
“I’m nearly there,” Lucien panted. “Come for me, Sol. I want to feel you explode against me.”
Sol’s body shuddered, and with one last thrust, he rode the full ecstasy of his orgasm as he shot cum between them. Lucien cried out, his own climax right behind Sol’s, their loads mingling into a sticky, wonderful mess.
The nix went semi-liquid, a rare thing when they had sex, but sometimes it happened. Lucien’s curse meant he couldn’t hold a solid form when he was touched by water, and, while cum wasn’t exactly water, occasionally it was enough to make Lucien change to an almost gelatinous state.
He loved the way Lucien clung to him when his body wasn’t quite solid, though he wasn’t dumb enough to say it to the nix. Lucien’s inability to control himself was a sore subject.
After a few moments, they both flopped onto their backs in semi-postcoital comas. Sol placed his hand on Lucien’s stomach and muttered, “Sometimes, I think I could drown in you.”
As he drifted into the deep sleep of the well-sexed, he heard Lucien softly say, “No. Please, no.”
Chapter Three
Romy stood in her kitchen staring down at a sink full of leftover dishes from the night before—well, truth be told, several nights worth of dishes crested the ceramic tub. She wasn’t feeling too domestic at the moment. Earlier, when she’d dressed for the day, she’d noticed the skin on her left thigh and buttock resembled a coffee stain…
Much like every plant she touched, her body was in a state of decay. The sight of her impending death nearly drove her back to bed. But instead of dwelling on what she couldn’t control, Romy was attempting to throw herself into housework. After her humiliation at the flower shop the day before, a little something she could control was a necessity.
The doorbell rang unexpectedly as she was in mid-dry, and she dropped the cup she’d been polishing. Broken shards lay everywhere at her feet. “Artemis can suck it!” she shouted, followed by a string of expletives racy enough to make a brownie blush. When she finished her mini-tirade, she picked up the larger pieces and shoved them in the trash can.
The doorbell rang again, accompanied by a deep baritone voice she recognized immediately. “Hello?” he called.
“Son of a dorkus,” she whispered. “Goddess take me now.” Crouching on the kitchen floor, she hid, as though Lucien wouldn’t have heard the crash of glass and the cussing that followed.
“Hello,” he called again. “Ms. Shea?”
“Shit, shit, shit.” Romy stood up, straightened her shirt and headed toward the living room. “Just a minute.”
When she opened the door, her stomach fluttered. He really was gorgeous. Masculine yet ethereal, his features too delicate to be rugged yet his strong nose and square jawline cried “all male!” As Lucien stood in her doorway, the sunlight gathered around him, creating a halo that framed his wild dark hair. In this light, she saw it was more of a sable than black.
If someone created a platform for perfection, Lucien Kobald could be the poster boy and Romy would be the first volunteer for the campaign.
“It should be illegal,” she murmured absently, trying to keep from losing herself in the gaze of his piercing green eyes.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Mathias sent me with your dirt.” He held out the red clay pot.
“Oh, that.” Romy reluctantly took it from him, her fingers brushing his in the process. The light touch actually made her knees buckle. Lucien caught her by the arms before she melted into her very own puddle on the floor.
“You all right?”
With Lucien touching her, she couldn’t think. Only ten percent of her brain functioned—the ten percent that controlled her libido. “I’m not sure.”
“Here.” He took the planter from her hands and moved her farther into the house. “Let me help you sit down.”
Romy allowed Lucien to guide her to the couch. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She felt dazed and bemused.
Lucien chuckled. “You’ve fallen for me.”
“Huh?” She looked up at him, captured by his eyes as he urged her to lie down then knelt in front of her. She placed her palm against his smooth cheek. He was cool to the touch, but not uncomfortably so. She ran her thumb over his kissable lower lip and resisted the impulse to yank him on top of her. She’d never in her life been so drawn to anyone. Maybe he was some kind of witch. Could he have put a spell on her? There had to be a good reason for this insane reaction.
“What have you done to me?”
Lucien frowned and two small lines formed between his furrowed brows. “What?” Then he seemed to realize what she’d asked. “I haven’t done anything other than keep you off the floor.”
“Then why do I want to tear your clothes off and devour every bit of you when I don’t even know you?” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
Lucien straightened on his knees. “I really haven’t done a thing. Those feelings are all yours.” His words said he wasn’t interested, but the bulge in his pants and the way he stroked her hair said differently.
Romy’s thighs clenched. She wasn’t a prude, but the enormity of her physical attraction to Lucien scared her. It wasn’t a fun, tickling titillation. It was a full-on, I’m-going-to-stalk-you-until-the-day-I-die titillation. “I think you should go now. Thanks for bringing me the plant or seed or whatever, but I’m fine.”
“You sure?” His eyes had nearly shifted to Day-Glo green.
He leaned closer—close enough for Romy to meet his lips with minimal effort. She turned her head. “Yes, positive. Please go.”
