Silver Bells

by Holly Gunn

  Until we are both sated.

  When we’ve lain there for what seems like an eternity, his head resting on my chest, his beard abrading my nipple in the most delicious way, he tilts his head, unaware that the friction of his beard moving against my breast is making me want him again.

  Then again, looking at this man, what woman wouldn’t want him again, beard on their nipple or not.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey,” I reply, shaking my head.

  Then, face serious, he rubs his beard against my nipple.

  “You’re doing that on purpose,” I mutter, but it’s more of a whisper because I’m also moaning. “Keep doing it.”

  He chuckles, his bearded mouth, lips, and the friction all slowly moving down my body. A hand stays at my breast, holding its weight, teasing the tip of my nipple and drawing small moans from me as his other hand and mouth touch me all over.

  I’m so lost in the moment, I don’t even take notice of where he’s heading, only the sensations.

  When his mouth is just above my pussy and his hot breath touches my clit, I hear him whisper.

  I don’t know what he says.

  I know only what I feel. And what I feel is his tongue flicking out to touch my clit.

  He flicks it again, then it’s as though he has no control, as though he needs to have all of me in his mouth, my wet heat on his tongue, the taste of me in his body.

  He devours my pussy, both hands now on my butt, and my legs thrown over his shoulder.

  The sand rubs against my back, and it feels like exquisite pleasure-pain.

  My cries are loud.

  His groans and sounds of feasting may be louder.

  Neither of us care, especially when I’m coming, my body shuddering, my legs holding fast as he drinks down every last drop of us.

  He rings every bit of orgasm from my limbs, every ounce of tension, until I’m a wet rag without a body, totally sated beyond anything I’ve ever felt.

  “I could float away,” I tell him in a sleepy voice.

  I’m drifting off when he drags me closer, his body cuddling me tight, and he comments, “By the way, I’ve never been with a woman who has a shimmering golden clit before. It’s tasty.”

  I don’t know why I don’t have a stronger reaction, maybe because while I was worried, I’m not surprised he can see my mark.

  So, instead of reacting, I giggle softly, and I think I’m still giggling even as I fall asleep in his arms.

  My guess? He hasn’t seen his own shimmering cock.

  It’s more subtle, but I caught a peek at it as I started to drift off.

  I think he forgot that part of the myth, or maybe he was never told. Either way, I’m excited to taste the new shiny part of him … after a nap.

  AARON

  I kiss her jaw.

  Then her nose.

  Even her forehead.

  But it’s her lips that hold that tangy sweetness I’ve come to crave.

  Scratch that, her golden pussy holds that honor.

  I start to make my way back down to my new favorite treat when I feel her hands in my hair.

  “Kiss me up here, Sheriff.”

  I smile at her playful tone, and make my way back up to her mouth.

  “Deprive a man of water and he will die.”

  “My pussy isn’t water, Aaron,” she replies, her eyes still closed.

  I kiss her again, this time longer, and she moans into my mouth.

  “How about now?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, and so I kiss her again.

  I add more tongue and give her hair a tug, something I know turns her on.

  “Now?” I ask.

  She giggles.

  “Later,” she whispers in my ear. “I want to see what Santa got me.”

  I use my forearms to sit up a bit and then look down at her.

  “Santa, huh?”

  She nods enthusiastically, and I can’t help it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to help it. I give in, and roll us both out of bed.

  It’s been two weeks since she came out of the water.

  She’s spent those two weeks getting to know her father again, sending Essie off after the Full Moon Christmas we had, which was a smaller scale celebration, but it was her last Christmas with Essie for a while, so we did it right.

  Her father is taking time to cope, and no one knows how he ended up in that cave, or why he was protected from the curse, but we all agree he might need some time to adjust to the modern times.

  At the Full Moon Christmas we had, Essie was showing him the fork Rickard and I got for her, a gold one, and he grabbed it from her hand and started brushing her hair with it.

  I’m the father of a girl who adored The Little Mermaid growing up.

  I think I laughed harder than even Irina or Essie.

  Essie had cautiously explained to him what the object was, a fork and not a comb.

  He’s since found out that he cannot steal silver from restaurants, that Tamara is not a free tavern wench, and that the kitchen at Rita’s is not a king’s buffet he can partake in any time he wishes.

  I’ve chosen to view these incidents as a son-in-law of a rather unusual man, rather than as acts of vandalism, attempted theft, and harassment.

  It’s a good thing this town is odd by nature.

  The hardest moment for both Lotta and her father was standing at the side of the road and watching Essie leave in an old Buick I told Essie I got from the impound lot, but that was really my going-away present to her.

  I knew it was the last shiny thing I’d be giving her for a while. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. She’s Maranessie Lawsen. She’s been seeking out adventure since she came ashore a frozen in time twelve-year-old girl, and left town a grown woman who looks to be about twenty but who has been alive for over a thousand years and been awake for thirty-seven, all years considered.

  For Christmas morning, it’s just the two of us.

  Tonight, we’ll go into town for the annual tree lighting on Christmas at dusk. We’ll see the others who’ve found their mates this year. Ivar and Makenna. Hedda and Travis. Ailani and Eric. Mansen and Doe. And so many others.

  But right now, is just for me and Lotta.

  I’m waiting by the Christmas tree, a gift behind my back when she comes downstairs wearing the white silk robe I bought her for Full Moon Christmas.

