Page 84 of Kiss the Fae

I still taste him, still feel the brush of his tongue. Earlier, the dawning sun had risen, but now it’s begun to recede. The day yawns into a drowsy afternoon, oozing goldenrod beyond the windows, the color splashing through the curtains and onto my bed.

In a few hours, the light will dim. The fauna will roam this haven. And not far off, Faeries will do cruel things.

The Solitaries will come out to play, because tonight’s the masquerade. They’ll dress in fancy clothes and don masks. They’ll dance under the Middle Moon. They’ll congratulate themselves for being themselves.

The only good thing that’ll come of it? They’ll celebrate the animals of this world.

That, and they’ll probably fuck.

With a growl, I twist in the coverlet, the folds snarling around my hips.

I want out of this bed. I want out of this room. I want out of this tower.

I want to flee from the dark shell of my thoughts. I want to leap into the wind and let it carry me away.

I want to kiss him again. I want the air spiraling around us like before, when he showed me the wind, when I really saw it for the first time. I want to feel like I did right then, like we shared the same passion, the same awe. I want to relive those seconds before our mouths self-destructed. I want that madness one more time. I want it to matter. I want it to be insignificant.

Will he fuck somebody tonight?

How does he move in bed? What maneuvers does he know? How does he sound when he comes? Which sounds does he draw from his partners?

Frustration, guilt, and jealousy clash at the nexus of my body, a molten ache condensing in the slit between my legs. My hand moves, cupping the mound of curls. Feathering my digits through the crisp tangle of hair, I trace the dampness, slick and warm. And for a while, I tease myself, my fingers combing over the coils and tracing the swollen nub.

Careful. Very carefully now.

I conjure a fantasy of his voice, his words penetrating the silence. Pressing harder into myself, my body flops to the side, in search of the perfect angle. I face the curtains billowing around the open window, the sheer material bloated and quavering.

Does the wind have a beginning? Does it have an ending?

As if summoned, the source of my curiosity slithers across the floorboards and jostles the ends of the bedsheet. I freeze. The material shifts, nudged by an invisible force, and inches up my calves.

My heart jackhammers. I know these shenanigans. From past experiences, I know them well.

Only now, I’m aware of who’s responsible. He’s probably done this to numerous mortals, so that he doesn’t remember those nights in my room. But contrary to the last bouts, this is anything but random. And unlike those other incidents, I react differently.

Nerves buzzing, I roll onto my spine and spread my arms to the sides of the mattress. My belly’s a hive of droning bees. Every movement is deliberate but slow, because this isn’t surrender—it’s shared. An offering for an offering.

Rapt and willing, I wait with my palms twisted upward. I don’t know how I got here, or where this is leading, but I know it’s with him. That’s all I count on. If we’re about to make another mess of each other, we’re doing it together.

The wind stalls in contemplation, then prowls ahead, circling my ankles. My toes curl, but the rest of me goes rigid, because moving will spoil the anticipation.

But already it’s tough. Really tough not to budge.

An erotic chuckle resounds, the breeze carrying his response to me. Yes, he can make contact through the wind, but to what degree? How far is he able to take this?

Can he feel me? Can he taste me?

He must, albeit not like he would if he were here. Nonetheless, a resonant hum entwines with the draft.Allow me.

It’s not a plea. It’s a proposition.

An enticement. A promise.

The wind continues its path, coaxing my feet apart. My teeth sink into my lip, sealing in a whimper. Can’t blame me for wanting to keep a smidgen of my excitement under wraps, lest he get smug. I’m not here to validate him.

Based on the teasing trail of wind, he likes that. Even though I haven’t kicked his breezy backside from this chamber, I reckon he wants to see what it takes to win me over. I bet he wants to test that, to see how much of him I can take. I think he wants me to make it difficult on him. After that, I think he wants me to succumb.

Oh, my mutinous one. You still have no idea what I’m capable of.

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