Seducing the Sun Fae

by Rebecca Rivard

  Stars, the man was stubborn. She felt a sudden, soul-deep sadness. Was she never to have what most people—fae, fada or human—took for granted? A mate, children? A jagged lump lodged in her throat but she managed to speak.

  “No more,” she agreed.

  He rose to his feet and carried her across the room to an armless chair. Sitting down, he turned her so she straddled his legs. One large hand slid between her thighs.

  “Now, minha querida, I believe we have some unfinished business—”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Dion reached for a bar of soap and lathered his hands. He brought them to Cleia, reclined against his chest, and moved them over her breasts, lazily washing her. It was the afternoon of the following day, and they were in her big bathtub. A hazy aqua light came through the tinted windows and the notes of a sultry Brazilian love song emanated from speakers hidden in the tiled walls.

  He gave a contented exhale and nuzzled the moist skin of her neck. Her breath sighed out in turn and her muscles softened even more, her head lolling against his chest. He gently pinched her nipples, flushed from the hot water.

  She flapped a hand weakly. “Enough. I’m worn out.”

  His mouth curved. “Should I say I’m sorry?” They’d spent most of the past twenty-four hours in her apartment, fucking like otters. He’d had her in her bed, up against the wall, in the bathtub, bent over the couch…

  But they’d talked as well, and he’d had a chance to observe her with her people, catching up on what she’d missed while she’d been gone. He was impressed. She was a smart, pragmatic ruler, one who was both liked and respected by her people.

  “No,” she replied. “It would be a lie.”

  “True.” He lifted first one, then the other of her breasts, cleaning the curved undersides. Leaning forward, he blew a breath over one wet, soapy nipple.

  A fine tremor ran over her skin. “You’re a bad man,” she murmured.

  “Also true. But you like that, no?”

  She reached behind her to link her fingers behind his nape, causing her breasts to lift in an interesting way. He tweaked the nipples again just to watch them stand at attention. “You know I do.”

  He smiled and rinsed her breasts. Then he soaped up his hands again and moved them down her ribs. Her body enthralled him—the golden color, the satiny texture. He could spend a decade simply memorizing the shape of her: the slightly convex curve of her lower abdomen, the shelf of her pelvis, the lush slope of her hips. He slid his fingers between her thighs, opening her legs, and carefully washed her tender, swollen folds.

  She gave a low moan even as she shook her head. At the sound, heat curled in his belly, even though he’d had her not a half hour earlier.

  He glided his fingertips over her sex. “Não?”

  “A very bad man,” she asserted and turned her head to kiss him, a slow tangling of tongues that had his cock springing up to press against her round bottom. Then she spoiled it by saying, “Dion, about tomorrow—I—”

  He nipped the side of her neck. “We agreed not to talk about that.”

  “But—” She took her hands from around his neck and tried to sit up.

  “Cleia,” he warned. He tightened his arms, keeping her between his legs, and drew the skin of her throat into his mouth, gently suckling. His fingers kept up their slow stroking over her sex.

  A quiver ran over her skin but she didn’t back down. “Dion? If you won’t do this for me, do it for Xavier.”

  His face hardened even as a certain lower part started to deflate. Damn her for trying to use Xavier as a lever; she knew how worried he was about the boy. He lifted his head and said, “Enough, Cleia.”

  She gave a growl worthy of a fada and pushed out of his arms. This time he let her go. Sliding to the opposite end of the tub, she turned to glare at him. “Stars. What would it take to convince you?”

  His hands clenched on the water. His arms felt empty without her and that only increased his annoyance. Reaching for the soap again, he washed himself with short, irate strokes. “How about this? You give me the name of the person who helped you escape and then we’ll talk.”

  He’d racked his brains, trying to decide who’d betrayed him to the sun fae. The short list included Cleia’s former lovers—Rodolfo, Luis, Miguel, Emmanuel, even Rui. But he couldn’t believe one of them was responsible. Rodolfo or Luis would confront him straight on—as they already had—and Miguel was off on a mission in South America. Emmanuel hadn’t even tried to talk to Cleia; his mate was the jealous type. And Rui was too busy wallowing in wine and women to plot anything but his next conquest.