A knock came at the open door. “Lucien, we’ve got other deliveries, man. What’s taking so—” Sol stopped talking and stared at Romy lying on the couch. The expression on his face wasn’t his normal jolly jokester. Instead, it was intense and serious. “Wow. Am I interrupting something or what?”
Romy pulled her knees to her chest, willing them both to go away. Having Sol here multiplied her humiliation and her desire tenfold. “No,” she said weakly. “Nothing.”
As if putting on a mask, Sol picked up the pot from the floor by Lucien’s feet and placed it in a wall stand. He forced a smile. “I should have known this was your place. It’s the only yard on the block with dried grass and dead shrubs. I bet you’re a real hit with the neighbors.”
He wasn’t far off the mark, but everyone in Fortunate had their quirks, so most of the neighbors were forgiving of Romy’s. “I’m not in the mood, Sol.” Unfortunately, the growing wetness between her thighs said she was a big fat liar-liar-pants-on-fire. It was as if she were seeing Sol for the first time again.
The golden, blond man sniffed the air. “I beg to differ. I’d say you’re very much in the mood.”
Goddess, he was tall and luscious. He had shoulders to carry a heavy load, a thick torso tapering down to the most delicious hips and ass.
And he had a bulge in his pants m
atching Lucien’s.
Both men were as excited as she was. What the fuck? Sol didn’t like her that way. He’d made it perfectly clear. Not that it had stopped her masturbatory fantasies of him over the past six months.
He stalked toward her and knelt next to Lucien. Heat poured off his skin. His blue eyes glittered with something stronger and stranger than mirth. She’d never been so close to Sol before. He’d always managed to keep his distance. Until now. She’d never even thought he was attracted to women in general, but considering his raging erection and the way he stared at her…maybe she’d been wrong, wrong, wrong.
A picture of both Sol and Lucien naked next to her, around her, in her, crept into her imagination. An erotic combination that overtook her senses and intellect. She stretched out her legs, spreading them open in invitation.
Sol’s warm lips nuzzled her neck. Romy moaned her pleasure while reaching out for Lucien.
“I can’t,” he whispered, his deep voice harsh and ragged. “We can’t. Not like this.”
Sol pushed himself away, his breaths deep and labored, his eyes almost silver with light. Did elves shift eye color?
Before she could ask, Sol said, “You’re hard to resist, Romy Shea, but Lucien’s right. There are strange things at play here.”
She wanted to throw something hard and knock sense into both of them, even as she admitted to herself that the lust she was experiencing wasn’t natural. “What’s wrong with me?”
Keeping a safe distance now, Sol said, “It smells like you’re in heat, baby doll.”
“Dryads don’t go into heat,” she replied, appalled at the suggestion.
“She’s been touched by Puck,” Lucien said.
“No. It can’t be.” Romy pulled her knees back up to her chest and cradled them with her arms. She knew exactly what Lucien meant. Though she’d never experienced it personally, she’d heard the stories growing up of nymphs falling violently in love thanks to a particularly nasty fertility deity of the fae named Bucca—sometimes known as Puck. Most of the time, the stories ended in tragedy.
Nevertheless, that couldn’t possibly be what was happening to her. She was nowhere near the forest, and besides, how could she possibly fall for two men, and one of them a stranger? “No, there has to be another explanation.”
Sol looked confused. “Puck?”
The silvery eyes, the keen sense of smell…and now he didn’t know about Puck? Romy suspected Sol wasn’t what he claimed to be. An elf would know about Puck, since they were all part of the same species. Dryads, sprites, nymphs, elves and the fairy folk were all part of nature magic. There were branches of each, and with multiple races, but at the core they were all fae.
“What are you?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you mean, sweetheart. I am solid steel and sex appeal. What you see is what you get.”
Sol may have been kidding, but the steel part aside, he definitely oozed sex appeal. Romy found it difficult to look at him or Lucien without wanting to crawl on her hands and knees, begging them to take her right then and there, so instead, she clamped her eyelids shut. “If you don’t already know who Puck is, then ask Lucien. He can explain after you leave.” She squeezed her eyes even tighter. “So, leave. Both of you.”
She kept her eyes closed until she heard the door shut behind them.
After they’d left, Romy settled in for a good old-fashioned cry. She’d felt something strange and powerful when they’d both been in her house, and with them gone, the emptiness of her life returned.
Angry and confused, Romy went to lie down in her bed, praying a nap would take the ache from her heart and body. It took all her energy and will to keep the thrumming of her desire under control. Her arousal and need were like a second skin.
She parted her thighs and rubbed her fingers over her throbbing sex. Her pussy slickened with anticipation. How could Lucien and Sol produce such a strong pull on her? She’d known Sol for a while now, and she found him more than attractive, but she’d never had to fight her self-control around him, or anyone else for that matter. It had to be a spell.
Slipping the swollen nub between her index and middle finger, she stroked and tweaked it, trying to buy some relief. With all the pent-up passion and lust she carried, Romy should have been able to orgasm with the lightest touch. However, it wasn’t working. No matter how much she stimulated her sex, nothing happened.
