by Mima
Her eyes bulged. “Don’t leave me here.” She was underdressed and outclassed and she knew it.
He inclined his head. “You are under my protection here.” The two shook hands and leaned into quiet conversation. Charlotte looked around the ballroom again, making sure she was in arm’s reach. There were people with strange noses and ears, contacts of glowing orange, and fingers that had clever diodes at the end, so when they talked sparkles shimmered in the wake of their movement. This crowd was way above the glow sticks she was used to seeing on Halloween.
She wondered how much motorized dragonfly wings cost, and thought perhaps they were worth more than Gram’s house.
“Are you going to drink that?” The girl who appeared at her elbow was lovely, frail and slim. Blond hair tumbled in perfect, shining disarray around a chocolate-brown face. First Charlotte observed the unicorn horn, the ivory seemingly woven with gold threads. Then she noticed the girl’s palest-blue eyes were slitted horizontally like a goat’s. Why would she choose such off-putting contacts with a frothy pink chiffon dress?
Then Charlotte noticed the enormous bulk behind the girl. She backed up, bumping into Ivor, looking at him wildly for assistance. He glanced over at the thing and gave a nod, as if to an acquaintance, and turned back to Mr. Tuxedo.
The unicorn girl’s date was too big. A human might be that wide, or maybe that tall, if they were part of a traveling carnival. But they wouldn’t be both. He was so big that he seemed to nearly wear one of the modern glass chandeliers as a hat, and so wide, she couldn’t see the dessert table or entrance.
“Don’t mind Rex. He’s my bodyguard.”
Charlotte blinked down at the tiny, delicate girl.
Then the girl pranced around the hulking brute. He was wearing, of all things, sweatpants and a tee that read BABY PHAT. Charlotte drew herself back even tighter to Ivor. The girl definitely pranced. She pranced on hooves. Round, cloppy hooves.
Trotting up to Charlotte, she leaned in close. “I’ve been staking out that glass all night, wondering who would dare pick it up. Can I watch?”
Charlotte literally did not know what to say. Her throat locked. A sort of garbled squeak emerged.
“This place is crazy, isn’t it?”
Charlotte nodded.
“It’s my first cruise!”
Charlotte nodded again.
“Yours, too?”
Nod.
“Wow! Isn’t it neat? Who knew there’d be so many demons, right?”
No nod this time. Demons? She blinked hard. The horn in the girl’s forehead was short and wide, reminiscent of a tiny white, gold-glimmering rhino horn. Standing this close, she could see the textured base. It was the best makeup job she’d ever seen. It looked like the horn was part of the girl’s skull, the perfect proportion to her. Charlotte shivered.
“So are you going to drink that?”
Charlotte stared at the drink. It was still so beautiful. “It’s the same color as my hair.” Her voice sounded scratchy.
“Oh, it is! Do you think it will protect you? What would you do if you saw your own death?”
Charlotte looked at her sharply.
“Or maybe your future husband! What about learning you’re hurt or sick? I don’t know. It’s a gamble.”
“You think this stuff . . . works?”
Unicorn girl looked mortally insulted. “Duh!” Her squished face smoothed out with eager pleading. “Can I smell it?”
Rex put out one massive hand, bigger than Charlotte’s head, and yanked the girl back to his side. She stomped her foot-hoof. He dropped his hand. The girl clasped her hands under her chin. “Are you going to sip it or shoot it?”
“Shoot it?” Charlotte boggled.
The girl made the motion of tossing a shot down an open throat.
“Oh. No, I can’t do that.” Transferring the glass to her other hand, she realized it was wet from when the dragonfly woman had startled her into spilling some.
On sheer tidy reflex, she licked up the drop that still clung to her knuckle. The sun was hot, but the sand was hotter. She ran, and her breasts ached. Grating, ugly noise wailed in her head. The sun was so hot. She ran, her heart heaving with pain. The water was too far away. The sound was crushing her. She glanced at the white, enormous sun. A low voice, smooth, faintly southern . . . no. African. The siren warns them, but it is too late, the low voice murmured, and she stared at the sun, running in the burning sand. She hated the sound. It was harsh! The siren helps, because mermaids have very good hearing, laughed the honey-voiced man, his next words hidden beneath the rising wail. The sun blinded her. The sand hobbled her. The sound thrummed in her bones, high and vicious. She ran until she got to the dock.
