Hunter's Season

by Thea Harrison

  Need for him throbbed low in her body. She pulled at his shirt until the buttons scattered across the floor then ran her hands hungrily across his hard, lean chest. He snaked an arm around her and yanked her against him, until they were hip to hip. As she felt the full length of his erection against her pelvis, she made an animal noise and rubbed against him.

  Still kissing her, he pushed her, back and back, and she obeyed blindly until she came up against the table. He nudged her to sit and he tore off the rest of her clothes while she yanked his trousers open and reached greedily for his penis. It was hard, thick and beautifully made, silken skin stretched over stiffened flesh. Staring at his face, she fingered the length of his cock and stroked him, while he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He pushed at her hands with his hips, and she pumped him slowly, losing herself in the moment of giving him pleasure.

  His voice turned guttural, he said, “Stop.”

  She muttered a protest as he pulled out of her grip, and she reached for him again, but he brushed her seeking hands out of the way and pushed her back onto the table. Once she understood what he wanted, she lay back, her spine arched and torso stretched out on display for him as her legs spilled over the edge.

  He froze, one hand planted on the table beside her waist, breathing hard as he stared down at her. Some strong emotion played over his face. Worried, she reached up to touch his lips. “What is it?”

  He whispered from the back of his throat, “It just happened again. You’re even lovelier than ever.”

  She could tell there was no barrier in him anywhere. He looked at her, totally bared and open, and she knew what he meant, for he had never looked so beautiful to her. She murmured, “Come inside.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Soon.”

  He came down over her, resting his weight on his elbows as he traced the line of her collarbone with his tongue. His heartbeat thudded hard and fast against her breast. She hooked her heels on the on the edge of the table, cradling him between her legs and murmuring incoherently as she stroked his hair. It was impossible to love him more than she did, impossible. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and soaked into her hair as he worked his way down to her breasts. Eyes closed, he suckled first at one nipple then the other, teasing her sensitive flesh lightly and then drawing hard, so that her clitoris throbbed in agonizing response and she cried out, clawing at his shoulders in urgent, wordless demand.

  Still suckling, he worked one hand between their bodies and fingered the soft petals of her sex, drawing out moisture and rubbing his cock against her. She was so slick with arousal, she felt the wetness coating him.

  He pushed steady and gentle until the thick, broad head of his penis slipped in, and he stopped just long enough that she pulled at his hair and sobbed out, “Don’t tease me right now.”

  At that he threw back his head. His face was twisted; he looked transformed, outside of himself. A growl wrenched out of him, and in one convulsive move he sheathed himself inside of her.

  In, in, in, he was all the way in. She cried out, gripping him tightly with her inner muscles, while she raised her legs and wrapped them around his torso.

  His hoarse, panting breath was like a bellows in her ear, and his long hair covered her face. He shook all over. She hugged him with her whole body and soul, fiercely, stroking the back of his head with one hand while she rubbed his back.

  “Tell me you’re all right,” she whispered, growing anxious as he held so still.

  Tell me you won’t regret this.

  He looked down at her and smiled, his face filled with tenderness and sharp passion. He said, “I’ve never been better. You feel like a wet silk fist. Gods—Xanthe—”

  She tightened on him harder as he slid out, and he shuddered hard and drove back in. He pulled out again, excruciatingly slow. Unable to wait, she mewled and thrust her hips up, impaling herself on him. His big body jerked as he gasped. He put a hand between them again; she felt him probing for her clitoris as he fucked her. Something came out of her mouth, an uncontrolled string of words. She had no idea what she said. She was on fire everywhere, everywhere. It blazed from the point of his entry, the unbearably gorgeous pressure of his fingers on exactly the right place.

  “Oh shit,” he said.

  He twisted in her arms. Inside, she felt him begin to pulse as he lost control. Then that desire, that sweetest pain she felt for no one but him, peaked like a starburst. She cried out as her own climax rippled through her. He ground against her, shuddering.

