Page 139 of Kiss the Fae

How very gluttonous of me. How marvelous to catch her in a solitary moment.

It wouldn’t be the first time, nor will it be the last. To be certain, I’m that sort of sneak.

Since our first encounter, I’ve watched her one thousand twelve times. Well, thirteen, counting tonight.

As striplings, I studied her profile from between the bars of my cage. As strangers, I leered from the shadows of a bluff as she trespassed into my realm. As enemies, I observed from my throne while she braved my kin, her whip uncoiling for battle, her eyes rings of mercury, a storm brewing across her face. The sight had been nothing short of astonishing, everything close to mesmerizing, and ultimately infuriating.

In that moment, I’d been grateful for my seat, lest she compromise my equilibrium. Nonetheless, I’d suffered, barely able to sit still. I’d yearned to leap off the throne, close the distance between us, and do irreparable things to her mouth.

I’ve watched her frolic with nightingales and befriend my fauna family. I’ve watched her search for me in a crowded ballroom. I’ve watched her head tip back in ecstasy while my body vaulted into hers, spreading her legs like wings, her thighs quivering around my waist.

Presently, I lean against an archway and tilt my head. She indulges in the starlit vista, then flips a lock behind her rounded ear and closes her eyes.

The sight of her happiness whisks my blood into a tempest, my length stiffening. Sigh. Truly, my cock is forever at her mercy. Though I’m scarcely lamenting, for I have plenty of pleasurable tricks yet to share with her.

My shoulder blades tingle, my wings itching beneath the plates of bone, writhing to break free and splay wide. To say nothing about the tips of my ears. Fables, this woman and her temptations.

Enough of this. Enough now.

I feel a wicked grin split my face. Two panels of feathers burst from my back, snapping outward and flexing to their best advantage. We winged Faeries have a tendency to show off this way, particularly with our mates. Then again, she’s always been a challenge to impress, which is precisely the way I prefer it.

The span of quills snatches a current of air and launches me off the threshold. I swoop her way, the air swelling beneath the vanes and quavering the fringes. My flight is a ravenous one, at once needy and predatory. I’m careful in my descent, floating quietly to the ground, so as not to aggravate the wind and alert her. That would hardly be any fun.

It’s a tranquil hour, the torchlights erupting, the flames painting the teal night with bonfires of color. I stalk across the grass and pause inches behind her. The silken wind answers my call, accepting my plea and stringing around her waist.

Lark yelps, then relaxes when the draft coaxes her against me, her spine tucking itself into my chest. My arms replace the wind and slink around her middle. I drink in her flirty, feisty, fiery chuckle, lost in the brass chime of it.

“Sneaky Fae,” she remarks.

“Mouthy human,” I murmur.

“You know it. So how long have you been watching me?”

I smirk privately. “Ah, but it would take a hundred years to answer that.”

“Good thing we have time.”

“Then I shall tell you—”

“Lemme guess: For a price?”

How I love that she knows me well. How invigorating and terrifying.

Prickles rush across my fingers, equally warm and cold. It shall be a challenge, learning how to get away with things in spite of her.

The instant I fix my grip on Lark’s midriff, she gasps in approval. “You’re naked.”

“And you’re about to be,” I predict.

Thusly, my fingers pluck the straps of her fetching little nightgown and coast them down her arms. The cloth drops to the grass. Hmm, such a shame that lovely attire had to be discarded. Of course, sacrifices must be made. For if I’m going to behave sneakily, I might as well be consistent.

A tapestry of white and teal constellations burnishes our bodies. We wear nothing but our charms, her thigh cuff and my ear caps. And why not? There’s no one lurking about. Interlopers have vacated the tower, Moth having sent the servants away hours ago, the moment my love returned to me.

Lark. She returned to me.

After everything, she came back. I’ve never known such intensity as the moment I saw her lingering beside the gazebo. In all my centuries, I had assumed I’d felt every emotion there was to experience by now, but again, she proved me wrong. My mouth had dried, my breath quickening and the weight on my shoulders lifting. Curse it all, but the joy had been excruciating, the relief overpowering, the desire maddening.

Those same impulses spur me tonight. For good measure, my wings stroke Lark’s hips before crimping to my sides. Her head falls against my shoulder, giving my mouth access to the pulse tapping at her throat. I waste no time, my lips opening over her pebbled skin and plying her with slow, languid kisses.

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