Page 105 of Kiss the Fae

“You know it,” I boast, then yip as a pair of arms link beneath my knees and scoop me up. Cerulean sinks to the ground, depositing me on the grass. He lounges against the boulder and urges me to recline between his legs, which sprawl around my body. Once my back fits comfortably into his chest, his upturned palm offers a cluster of morsels with thin, lemon-colored rinds, the curvy shapes reminiscent of miniature figs. With his other arm, he drags one of the bulbs across my lips. “Do you trust me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” I caution. “The orgasm hasn’t worn off yet.”

Another chuckle shapes his words. “Open your mouth.”

I make a show of it, parting my lips and curling out my tongue. He places the fruity lump atop the flat, and I whisk it into my mouth. Vanilla, pear, and a dash of ginger bursts from the chewy flesh.

I swallow and moan. “That tastes—”

“Like you,” he says into my ear.

Hot. Damn. This Fae is going to be the death of me.

Cerulean continues to feed me the plump treats. Before giving me the last one, he says, “This won’t replace a hearty meal, but it will tide you over until later. There’s a fetching solarium where we can dine. Or if you’d like, I shall raid the kitchen and bring the fare here. It would be the utmost pleasure, introducing you to the delicacies of my culture.”

“Bring? You conjured food at the tower.”

“Yes, but I’d hate for you to accuse me of being lazy.”

“Now that you mention it, aside from the exotic or ghoulish snacks I’ve seen, a lot of what I’ve tasted is the same as back home. The platters in Moth’s cottage and in my chamber mostly included things I knew.”

“I chose what would satisfy your mortal cravings and quell your skepticism, but that isn’t the extent of this world. Elves prefer bitter cuisine, dragons spicy dishes and tropical fruits, and Faeries a blend of salty, sour, and sweet. It’s true we favor mortal cakes, honey, and dairy. And your crops—grapes, nectarines, apricots. Sublime.” He kisses my shoulder. “But we Fae have our own fare. Once you’ve sampled our dumplings, you’ll never be the same.”

“Let nobody say I’m not a hearty eater.”

He nuzzles me. “Perfect, because I do so favor a human with an appetite.”

His excitement does me in. A meal with Cerulean. Such a simple thing, among a thousand simple things we haven’t experienced. How many can we cram into the next few hours before sunrise, when this game begins again?

I snuggle into him. Wouldn’t mind if an animal wandered through here. Maybe the creature would assume Cerulean and I are mates.

Mates. How did this happen if Faeries only bond with their own kind? The thought chafes, pulling my mouth downward.

He’s mine.

But no, he’s not. Not anymore than I’m his.

Yet we spend the next hour talking, whispering, and chortling. We lie on our sides, my digits tracing circles over his arm, his fingers skimming my cheeks. We share bits about our cultures—the music, traditions, and yeah, the food. We talk about little things and bigger things, filling in the gaps for each other.

Cerulean props his cheek in his palm. “What are you pondering?”

“That you never answered my question about your age. How old were you when we met?”

“Just over a thousand. The equivalent of eleven human years.”

But that doesn’t make sense. Between then and now, he couldn’t have gained these many inches so quickly, not if it takes eons for Faeries to develop physically.

Cerulean gauges my logic. “Something happened that night to Puck, Elixir, and me. It should have taken us another millennium to look as we do now, but when we escaped, our bodies matured at a rapid pace over the next nine years. Increasingly, we thought and felt less like striplings. Yet once we grew to our physical prime, the process slowed, then halted altogether.

“As to why it happened, we scarcely know. Perhaps it’s because we were appointed Solitary rulers, thus nature wished for us to look and feel the part. It’s a mystery we’ve yet to unravel.”

His braided cord of hair falls over my chest, my tits cradling the feather. I fondle the quill and study its pigment. “You didn’t have dark lips when I met you.”

“Rather unfortunate, isn’t it?” he quips. “For if I had, I would have claimed even more of your attention. I’m quite fond of the way you ogle my mouth. But no, the blue came later.”

“Vain Fae. I know what you said before, but did you ever come close to seeking me out? In spite of everything you had on your shoulders?”

“I craved it desperately. But I had my obligations, only a smattering of them magnanimous.”

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