  Silence, their passion released. She cradled him as he rested his forehead on her shoulder. The table was uncomfortably hard on her spine, and she would not have moved for the world. With her fingers, she circled the slight knob of bone at the base of his nape and traced what she could reach of the long line of scar across his back, soaking up every sensual piece of evidence she could get of him.

  I’ll not ever forget this moment, she thought. Not ever, not even if I live for a very, very long time.

  Eventually the discomfort of his position forced him to move. He pushed himself up on one hand, wincing as his back muscles seized up in protest and his softened penis slid out of her.

  “Well, this is inelegant,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The gorgeous dazed look left her face, and she laughed, her gaze sympathetic. “It’s that damn wound on your back, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. Limber and graceful, she slid out from underneath him and rolled off the table. When she was upright, she slipped under his arm and took his weight, helping him to straighten. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Then he kissed her.

  She murmured, and he drew her close, relishing the feel of her naked body against his. At last, with obvious reluctance, she pulled away. “Let me get the vial of oil,” she said. “You need a back massage to loosen those muscles, especially after the stretching exercises from earlier and—you know.” Unexpectedly, her face turned dark red.

  “I won’t say no,” he said. He stroked her cheek, inexpressibly delighted at the blush. Delighted with everything about her. “Xanthe, I love you.”

  She grew very still, her eyes, full of that great, shining heart of glass, fixed on him. When she made as if to say something, he touched her lips with two fingers and shook his head with a smile. Just because he felt the need to tell her how he felt didn’t mean that she should feel the need to reciprocate.

  He went into the other room and eased down onto the bed to lay on his aching back with a muffled groan. A few moments later, she joined him.

  He loved watching her walk across the room nude. Her breasts were reddened by his attention, and the black silken triangle between her legs glistened with moisture. Her body was sleek and powerful, like a panther’s, and despite the shyness she had shown to him in various other ways, she had no body shyness at all and she moved with complete, athletic confidence that he found incredibly sexy. His cock stirred as he watched her; he was so hungry for her, he was already beginning to stiffen again.

  She had gathered up their clothes and she set them on the floor by the bed. Then she took a small vial of oil and poured some into the palm of her hand. Her gaze flew involuntarily to his groin, and he clenched his teeth on another laugh as she flushed pink all over.

  “Oh gods, please do,” he growled.

  She scolded, “I’m supposed to rub your back!”

  He loved it when she scolded him. He grasped her knee, gently. “My back is perfectly fine while I’m lying down. It can wait. It’s everything else that feels urgent right now.”

  She looked at him, stricken laughter in her gaze, and he could see that she was tempted.

  “After we work on your muscles a bit.”

  He gave her a lazy, one-sided, calculating smile. “Very well, but I won’t roll over until you give me a kiss.”

  He watched her gaze grow heavy lidded, and his cock stiffened further. “All right.”

  She bent over him, her mouth softened, and he raised his head to mee
t her, kissing her lavishly, feeling hunger for her roar to a fever pitch all over again. When she would have pulled away, he grabbed her and yanked her back down, so that she overbalanced and fell on him.

  Instinctively she caught herself on his chest, bracing on the hand that had held the palm full of oil. The warm liquid splashed across his torso as her slippery hand slid off his skin, and she sprawled on top of him.

  He growled deeper, an arm wrapped around her neck as he plunged hectically between her lips. While he fucked her mouth with his tongue, he rubbed his chest with a hand until it was slick with oil, then he palmed her breast, that high, firm luscious mound of flesh. She moaned, the shaken sound vibrating in his mouth.

  The oiled, slick friction of their bodies drove him out of his mind. He bit her neck, suckled at her ear, sank both fists into her hair and muttered, “Climb on top.”

  The glazed look was back in her eyes, arousal shimmering out of her flesh in waves of velvet heat. He held her by the hair down to him, while she straddled his hips with hers. She groped for his cock blindly; when she took hold of him, she brought his tip to her entrance and sank down, down, sheathing him again in that tight, wet fist.

