Page 35 of Tentacles and Teeth

Fenn massaged shampoo into my hair while Sid washed my body, her hands gentle and devout as she soothed the raw, sensitive flesh.

I caught her hand when she moved beyond rinsing my swollen and still tender pussy. It wasn’tthatsore, especially after some magical intervention, but I didn’t want to get distracted by orgasms again. I had some fantasies that I hadn’t tried out yet.

When we were all clean, I knelt before my lovers under the hot spray and licked my lips.

Fenn’s nostrils flared, his muscles tensing and his only slightly more reasonably sized cock thickening. Sid’s eyes began to glow, her hands fisting at her sides as her tentacles rose from her skin, coiling and twining behind her.

Time for them to squirm.

This was going to be fun.

The End. . .

Epilogue

Katarina

"You sure you don't mind? I can reschedule this meeting to tomorrow," Sid fretted as she pulled the car to a stop outside the Broken Crown.

Fenn’s snort from the backseat had my mouth twitching, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I fisted my hand in Sid’s soft tee, pulling her forward. She laughed at my smacking kiss and finally stopped worrying her full lower lip between her teeth.

“Of course not.” Unable to resist the pull of her sweet mouth, I leaned in again for a longer, deeper taste before murmuring, “I said I didn’t mind the last three times you asked, and I meant it. No reason to mess up everyone’s plans. Besides, I want to meet these Bwbachod I’ve heard so much about. Maybe they’ll teach me some new ways to boss you around.”

Her laughing growl of complaint followed me as I took Fenn’s offered hand and let him help me out of the car.

He wove our fingers together and brought them to his lips, but rather than the kiss I meltingly anticipated, his teeth were a sharp nip across my knuckles. “Brat.”

“You like it,” I countered. His crooked grin sparked a curl of heat low in my belly. By all rights, my libido should have been in full hibernation after the excesses of the past couple of days. The three of us had been wrapped up in each other tighter than ivy on an old fence, but the fire had yet to get below a simmer. If they hadn’t been equally affected and the idea so preposterous for their characters, I would have thought they’d spelled me. But whatever this attraction between us was—it was more intrinsic than magic.

Sid’s arm fell across my shoulders, giving me a squeeze as the three of us walked towards the quiet bar. Her voice was a seductive purr in my ear. “I know I do.”

I shot her a wicked grin before the bar ahead drew my attention. In the amber light of a Sunday afternoon with a mere scattering of vehicles about, it felt like a completely different place. The array of doors on the lower level were closed, and I heard nothing from the bar itself, whereas several of the upstairs windows had been flung open, allowing enthusiastic, off-key singing to assault the air. I tilted my head. No, one of the voices was actually lovely. It was just almost drowned out by the screeching, cat-like wails that accompanied it.

“Mared and Emyr,” Sid said. At my confused expression, she elaborated, “The singers. Mared is the songbird. Emyr is the one imitating a banshee.” She’d raised her voice loud enough to be heard inside, laughter and shouted insults rippling out in response. Lowering her voice to a murmur, she spoke again to me. “Fenn will show you around while I hear out the Bwbachod, but the upstairs is off-limits, okay? Riders and their guests only.”

“Sure, I understand.” My curiosity could deal with the disappointment.

Fenn’s fingers squeezed mine, then he released them, reaching for the door and holding it open.

I brushed my hip against him as I passed, rewarded by a low, skin-prickling growl.

The interior of the bar was dim, and I blinked, waiting for my vision to adjust. The Broken Crown felt bigger without the press of bodies filling every available space. Much bigger. The walls seemed to slip farther away when I looked directly at them. It was unsettling, so I focused instead on the people gathering around one of the larger tables.

Taller than their English Brownie cousins, the Bwbachod stood mostly around five and a half feet tall, with long pointed horizontal ears and soft, downy looking skin in assorted shades of brown and tan. They were animated, speaking rapidly in a mix of Common and what I assumed was Welsh, their gestures large and their laughter boisterous.

Like a lot of the fae who changed shape, they didn’t wear much clothing. My lips curled at the memories of Sid’s constant and often failed attempts to keep Fenn in pants. I had helped her not at all. I rather liked him naked.

These Bwbachod favored a modern kilt rather than the grey sweats that clung so lovingly to Fenn’s assets, but as I looked over their strong, dynamic bodies generously bared by the meager coverings, I had to admit that they were on to something.

“Oi, Sid, what were you thinking, insulting my singing like that?” The brash words came from the tallest Bwbach, his willowy body taut with challenge as he stood with fists on narrow hips and glared at my Fae.

“She’s thinking she can hear, most likely,” snorted a handsome, square-jawed woman whose thick hair was braided into two plaits tied behind her neck.

“Hey—” the first man, presumably Emyr the Screecher, started to retort, but whatever he was going to say was cut off as a firm hand caught him by the nape, pulling him into the lap of the man behind him.

The other man, who’s impressively muscled body was marked with thick black twining knotwork, did something that had Emyr arching against him before collapsing into a puddle against his chest, his face smug and not at all cowed even through the bliss.

I bit the inside of my cheek, my eyes meeting the dark gaze of the tattooed fae as his hands coasted down the other man’s chest. Oh my.

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