Page 92 of By the Fae

I loved him.

I almost told him. Right after we’d made love. The words were there, on the very tip of my tongue. The anguish on his face had me reeling them back in.

The trouble was, the bottom line, the thing I knew with one-hundred percent unwavering certainty; if I told him, if I said the wordsI love you, he would break this off. End things for good. Find a way to never share the same space as me again. My new office would be mysteriously relocated to the sixth-floor, or perhaps in theHowl Ya Doin’?block across the street. He’d work from home, so I couldn’t see him around the building. He’d ignore me at team briefings.

And he’d be right to.

I overstepped the boundaries. I got feelings involved. Just like he said I would.

How do you know I want love, and not just a hook up?I’d said that the first time in his office when we made the deal.

Because you’re human, he’d replied, and he’d said it so matter-of-factly, like it was a given.All humans, every single one of you, are obsessed with love.

If I thought not walking away from him before I fell would be the worst decision of my life, I was wrong. Not walking away now was. But I found myself unable to.

It was impossible. To leave the comfort of his arms, his citrus scent, his whispered ‘good girl’s.

We had spent the entirety of Sunday as one. Connected body and soul. We’d had sex so many times, in so many places over his apartment, I’d lost count. Against the kitchen counter, in Mal’s private ensuite whirlpool bath — which he did not know about, and we’d be keeping it that way — on the rooftop, on the loungers, in the warm summer rain.

And after each time, I’d find myself scrambling to cram those three words back in.

It would be over soon. He’d end it soon. I could feel it. Like when you knew the credits were about to roll in a movie. But perhaps if I didn’t tell him I loved him, if I kept my stupid human mouth shut, I could keep him for a bit longer.

I was already too far gone. Already in line for heartbreak. Why shouldn’t I try to delay that? Get a few more minutes, days, weeks hopefully, of Goldie?

On Sunday night, we’d fallen asleep cuddling. Naked, because I had taken all my belongings back to my house, and only had my—Abby’s evening dress. And because, I’d learned, Goldie always slept naked. Usually on his back, with two pillows, and one or both arms under his head, and even though he had a duvet, he almost never slept under it.

On Monday morning, I woke before him. Tucked into the hairy, sweaty crevasse below his armpit. I pushed myself away slightly so that I could enjoy the view. Letting my eyes travel over the exact lines of his nose and jaw. His day-old stubble. The swell of those gorgeous lips. The glorious peaks and furrows of his abdomen. The valleys filled with golden-blonde hair. His, erm, morning situation.

I’d never wanted anything to end less.

“Why are you staring at me, human?” he said, not opening his eyes, but letting his arms drop to his stomach.

My insides flipped with excitement. It was what he’d said to me in his office at the start of all this.

“Because you’re so beautiful,” I replied.

“Duh.” Suddenly, he lunged for me. I squealed and tried to wriggle in the other direction, but he grabbed me and pulled me into his big spoon. “What’s the time?” He kissed my shoulder and below my ear.

“I have no idea, but we have work today, and we probably should go into the office this week because there’s only two weeks left until the expo.”

He sighed. I couldn’t tell if it was a resigned sigh, or a contented one. “I’ll drive you back to your flat so you can get ready for work, then we can go in together.”

My heart gave a jolt. I loved it when he used the words ‘we’ and ‘together’.

He kissed my neck again, and his hand took a firm grip on my hip. “Can I take you again before work?” he whispered.

“Yes,” I said, adding, “please,” because I only just realised how much I wanted that too. Plus, he really liked it when I begged.

Goldie groaned. “I love it when you beg.” And then, without wasting any more time, and still cradling me in his curled body, he slipped inside me. Slowly at first. Then all at once, as though he were a rubber band that had been stretched and snapped, and he could no longer hold himself back.

I braced the flat of my palm against the headboard and pushed myself harder into his planes, trying to squeeze out any gaps there might be between our bodies. Trying to push him deeper inside me. That familiar feeling of overwhelm as my sex stretched around his. It always felt too much, in the beginning at least. I found it difficult to breathe, like he had squeezed all the air out of me.

Until he began moving, of course. And it went from too much, to alleviation, to more more more.

“Fuck, Holly, you feel so fucking good.” Goldie was already trembling, running a shaking hand up my waist and cupping my breast, and exhaling shaking breaths into my hair. “Gods, you have no right to feel this exquisite. You make me feel like a virgin, about to pop off any second. I can’t even fucking look at you. You look so incredible.”

Eventually, his frenzied rhythm slowed. He reached a hand between my thighs and began languidly rubbing my clit. Our moans combined to make one song. We knew the chorus and the verses, and the choreography. It was so easy with him. I’d gone from No Orgasms Holly to a nymph’s lover.

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