  She was off balance, bent over, her weight on her elbows, but he could not seem to make his fingers loosen from her hair. It was uncivilized, possessive in the extreme. It was either unlike him or it was the truest manifestation of who he was becoming with her.

  He hissed against her lips, “Fuck me, just like this.”

  She groaned and obeyed, her hips moving on him in a primitive rhythm that he met with upward thrusts, spearing into her with cock and tongue, blind to everything but the need to enter her, enter her. She sobbed for breath, the jagged puffs of breath against his face as erotic as anything they had done together.

  Her face was reddened; tears streaked her eyes, and strands of her hair were plastered to her damp face and neck. “Gorgeous, gorgeous,” he said into her mouth. “You gorgeous woman.”

  At that she gave a sharp cry, her whole body going taut as a bow, and he felt the ripple of her orgasm deep inside of her as she clenched on him. It sent him over the edge. He slid a hand down to her ass, pressing her down hard as he ejaculated deep inside of her. It satisfied everything primal inside of him.

  The world pulsed with their heartbeats, their sweating bodies fused together. She lay across him, her head resting on his chest. Finally he was able to loosenhis grip on her hair. He pushed the strands back from her face and tried to smooth the tangles out.

  “I’ve loved you for a very long time,” she said. Her voice was very soft, almost inaudible. He stilled, straining to hear every word. “Of course mostly that was hero worship and not very realistic.”

  “I’m no hero,” he said.

  She snorted softly. “You’re a hero to everyone, Aubrey. Just not to yourself.” He frowned, but she was continuing. “Then I got to know you better. The real you. The real, cranky, kind, funny you. Gods help me.”

  He cupped her face. “Why do you need the gods to help you, darling?”

  Her eyes were closed. She whispered, “We’ll be going back to our lives soon enough.”

  His frown deepened. “Xanthe,” he said tightly. “I don’t know what this is for you, but this is not just an interlude for me. Yes, our time here at the cottage is outside the boundaries of normality, and yes, we have our jobs and duties waiting for us back in the city, but I am living an authentic life—who I am here is who I am back there too. I said I love you. I didn’t say it because we just had sex. I said it because I love you. You had better tell me if you don’t want to see me when we get back—and even then I’ll try to persuade you otherwise—”

  She rose up and kissed him quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant! I—I didn’t want to presume anything just because we—we—you know.” She made a gesture that encompassed them and the bed.

  His tightness eased. He smiled at her. “Please presume all the ‘you knows’ that you want. I strongly encourage all kinds of presuming from you.”

  That startled her into a grin. As she opened her mouth to say something—

  They heard voices approaching the cottage: Niniane’s and Tiago’s.

  Panic flashed across Xanthe’s face. She rolled off the bed and peered out the window. “We didn’t shut the cottage door,” she muttered. She flew at her clothes.

  While she yanked on her shirt and trousers, Aubrey rolled off the bed. He strolled over to the bedroom door to shut it firmly.

  Just outside the cottage, Niniane called, “Hello, Aubrey? Xanthe? Are you here?”

  He called out, “We’re here, but we’re not dressed. Give us a minute, and we’ll be right out.”

  Silence. Then: “Okay.”

  He turned to Xanthe. “Darling, don’t panic,” he whispered. “Take your time.”

  “She’s only the Queen,” Xanthe hissed. She dragged her fingers frantically through her hair and braided it. Apparently it wasn’t straight enough to satisfy her, so she yanked it out and did it again. “And she’s my employer. Oh holy gods, Tiago’s out there.”

  He started to laugh as he dressed. When he slipped on his shirt, he couldn’t find any buttons, so he left it open. Xanthe was still trying to get her hair into a plait when he opened the door and walked out.

  Tiago stood in the doorway, facing the outside, arms crossed and harsh profile expressionless. Niniane stood by the table, unpacking canvas bags of supplies. She did not look expressionless. Her small, piquant face was full of suppressed glee.