  That left—but his mind skittered past the name, refusing even to think it.

  Cleia drew in a breath. “Go. To. Hell,” she rapped out and practically leaped out of the tub.

  He spread his hands. “Okay, so that wasn’t fair.”

  “No, it wasn’t. The one has nothing to do with the other.” She snatched up a towel and started rubbing herself dry. “We have to try. Don’t you understand? If we don’t, Xavier is going to die.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” He heaved himself out of the water and grabbed another towel. “If this were just about us, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’ll admit when I woke up yesterday I thought this was another trick. After all, you stood by while Olivia knocked me out and then brought me here without my consent. But you’ve convinced me that you’re telling the truth. You honestly believe our joining is the only way to help my clan.”

  “Thank you for that at least,” she muttered.

  “But it’s not just about us. If you’re wrong, it’s not just me who will be hurt, but the entire clan. What if you can’t control it? If something goes wrong, it will be my people who’ll suffer—not yours.”

  “But we have to try. Xavier is going to die.” She said it slowly, as if he were a difficult child.

  “Damn it, I know. And I couldn’t love the boy any more if he were my own son. But I can’t take the chance.”

  “So you’ll just let him die.”

  He met her accusing gaze straight on. She couldn’t be any harder on him than he was on himself. “I pray it won’t come to that. But I’ll do what’s best for the clan.”

  * * *

  After that, they each went their separate ways, she to work on the final details for tomorrow’s ritual and he for a walk.

  He chose at random one of the paths that crisscrossed the sprawling compound and started down it. His thoughts were a jumble, but one thing was clear: He’d do almost anything to keep Xavier alive. Anything but what Cleia was suggesting. He couldn’t risk his entire clan for one child.

  But Deus, he was tempted. She was offering him the one thing he most wanted—a mate bond with her. His every instinct clamored for him to accept it and to hell with anything else.

  Gradually he began to take in his surroundings. Besides the mansion, which Cleia shared with Olivia and a handful of other relatives, the grounds included a half-dozen condo buildings, state-of-the-art exercise facilities, a cultural center, and that ballroom Rosana was so interested in. It was basically a small, exclusive village, which at the moment was packed to the brim as those sun fae who lived elsewhere arrived for the coming ritual, doubling up with those who lived at Rising Sun year round as well as bedding down in elaborate tents erected throughout the grounds.

  Everything was clean and well-kept, with jewels and precious metals used liberally as embellishments. The sheer bulk of the sun fae’s wealth still took his breath away, but he was coming to see that their extravagance was underlain by an innate generosity. They didn’t just scatter gold and jewels everywhere like shells on a beach, they scattered hugs and smiles as well. They were like a tribe of light-hearted children, always talking and laughing with one another.

  As he approached the playground, a fantastic assortment of towers, swings, merry-go-rounds and other play equipment, a child’s voice sang out, “Lord Dun, wait for me!”

  He smiled and turn
ed around. It was little Gracie, who’d christened him “Lord Dun” when she couldn’t quite get her mouth around the two syllables of his name. She skipped toward him, beaming. They’d met earlier at the mansion, where she lived with her parents on the second floor. She was adorable, with wheat-blond curls, a Cupid’s bow mouth and big golden-brown eyes that were a replica of her cousin Cleia’s.

  “Hello, menina.” He glanced at Gracie’s mother, hurrying up the path after her. “Good afternoon, Lady Amelie.”

  “Good afternoon,” she replied with a smile.

  They spoke for a few minutes about the weather and the upcoming celebration. He was surprised at how easily the sun fae had accepted him. If they were angry with him for taking their queen captive, they hid it well. This morning, when Cleia had taken him around the mansion to introduce him to her family, he’d felt a bit like a dark visitor from Hades until he realized they were genuinely pleased to meet him. It made him wonder what, exactly, Cleia had told them.