  She throws herself over the back of the couch and holds out her hand.

  “Gimme, gimme.”

  I laugh and shake my head in humor. “So damn bossy, darlin’.”

  She throws out her hands again in an exaggerated way.

  “Don’t be stingy.”

  “Never,” I reply, and then, I do what she asks, but I don’t put the gift in her hand.

  I open it, and quick as a flick, I take it out of the box and slide it on the ring finger of one of her outstretched hands.

  Her body stays like that, frozen, her eyes on her hand, both arms still thrown out, her ass to the couch.

  “I was going to put it in a potato pie, but it seemed too messy,” I explain with a smile, but she still doesn’t move. “Lotta, we’ve made a lot of confessions this past month and a half, lost a lot, and gained so much more, but we’ve been doing all that for over twenty years, you and I. We’ve learned to love through each other, even if not until recently in the way we always wished. And I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life learning those lessons again and again with you, waking up to the taste of your golden pussy …” she smiles through her tears, seemingly coming awake with every word I say. “... having each day to grow and find out more of your quirks, spending each night in our bed, bringing you to laughter as well as other kinds of joy.”

  She smiles, every inch of her face now wet.

  She’s also nodding.

  “That’s a good sign, darlin’, but give me a word.”

  She throws herself bodily forward, and I catch her, drawing her into my arms and crushing
her to me.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “Yes, skjoldr!” Skjoldr. Her shield. No matter what has happened these last twenty-five years, I can do nothing wrong in her eyes. That’s a gift I won’t ever take for granted again. “Yes!” she cries.

  Then her hand is at the back of my neck, her capable fingers digging in and drawing my mouth down to hers.

  And I groan at the taste of her, tart and sweet.

  She moans into my mouth too, but those moans increase when my wandering hands move to the sash of her robe, sliding it from her shoulders and leaving her naked before me.

  “Now?” I ask, one hand in her hair and the other playing with her tight nipple.

  She nods.

  And while for years I didn’t understand the fascination Essie had with shiny things, I now do.

  Glistening and wet and tasting like the finest sweets, my mermaid’s marked clit is all that glitters.

  Then again, Charlotta Lawsen, soon to be Charlotta Holmes, has always been the shiniest being in the room.

  She’s a treasure worth any weight in gold a man might offer.

  Priceless.

  Precious.

  And mine, for as long as we both shall live.

  Epilogue

  MARANESSIE

  A short while later …

  My laptop on my lap, a Christmas gift from Lotta and Aaron for my journaling, I finish my typing.

  There’s a cost to the things that matter the most in life. You find your treasure in others, in the vibrant light of their souls, in their laughter and smiles, and dinners shared over a roaring fire. That’s the real treasure: the people you create a home with.

  I shut the laptop and put it on the passenger seat. I needed to get that thought out. I don’t know why. It just feels important. Whatever journey I’m about to embark on in this old Buick Aaron found for me, that lesson is important.

  Too bad the old Buick is a gas guzzler.

  I hopped into it two days ago and have only stopped for gas, food, and the occasional picture and phone call to let Aaron and Lotta know I’m still breathing.

  This is my sixth stop for gas.

  I’m over a thousand miles south of Aurora Falls in a slightly dusty town about an hour and a half outside Dallas, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should trust my gut to take a different path to California.

  I could have been there by now.

  Rachel and Henry told me I could stay with them until I got on my feet.

  But it didn’t feel right.

  I shake my head.

  For all that it’s a stunning landscape of sun and small trees and hills as far and as wide as the eye can see, it’s no California. Or at least nothing like the California I’ve pictured in my head with its roaring tides and long boardwalks filled with hippies like Breezy.

  I hop out of my car and dust off my clothes.

  A few coffee cups fall out with my departure, and I chuckle.

  I’m a mess, but my sister would call it a beautiful mess.

  Feet on the ground, I feel the earth suddenly shift.

  A dizziness hits me so abruptly, the door still open to the Buick, I grip the top of the hood and driver’s side door with either hand.

  Then my eyes lift.

  Two men.

  One dark, one light, both with vibrant shifter-bright eyes on me.

  One word hits me in the solar plexus: forlǫg.

  Destiny.

  “Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

  The phrase bursts forth from me involuntarily and one of the men’s lips twitches. I watch the movement, mesmerized. It lights up his eyes, making him seem less dangerous. He’s almost … shiny.

  Oh dear, I think to myself, using the physical motion of zipping my lips to keep more words from ungracefully escaping my lips.

  I’m not proud of what I do next; it’s so terribly the opposite of Ariel in The Little Mermaid.

  I run.

  Up next

  EAGLE

  (Shifter Kings L.A., Book 1)

  January 7, 2020

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  Shifter Kings Nashville

  LION

  SPIDER

  SHARK

  WOLF

  POISON

  About me, Holly

  I'm the proud momma to a golden retriever named Charlie, two tortoises named Jake and John, a frog named Toad, and a gopher snake. The latter is my girl, Holly Jr. There's also the fact that I'm a thunderstorm-loving, front porch-sitting, hot cocoa-drinking, beauty product-hoarding, self-proclaimed environmentalist who just happens to write erotic romance. Saddle up sweetheart. I've got a slew of shifters, bad boys, down and dirty men, and smart, sexy babes to get you started!

  Sign up for my newsletter (here) to get up to date news, enter giveaways, and find out about freebies!