Charlotte saw the parquet wood floor rushing up to meet her. Her jaw bounced hard. Her skull rang like a gong. Pain cracked down her spine, and blood burst in her mouth where she bit her cheek. Her hands and knees stung. The lovely flute flew from her hand, the liquid flying beyond it . . . to vanish before it hit the floor. The triangular glass rolled, utterly dry.
Ivor knelt at her side. “Charlotte?” He drew her up and around until she was lying in his arms.
Rex loomed far, far above.
The unicorn girl rushed down to her other side. “You’re hurt!”
Charlotte almost drooled blood but managed to pull it back into her mouth. Wincing at the sting, she reached out and picked up the flute. “I spilled it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Ivor soothed. “Where are you hurt?”
She raised a shaking hand to the back of her neck.
“I’ll help you,” the unicorn girl said. “But tell me! Did you see something?” Her strange rain-blue eyes seemed to almost vibrate with fascination, eerie against her chocolate skin.
Even Ivor fell still, his head lowering as if she were about to speak some prophecy. Shuddering under the urge to yell 42! she looked at the dry, empty glass.
Surely the vision was from hitting her head . . . But . . . “I saw myself running on a hot beach. There was a horrible loud sound. I didn’t understand it.”
Ivor and the girl both eased back. Disappointment was so clear on the air she could sense it over her throbbing chin.
“Sorry.”
The girl looked up at Ivor. “Lay her back, Wolf. Give me a moment.”
Did everyone know Ivor liked to pretend to be a wolf?
Ivor inclined his head, as if to a princess. He took the glass from Charlotte. “Let me put this away.”
She watched him go to the dessert table, where several people chattered as if nothing was happening with an orange-haired woman stretched out on the floor.
Unicorn girl bowed to Charlotte. No, she didn’t bow, she was lowering her forehead to the floor. No, that wasn’t it, either. She touched Charlotte’s cheek with the tip of her sparkly ivory horn. Nothing happened. Then Rex snatched her away.
The mismatched girl winked at Charlotte. “Here’s to being virgins on our first cruise. At least you don’t have this.” She yanked her thumb up over her shoulder at Rex.
Rex grunted.
She sighed up at the massive guy. “Want to dance?”
He grunted. “Disco.”
Charlotte almost laughed. An image of enormous Rex in a white-on-white tux in the Saturday Night Fever pose popped into her head. A disco ball would be his toy.
Unicorn girl didn’t laugh. She just shrugged. “Sure, we can go to the club.” She looked down at Charlotte. “Okay?”
Was she asking permission? Then Charlotte realized . . . her head was not ringing. She leaned up on her elbows. The throbbing in her neck and jaw was gone. She turned one palm up and stared. No torn skin. She sat up, astonished, working her jaw, tilting her neck.
“My thanks, Princess,” Ivor said. Scooping his big hand under Charlotte’s elbow, he lifted her.
The girl waved her hand. “No problem. I feel it might have been a little bit my fault.” With a sheepish grin, she nodded at Charlotte. “Good night. I hope we can talk more if we meet again.”
Charlotte nodded in return, watching the girl trot away in Rex’s shadow. “What just happened?”
Ivor drew her hand up to his mouth, dragged his lips across her knuckles. “You played deep, and a very sweet young woman healed you unselfishly. Are our people not magnificent?”
Her gaze followed his lips, his amazing, lush, manly lips as they nibbled over her hand. “Our people?” Princess? Healed? “That was a woowoo drink.”
His tongue touched her middle knuckle, but he did not seem to disappear into a vision nor did he fall to the floor. “I apologize if you truly did not know what you had chosen. You seemed so confident with it.”
A glance at the table revealed there were no more orange-tinted crystal flutes, but she still shivered. “No more drinks.” There was no thirst worth repeating what had just happened.