  Gracie tugged on his shirt. “Up, Lord Dun,” she commanded and raised her arms.

  “Gracie,” chided her mother. “Where are your manners?”

  “Please?”

  He chuckled and tossed her lightly above his head. “How’s that?”

  “Yes!” she said with a happy chortle. “More!”

  He tossed her again and then set her back on the grassy path, but she pouted up at him. “More, Lord Dun.”

  “Gracie,” said Lady Amelie, “Lord Dion doesn’t have to—”

  The tiny blonde gave him a winning smile. “Por favor?”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely—” He scooped the girl up for another few tosses. On the last catch he saw Cleia watching them from a few yards away, a corner of her mouth lifted in an unreadable smile.

  He set Gracie down and patted her small behind. “Off with you now. Your mama’s waiting.”

  “Thank you.” She lifted her face, presenting her cheek. He bent down and gravely planted a kiss on the baby-fine surface. She darted to Cleia for a kiss as well, and then returned to her mother, skipping ahead of her to the playground.

  Cleia remained where she was, her face serious now.

  He gave her a stiff nod. “You’ve finished your business?”

  “Yes.” She came forward and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Don’t be angry at me. Please?” She shot him a look up from under her lashes.

  His lips twitched. “Do you know how much you look like Gracie right now?”

  Her expression didn’t change. “Is it working?”

  “Yes.” He turned her to face him and gave her a hard kiss.

  When he lifted his head, she twined her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to fight with you, Dion.”

  He kissed her again. “Me either.”

  “Good.” She caught his hand and tugged him away from the playground to a fork in the path. “I have something to show you.”

  After a few minutes’ walk, they arrived at a small garden encircled by a high boxwood hedge. In the center was a large mosaic depicting a tree of life composed of thousands of pieces of pottery, colored glass and the occasional semiprecious stone. Dion’s jaw slackened as he followed the trunk with his gaze out to sinuous branches hung with leaves of hammered copper and dripping with precious stone “fruit”: fat rubies and citrines, chunks of emerald and topaz. A silver half-moon framed one side and on the other was a sun of beaten gold.

  “My God,” he said reverently.

  Cleia leaned her head against his shoulder. “My parents made it. On their five-hundredth anniversary.” She’d told him that her parents had died a number of years ago. “I miss them—so bad—but at least I have this.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist. “It’s beautiful.”

  “But? It’s a little too flashy for you? Wasteful?”

  “Not at all. This is art. And even the rest—maybe you seem wasteful to someone like me, but I’ve come to see that it’s because you take such pleasure in pretty things. You want to share them with everyone.”

  “Exactly.” Her smile was pleased. “We believe art feeds the soul. The whole Rising Sun clan pitched in to make this, donating jewels, weaving straw into gold, trading for what we didn’t have. We knew my parents were nearing the end of their lives and we wanted to honor them. And we do try to make sure everyone has what they need before we spend resources on something like this.”

  “You don’t have to defend yourself. You’re a good ruler, Cleia. Anyone can see that. And I’m sure your father was as well.”

  “He was. I just try to live up to the example he set. You’re every bit as good, though. Even with the troubles your clan’s had, they’re still behind you all the way. They trust you to find a solution.”

  His mouth twisted. “If only I knew what that was.”

  She was wise enough not to press her case. He wondered if she sensed his wavering.

  By mutual accord they continued walking. Dion threaded his fingers through hers and put everything out of his mind—the traitor, his worry about Xavier, his fear that the earth fada might still attack, the desire to claim this woman as his mate. The animal in him wanted to enjoy her while he still could, and the man knew there was nothing he could do until tomorrow anyway.

  He scented the stream where he’d hidden that first day and instinctively turned in its direction, craving a taste of its free-flowing water. It wasn’t often that he spent more than a day away from his creek.

  When they reached the stream, he released Cleia’s hand and shucked his shirt and shorts.

  “Mm.” Cleia’s gaze moved down his naked body. “I like the way you think.”

