Page 137 of Kiss the Fae

I whimper, and whimper, and whimper to the punching rhythm of his body. Cerulean bends over and croons in my ear, “That’s it, my precious Lark. Show me where it hurts.”

“Cerulean,” I plead, growl, chant. “Mine.”

He hums, “Yours. All yours.”

He suspends himself above me, flattens his palms on either of side of my head—and thrusts fully into the cleft. His prick swoops inside, into the vent of my limbs, filling the slick clutch of my body.

My inner flesh seals around his cock, soaking us both. Our gazes hold as we jolt across the sheets. He glides my arms high and threads our fingers atop the bed. His hips piston in and out, our moans accelerating with the hectic plunge of his length.

I bow my head to his, bringing our eyes closer. Our jaws fall, our mouths brushing and unleashing cries of pleasure. The intimacy pushes my limits, because this is what it’s like to make love roughly, to fuck sweetly.

It’s not the same love as when we were tykes, but I don’t want it to be, and neither does he. This bond is disorderly and complicated. It’s jagged around the edges, a patchwork of grudges, bargains, devotion, and friendship. It’s a mishmash of laughter and comfort, confessions and desires. It’s a selfish and selfless journey. It’s vulnerable and empowering.

It’s us at our worst and best.

I wriggle my hips, and Cerulean catches on. He yields to my weight as I roll us over again, his wings accommodating the movement, broadening across the rumpled linens. And there he is. My dark, vicious creature.

I straddle him and buck forward. My waist swats back and forth, riding his shaft, whipping him into me. Each wave sends pleasure blasting through my veins. He seizes my hips and increases the pace, our shadows blending over the stone walls. It goes on like this until I’m whining, aggravated, and mindless.

Cerulean sits upright, so that we’re level, face to face. I weave my hands behind his nape, and he kisses my shoulder, and our mouths fall against one another. His cock slings out and in, his thrusts punctuated by our groans. He palms my ass and lunges up into me, stroking, probing, again, again, again.

Just. Like. That.

We pitch to the ceiling, charging at each other, his pelvis thumping into my body, and then, and then, andthen.

Mortal and Fae cries weld into a knot. We grasp each other, tighten, and let it fly.

Our bodies churn, contracting where we’re joined. The wind soars into the room, thrashing its way through the curtains. I come with a holler, and he comes with a shout. Release spasms through us and pours from our tongues into the night.

Together, we crash to the bed, collapsing in a boneless heap. And then we’re laughing. We’re laughing and sweaty and worn. And far from done.

The gale calms down, folding itself into a gentle breeze that stirs the bedsheets. We slump over, so that he nestles between my thighs. His thumb smooths over the pulp of scars covering my knees, and I do the same with the iron marks branding his arms.

Perspiration coats our skin. My chest inflates against his, sucking in deep gusts of oxygen. I brush a damp forelock from his head and play with that single reed of blue, my fingers sketching the quill. He streaks his mouth over mine, getting me riled up in seconds.

We whisper the hours away. We touch and explore. We learn one another’s weak spots, powerful spots, sweet spots, and loud spots.

He twists his words, and I don’t fall for it. I flirt, and he seduces.

I’m young, but it’s been a long time since I felt that way. He’s ancient, but it’s been even longer since he felt it, too. We’ve got a chunk of years to make up for and a handful of centuries in which to do it.

He cradles my hand in his and tells me, “I want you to fill this room with everything that’s you. I want this tower to be yours as much as mine, if you want that, too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say.

We talk and kiss ourselves to sleep. Then we wake up, and I twist in the sheets to find Cerulean propped beside me, the linens barely covering the naughty parts. He rubs my ankle and watches me with a languid grin. All elegance, all flaws, all him.

Later, I’ll sidle nude to the archway and soak up the vista. And he’ll saunter up behind me and tuck my body against his bare one. He’ll nibble on the crook of my neck, and I’ll twist my head to meet his lips.

We’ll wander through the wildlife park, and we’ll share our first meal together. And we’ll puzzle out a new way to restore this mountainous labyrinth, and we’ll present it to the fauna, and we’ll mount a campaign to convince the Solitaries. And we’ll find out what my sisters are up against.

And we’ll drift across the vista. Maybe Tímien will grant us a ride, so that Cerulean’s wings will continue to heal. Maybe I’ll fly with him, or maybe that nightingale will honor me with another trip, and we’ll travel side by side.

Until then, I open my arms, my breasts spilling from under the covers. “You gonna keep a lady waiting?”

Cerulean shakes his head. “Be very careful now. They say I’m a vicious one.”

“And they say I’m a mutinous one. Guess that makes us even.”

---