“You certainly don’t need to drink to enjoy an evening with me.” He tossed his head. “Shall we dance?”
“The end,” she whispered. “I trust your strength.”
Her new lover stood there while the moonlight crawled over her skin like an itchy mohair sweater, irritating and comforting at once. His smile stretched, spread, and finally split with a naughty tilt that she took as a warning.
He stepped backward and dropped out of sight. She yelped, staggering, arms out for balance as she tried to brace on the flexing board.
He went straight down in front of the board, then with strength that sent the board shuddering, grasped the end in both hands. When the board had stopped, she watched with mouth hanging wide as he pulled himself up, and up. His shoulders high and his chest stark with the pressure, he paused for a moment and winked again.
She burst out laughing. “You crazy man!”
With a casual roll of upper-body strength, he turned in a neat toss that had his ass on the edge, his legs loose off the end. He gave mock half-bows from his sitting position to the left and right of the pool. Twisting to look back at her, he patted the board behind him. “Come sit with me.”
Easing one foot forward to follow behind the other, she crept toward the end. Was it her imagination that the board was bowing down with their combined weight? She didn’t think so. She hoped they didn’t break it.
Sitting seemed . . . daunting. Holding on to his shoulders, she knelt carefully. The texture of the board was rough. But when she knew she should sit, she paused, mesmerized by the feel of his shoulders. She stroked her hands over the strange muscles. He had bones and hollows that were nothing like hers. “I’d like to explore,” she asked.
He kicked his feet like a little boy waiting for ice cream. “Stay away from my throat. My back is all yours.”
His back was what she wanted. Sitting on her heels, she swept her hands over the round of his shoulders, palmed his shoulder blades, then circled her thumbs down the line of his spine. He was so sleek, so honed and tight. The more she touched him, the harder her heart beat. A man, a lovely dark rascal, her own private statue to explore. She went down to his hips, and along his ribs, digging her fingertips into certain muscles, dragging her fingernails lightly over others.
She leaned forward, her hands sliding under his arms, which were slightly braced on each side, grasping the board’s edges. Her breasts crushed against him. She’d meant to hug him, but the sensation of her cold, damp breasts took the trance she’d fallen into away. Holding his own nipples with a gentle grip, she arched her back, rolled her shoulders, twisted her own torso to toy with the sensation. Hard, soft, dragging up, then skimming down, she pleasured her nipples against him. The pressure between her legs grew impossibly tight, and she ended up squeezing him with all her strength, pushing the pleasure in her breasts inside.
“Are you wet?”
She jumped when he spoke. She nodded, then whispered, “Yes.”
“I am, as well.”
Her hands trembled as they sank in a jerky path through the soft fur of him down to his hips. All she found was a thick base. Rising up higher on her knees, she eased her chin over his shoulder to peer down at his lap. His cock was pointing straight out into the night, straight and long. Her fingers twined through the long hair where his body folded. Licking her lips, she reached out one finger and touched the side of him.
It bobbed. She moaned, and this time felt moisture ease from inside her. It was a bizarre feeling, like she was leaking. And it made her feel strangely feminine and ripe. He leaked, too. She saw the wet sheen on his tip.
Fingers still curling through the hairs, so different from hers, she whispered, “I don’t know how to touch you.”
It flexed again, waving in the air. A small pulse of wetness oozed from his tip. “There is no wrong way.”
Feeling her heart reverberate against his back, shifting to feel her breasts grind against him, she closed one hand around his base. Or tried to. Her fingers didn’t quite meet. While holding him gently, her other hand lifted to stroke the wetness. It was silky, the glide of her touch erotic in the smooth give of flesh.
“What do you like?” she whispered, which was absurd since they were suspended over a huge open space with no privacy.
“That doesn’t matter. Only what you like matters.” His voice came low and firm. “When you are done touching me, then I will matter again.”
She wished she’d watched some more porn. Then she might know how to even begin. But it had always grossed her out. She closed her palm around the tip of him, her fingers folding down. Twisting her wrist, she enjoyed the soft, wet roll beneath her touch. Laying her cheek on his shoulder, she closed her eyes and let her hands learn him.