She pulled a small vibrator from her bedside table, flipped the switch to a hard, pulsing setting, and let it do the work on her clit while she pushed her fingers into her wet opening. She thought about Lucien and Sol, and tried to fantasize about one or the other, then both, but even as the images exacerbated her hungry desire, she couldn’t get relief.
Frustrated, Romy threw the bullet-shaped toy across the room. She screamed into her pillow as it buzzed and bounced around on her hardwood floor.
Lucien had said she’d been touched by Puck, but that was simply a fancy way of saying she’d had a love spell cast on her. Just as Puck in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream had put a spell on the young lovers, someone had most likely done the same to Romy.
But could someone have really Pucked her without her knowledge?
Of course they could’ve! Myths don’t become myths without reason.
Respite finally came to Romy in the form of sleep, and when she woke, it was evening. Her powerful need for Sol and Lucien had ebbed a tiny bit. She felt somewhat normal—at least for now—as she headed for the bathroom.
While in the shower, Romy was shocked to hear the call of the woods.
Music only those with strong ties to nature can here, the tune was summoning her—something it had never done before. She was a pariah to all things green, and nature wouldn’t knowingly call its own doom.
But tonight the message was clearly for Romy. As if it saw into her heart, the song carried a deep remorse, filled with loneliness and unspoken sorrow. She left her house and followed the sound until it brought her to the moonlit path at the edge of town. The trees—oaks, maples, pines and walnuts—were lush with greenery and life. The very reasons she avoided the woods in the first place. She didn’t want to be responsible for its destruction.
She tried to turn back, but a force she’d never experienced before kept her moving forward, deeper into the woods. The whisper of the trees welcomed her home and her body, without prompting, relaxed. Instinctually, she transformed her clothing into butterflies. Like tiny kisses all over her skin, they pushed off and flew around her until she gently waved them away. The tiny winged creatures fluttered onto the trunks of the surrounding trees.
Romy silently ordered them to wait until she called them back.
The moonlight on her skin rejuvenated her essence, making her more nymph-like than she had been in a very long time. She breathed in the sensation as she continued her journey toward the upsurge of the sweet, vulnerable song. The woods opened to a small lake, crystal blue and clear, with large rock formations along the sides and back. Upon a near plateau, she saw him.
Lucien.
He stood naked, cradling a violin under his chin, his eyes closed as he played.
“You’re a nix,” she said, shocked to hear her own voice.
He stopped playing and opened his eyes. “I prefer grim or fosse grim, but yes.”
The puddle of water he’d become in the flower shop suddenly made sense. Lucien was a water sprite. No wonder he’d known about Puck. Nixes were notorious for being lonely creatures who would stop at almost nothing to have love. He’d probably summoned the Puck spell and put this curse on her.
At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. He was naked and she was naked, and all she could think about was how they should be naked together. She fought but failed to contain an excited giggle.
She started to climb the rocks to be near him, but he swiftly dropped the violin and held up his hands. “Don’t. Don’t come up here.”
“Then come down to me.”
�
��No.”
“Then why did you call?” If he hadn’t wanted her to come, then why play? “Why draw me into the woods?”
“I…” He looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to. I’m just…I just needed to be near the water.”
Impulsively, Romy jumped into the lake. “Then be near the water,” she said when her head finally emerged. “Come on in.”
“Get out of the water, Romy.” It was the first time Lucien had said her name, and it held a note of command.
She waded toward the shore then stopped. The warm water felt lovely against her naked skin. “But I don’t want to. And I’d think as a nix or grim, or whatever you want to be called, you wouldn’t want me to either.”
“Get out of the water, Romy!” This time his voice carried even more weight, pressing into her, compelling her to obey.
She took a few more unwilling steps out of the lake before stopping again, cocking her head and tilting her chin at Lucien. “Stop that. I’m not some human you can boss around with your soothing, lyrical voice.”
“Now, Romy!”
He boomed the command and before she knew it, her feet were up on dry grass.
“You really are grim,” she huffed.
Lucien cracked a hint of a smile.
Her gaze traveled the length of his entire body and his small smile disappeared. His expression turned dark and serious. She couldn’t tell whether it was hostility or lust…until she looked at his cock. Hard, long, jutting from his body. Definitely lust. She bit her lower lip to keep her own smile at bay.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her.
Inside she did the Oh Goddess! He Really Likes Me! dance. Outwardly, she casually commented, “Nice of you to finally notice.” She pulled her hair back and wrung the excess water from the ends. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Understatement of the century.
Romy couldn’t believe her confidence. It had to be the woods, being near the trees, or she’d have never been so bold.
Or maybe it was the spell. The thought put a damper on her exultation.
One of the butterflies landed on her shoulder. She shooed it away. “Not now.” It flew down by her feet and, to her horror, Romy noticed the grass around her toes had turned brown. She’d stood in one place for too long and killed the bright-green blades. “Oh damn!”
