Page 11 of Kissing the Kelpie

“Did you like them?”

I look at him questioningly.

“The chimes?”

I nod, then shake my head, forcing my eyes to look down at the water instead of at him. This is how I start to fix things. I encourage him not to come anywhere near me or my cottage ever again. Except I can’t. My voice is lost. I clear my throat, forcing some sound out.

“You should . . . You shouldn’t have. . . ”

One of his large hands grazes over the top of my head. His large blue eyes lock on mine as he strokes my hair. “I had to. You looked so happy dancing to the music.” His voice holds a hint of nostalgia, and a faint smile plays on his lips. “I want my music to stay with you forever, so you can dance and be happy every day of your life.”

My lips part; my head swirls. Swoon.

He inches closer. Breathe, I remind myself, reaching for something wet and green in his hair. A leaf? A vine? No matter. Pulling it out, I flick it off to the side. He smiles, showing off a set of deep dimples. It feels good to be the reason someone smiles. Someone besides Ana. I forgot what that feels like.

The kindness in his eyes wipes away any suspicion I have of him. It slithers from my mind as he holds my hand in his and looks at the bracelet hugging my wrist.

“Promise me you’ll keep this on,” his eyes find mine again. “No matter what.”

I nod, then shake my head, remembering how angry Em was. It’s the bracelet.

“Enchanted.” It’s the only word I manage to sputter. I close my eyes and struggle to think about why that’s a bad thing. “Cursed.” I manage. “You cursed me.”

“Never.” His smile falls. “Yes,” his voice is low. “It is enchanted with fae. But not to hurt you. They're very tiny. Naked to the human eye, but you can see flashes of them if you look close enough.” He examines the bracelet, turning my wrist over in his fingers. “They only mean to protect you and keep you safe.”

I don’t know if I believe that. “Safe, from what?”

Instead of using his words to answer, he inches his lips closer until they find the corner of my mouth. I’m powerless to pull away or protest as they press against me. I open my mouth, inviting him in, and find myself disappointed when he pulls away.

“I apologize.” His eyes drop to the water. “I forgot my manners. I should not touch, let alone kiss you, if the gesture is unwelcome.”

I shake my head, still struggling to speak. “It’s welcome. Kissing, I mean.”

He cradles my head in his hands. His thumbs brush over my cheeks. My bottom lip. My skin tingles. I moan as he closes his eyes and leans forward, expecting to feel his mouth meet mine.

“More?” He whispers, peppering kisses around my lips, along my jaw, making me forget . . . everything.

Instead of answering him, I clasp my hands around his neck, urging him closer. His mouth opens, and his tongue tastes my skin, caresses it... A foreign feeling of sexual need and desire climbs up and spreads through my body. Pulses through me.

He gathers my hair in his hand and pulls it, not hard enough to hurt me but hard enough to elicit a surprised gasp. It’s a power move, showing me that he’s in control. With how out of control I feel at the moment, I welcome it.

“Mmm.” A groan of pleasure sounds from the back of his throat. I want to hear more moans and groans from him. I want to please him.

Feeling me succumb to him, the look on his face changes. His lids are half-closed, as if they’ve grown heavy. The determined look on his face is full of need. Heat shoots to my center. Although I’m in water, I feel myself coat with a sticky dampness between my legs.

“My ballerina,” his tongue swirls behind the back of my ear, his teeth close, just barely, scraping the lobe. “I want to watch you dance. Will you do that for me?”

“Now?” Feeling his tongue and salty lips against my skin feels so much better than dancing. I want to be in his arms, for him to crush my body against his; how can he think of dancing when all I want is to feel his mouth caress every inch of my body? “How about we do more of this first?”

“No, Ballerina. You don’t understand. I want you to dance as I’m speared inside you.”

Oh my goddess of all things sexual! The image he creates of me writhing against him, rising and falling on his sword, takes over my thoughts. I squirm in my seat thinking about it. My stomach balls into a boulder of need. My nipples tighten. My hips tilt forward on their own accord. I’m a powder keg ready to explode.

I shouldn’t be so willing—so ready to give him what he wants, but I want it too. I’m hankering for one last romp. One that will last me the rest of my life. Just one time, and then maybe he won’t consume my every thought. One good fuck, and I’ll be able to think straight.

He pulls my hair further back so my neck is fully exposed to him. So that I’m at his mercy. My blood spurts through me so hard, I feel my heartbeat in my toes. His fingertips ghost down the column of my neck and continue between my breasts, down my sternum. His gentle touch leaves a trail of electricity in its wake.

I close my eyes, delighting in his touch and the electric stream he has coursing through my cells. A glitch. A sudden surge as his fingers close around my breast, squeezing. My breath changes as I gulp in as much air as I can. He loosens his grip, then closes his hand around my flesh again, eliciting a wince. He squeezes past the point of pleasure to pain.

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