  He flashed her a cocky grin and waded in up to his waist to scoop up big handfuls of the fresh, cool water. After drinking his fill, he did a shallow surface dive and shifted to river dolphin. He was larger than a wild dolphin, the stream barely large enough to hold him, but he was in the mood to play.

  He beckoned with his head for Cleia to come in.

  Her eyes widened. “Dion? Wow…you’re beautiful.”

  Beautiful? He gave a disdainful snort through his blowhole.

  She grinned and waded in, holding her skirt up around her thighs. He nudged her with his head and she stroked her hand down his back before moving to his head, where she instinctively found his most sensitive places: around his blowhole, his snout, beneath his jaw.

  “You’re so smooth,” she remarked. “It’s like petting an olive.”

  An olive? He snorted again. The woman had a lot to learn about dolphins, powerful predators in their own right.

  She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him, placing her head next to his. “How about you take me for a ride, meu senhor?” she said in a suggestive voice.

  For answer, he pressed his body into hers, encouraging her to climb on his back. She took hold of his dorsal fin and accepted his invitation, twining her long legs around his belly. He gave a flip of his tail to get them moving and swam a few hundred yards upstream until the water became too shallow.

  Cleia made a sound of pure amusement. “Could you take me into the bay?”

  He rolled slowly onto his back so that she stayed upright and shifted back to man. “Not today.”

  She sat astride him, his wanting obvious against her belly. The front of her pale yellow dress was soaked, the material rendered all but transparent by the water. He could see the shadow of her nipples, her navel, the coppery hair between her thighs. With a couple of strong backstrokes, he brought them to the bank and lifted her up to sit with a leg on either side of his.

  He spread his hands on her breasts, fingering her beaded nipples through the wet cloth. He squeezed them—just hard enough. She sucked in a breath and he scented the sharp tang of her arousal.

  “Take off the dress,” he ordered softly.

  Her dress was held on by a slender tie at each shoulder. Her eyes held his as she raised her hands to one. He loved how she submitted to him, even as she let him know she w
as strong, unafraid. That anything she did—even letting him be the dominant one when it came to sex—was her choice.

  She tugged at the tie and it came undone. The dress fell open, baring a single slick, peach-skinned breast. He gently cupped it. She was cool from the water, but already her inner heat was warming it up. She brought her hands to the other shoulder and undid that tie as well. The dress fell open to her waist.

  His breath hissed between his teeth. He took her breasts in both hands and flicked her nipples, teasing the sensitive points, and her eyes went dark with pleasure.

  His erection was pressed between her thighs. She came up on her knees and rubbed against it, her skirt bunched up around her thighs. She was hot and wet for him. He let her play while he continued to toy with her nipples, until it was too much and he gripped her hip, opened her with his other hand and slid inside with a single leisurely thrust.

  “Oh my lord,” she moaned. Her inner passage constricted around him, hot and tight and wet, sending wildness spiraling through him. He curled up and pulled her against him, and kissed her, hard and deep, as he started to move within her.

  The stream bank was cool and damp against his buttocks and feet, Cleia hot on top. Behind her the sun had commenced its slow slide down the afternoon sky. A light breeze blew over them, ruffling her hair so that the individual strands caught the sunlight, gleaming filaments of gold, silver and copper, like an angel come down to earth.

  “Deus, you’re beautiful,” he said in a thick voice and speared his fingers in those shining strands, holding her still for his kiss. She kissed him back, meeting his passion with her own.

  He released her, breathing hard now, and lay back, hands on her hips again. They moved together and apart, finding a mutual rhythm. Cleia brought her hands to her breasts, watching him through slit eyes and fingering herself in a pose that was about the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

  He brought his hand between them and used his thumb to stimulate her.

  “Dion,” she moaned, and squeezed him more tightly. He thrust harder, a wild, ecstatic excitement burning in him like the Delírio. But this was better, untainted by darkness or drugs. Just pure, incandescent sex with his woman.