How hard could she squeeze against this tight muscle? She clenched her grip, testing how little give it had. How far would the moisture stretch? She soon had him coated in the liquid he made. Her fingers almost dreamily rolled up and down, up and down. Like finger painting, she changed the patterns, adding diagonals, spirals, and small circles. His rim fascinated her for a long time, the flat side of him earning a gentle massage. The slit at his tip earned another. Her fingertips were sensitive enough to find the veins that emerged on him, and her nails teased their ridges.
By the time her breasts ached, actually throbbing, and her own moisture’s scent took over the ocean salt and pool chlorine, her thighs trembled from holding their position. Her hands pumped him firmly, her wrist and his liquid making the transitions flawless. She caressed him until her knees went numb.
When she opened her eyes, the neon of the pool dazzled her. She had to lick her lips several times and swallow to find her voice. “Thank you for letting me touch you, Ryder.”
His arms came up and knocked her hands away. He twisted, and she gasped, thinking she’d lose her balance and fall to the side. But then his arm was around her waist and she was yanked, her knees stinging. In a whirl, she straddled his lap, held firmly while the diving board waved them up and down like a lazy palm tree in the breeze. His arm was tight around her ribs, his fingers biting. He reached between them and bent himself toward the vee of her legs. Struggling to bring her feet up onto the board behind him, so that she sat tailor-style around his trim hips, she wiggled to help wedge him into her valley.
He no sooner notched himself than he slid straight up the secret path inside her. Strangled moans filled the warm night, her hands wild on his shoulders. His palms seemed glued to each side of her ribs. He gave her a little shake. Eyes wide, she focused on his ruby gaze.
“Watch the moon, and take me.” With that command, he lifted her until his tip was poised between the flesh of her legs.
Her nails set into the thick muscle of his shoulders, and her head fell back. The moon dazzled her. He began to lower her. Without the slightest tremble belying strain, he moved her gently,
slowly down. She could feel him burrow into her, how her channel gave way, how they joined with smooth lubrication that smelled delicious. When her bottom settled on his thighs, she relaxed too soon.
He drew her in more, more. Pulling her tight, he ground up into her, pushing now against a snug fit, then driving a bit farther. Her head hung, her hair stirring in the warm wind. Her hands ached but she couldn’t undo her grip. Her heels pulled against his ass. Gasping, choking on the strangeness of it, she jerked again and again, the pleasure striking from her nails, her crossed ankles, the tips of her nipples dancing with his chest, her belly, and him, so deep inside her.
Then he did something with his abdomen, drawing in and stretching. She felt him shift inside her. He did it again, and her hair swayed, the movement on her scalp sending shivers across her skin. He did it again, his palms glued to her ass, and now she knew what was happening. He was pumping, like a child on a swing. He was lifting them on the board. It felt like flying. It felt like he was lodged in the center of her body and tunneling toward her throat, which wasn’t comfortable . . . until he launched them up again, and at the top of the lift, the pressure eased. Then they came down, meeting the bend of the board’s lowest point. He crushed her inside. Then they were rising, so fast, and the moonlight was shattering her nerves. At the top of the board’s flex, she felt weightless in his grip. Something gathered, drawing in at her belly.
“Ahhh!” Her shout echoed, but they were already falling, faster, heavier. They landed together, jammed tight, her hair fluttering up, her stomach flipping.
Ryder’s body flexed, and they soared. He seized, for the first time convulsing, struggling in her hold. Knees hard to his torso, she clung as he flung them up . . . to the moon. Flipping her face forward against his throat, she shouted against him as they sailed on and on. The gathering burst, so sweet and harsh. It felt like they were floating, the moment lasted so long, but then she realized they were truly falling this time, arcing out, tipping . . .
The water was a shock of ice. She went deep, trapped under his weight, body unable to let go of the rictus she’d frozen in from her orgasm. She had a moment to fear because she hadn’t taken a breath . . . Then he rolled, kicked, pulled with his arms, and she was up in the moonlit sea air again.