  “Hello,” Aubrey said. “How are you today?”

  “We are quite well,” Niniane said. Her eyes danced. “You are looking so much better, Aubrey.”

  “I’m feeling better than I have in a long time,” he told her, as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. He whispered, “Xanthe is in a panic. Tell Tiago to be nice or I will hurt him.”

  “Oh, he’ll be nice,” Niniane whispered back. “Or if he can’t manage nice, he’ll be silent if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “I know what’s good for me,” Tiago said to the general out of doors.

  Xanthe appeared, her back ramrod stiff. Her clothes were as neat as she could make them, and her braid was not quite immaculate, but really quite well done given the circumstances. She murmured, “Your grace, sir.”

  She was almost, but not quite, perfectly expressionless. Aubrey couldn’t stand it. He walked over to her and put an arm around her. She just looked at him, her lips white. He was not altogether convinced that she was breathing.

  We need to rip this bandage off right now, he thought. He said aloud, “Xanthe and I have just decided to continue seeing each other when we return to the city. We don’t need your blessing, but we would very much appreciate it.”

  “Of course you have it,” Niniane said immediately. She gave Xanthe a warm smile. “I couldn’t be more delighted. I really mean that, Xanthe.”

  Aubrey felt the tension in Xanthe’s shoulders ease, although she glanced at Tiago again. He did too. Tiago’s eyebrows had raised, but other than that, for all intents and purposes he appeared to be watching birds.

  “How is the investigation going?” Aubrey asked.

  Tiago looked over one massive shoulder at Niniane who nodded. The Wyr lord said, “The investigation was over within twenty-four hours of your attack, with all arrests made.”

  At first the words didn’t make sense. His arm fell from Xanthe’s shoulders and he ran his fingers through his hair. “Wait a minute,” he said. More like growled. “That would mean everything was over with the first time you came with supplies.”

  “That is correct,” said Tiago.

  Xanthe strode forward quickly, “Who did it?”

  “Naida’s father, Grove Ealdun, was behind it,” Tiago said. “We have the people he hired too.” He met Aubrey’s gaze. “Your secretary, Sebrin, is a little battered around the edges but all right. Sebrin gave himself away when he went digging. Ealdun had captured him but hadn’t yet killed h
im. When he realized you were responsible for sending Sebrin, he tried to have you killed, in part for revenge. In part, too, because he thought you were going to try to have him prosecuted for the false evidence. The ironic thing is that I don’t think any of us would have bothered with prosecuting for the false evidence, but now of course it’s attempted murder. The whole thing was pretty simple and straightforward, in a Dark Fae kind of way.”

  “You said there were complications,” Aubrey snapped. He glared at Niniane, “You ordered me to stay here.”

  Niniane bit her thumbnail. She looked worried as she replied, “Neither one of us said there were complications with the investigation, Aubrey. We only said that there were complications.”

  “What does that mean?” he roared, fists on his hips.

  Tiago gave him a warning look, but he ignored it.

  Niniane gave Xanthe an apologetic glance then said to him, “The night you were almost killed, I—saw something, Aubrey. I saw just how much you meant to Xanthe. So when Tiago tore through the investigation in record time, and he threw everybody in prison, well—you were here at the cottage anyway, so we just left you. This last year has been so hard on you both, each for your own reasons. I just wanted you to have a little time of peace and quiet together. I thought—I hoped you might find things to say to each other. I also knew neither one of you would say a word to each other outside of polite niceties in any other environment.”

  Xanthe said incredulously, “You were matchmaking?”

  “Maybe,” said Niniane. She offered them a smile. “A little. Plus, I know you, Aubrey Riordan.” She shook a finger at him. “If you had been home, you would have started back to work much too early, despite doctor’s orders. So I made you stay here with lots of fresh air, good food and nothing more strenuous than a few games and some good books.”

  Aubrey scrubbed his face with both hands. After a moment he started to laugh. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”