I lay flat on the bed so that our faces were even. "Open your mouth, just a little," I said.
He did it without question. I liked that. I kissed his upper lip, softly, gently. I used my tongue to open his mouth wider, then used lips and tongue to explore his mouth. He was completely passive at first, letting me feed softly at his mouth, then he began to kiss me back. He kissed slowly, almost hesitantly, as if it were his first time, and I knew it wasn't. Then his mouth pressed against mine harder, more demanding.
I bit his lower lip, gently, but firmly. He made a small noise in his throat, and rose to his knees, pulling me with him, hands on my arms. His kiss mashed against my lips. The kiss was hard enough it hurt, and I had to open my mouth wider, letting his lips, his tongue, his mouth inside mine completely, as deeply as he wanted to probe and lick and feed, just to keep from being bruised.
He pushed me back against the bed, and I let him, but I noticed that he kept his body above mine, using his hands to prop himself up so only our mouths touched. I drew back from the kiss enough to look down the line of his body. I could feel his body above mine like a trembling line of energy. It was as if the weight of his body was already pressed against mine, as if I could already feel the heaviness of him against me. His aura, his magic, had substance like a second body pressing outward from him. The press of power trapped my breath in my throat, brought my pulse racing. His magic drew the blood in my body like a magnet draws metal.
Even with Roane covered in Branwyn's Tears it hadn't been like this. It had been wondrous, but it hadn't been this. And this was what I wanted, needed, craved. Sholto stared down at me with a kind of soft wonder on his face. "What is that?"
I realized he could feel my power as I felt his. I could have simply said, "Magic," but the last time I'd been with another sidhe had been Griffin, and he had explained to me how my power was a lesser glow, a paltry thing. Once I'd believed him; now I didn't. I had to ask, because I might never be with another sidhe. I might never be able to answer the doubts that Griffin had put in my mind. "What does it feel like?" I asked.
"Warm, like heat rising off your body, pressing against my skin." He balanced on one arm, using his free hand to caress the air between us like he was stroking something that had shape, weight. The feel of him stroking his hand along my aura made me close my eyes, my body writhing under that not-touch.
He pushed his hand through the energy, and even with closed eyes I knew where his hand was. "It clings to my hand like it's a bowl of something that sucks against my skin as I reach into it," Sholto said, voice breathy, filled with the wonder his face had shown.
I felt his hand thrust through the power, as if my body were underwater and his hand brought cool air with it. His hand didn't just touch my side, it breeched my shields, forced his magic inside me. It brought my eyes wide open, froze my breath in my throat. It forced me to lash out with my own power, to cover it like holding a hand over a wound.
His body jerked at the touch of my magic. He looked at me with half-parted lips, his pulse thudding like a trapped thing against the fragile skin of his throat. "I had no idea what I was missing."
I nodded, staring up at him, flat on the bed, his hand like a throbbing weight over my ribs. "This is only the beginning," I said, and my voice had fallen to a hoarse whisper. I wasn't trying to sound sexy, it was all the voice left me with the press of him above me. In that moment I couldn't think of any deformity that would keep me from saying yes.
I reached for his shirt. He moved his hand off of me, so he could support his weight on both hands and I could reach the buttons of his shirt. I undid the next button; nothing popped out. I undid another button. The power wavered like heat rising from pavement. "Let go of the illusion, Sholto, let me see."
His voice was a whisper. "I'm afraid."
I stared up at him. "Do you really think I want to lose a chance at this? I want to end this exile, Sholto. I'm tired of pretending, of settling. I want it all back." I caressed a hand over the front of his throat, and the mix of our power flowed behind my hand like an invisible veil. "Sidhe flesh, pleasure to equal mine, to walk into the hollow hills and be welcome; I want to go home, Sholto. Drop your glamour and let me see what you look like."
He did what I asked. The tentacles spilled out of the shirt, and analogies like nest of snakes, or the spill of intestines when you open someone's gut, came to mind. I froze, and this time when my breath caught in my throat it wasn't from passion.
Sholto started to back away immediately, standing, turning so I couldn't see. I had to grab his arm to stop him. My reaction had shut down the magic between us, or rather his reaction to my reaction had. His arm was just an arm under my hand, warm and alive, but nothing more.
I gripped his arm tight with both my hands. I tried to turn him back toward me, but he resisted. I rose on my knees, keeping one hand on his arm, but reached across his body to grab the far side of his shirt. Nothing touched me as I reached across his body, and there should have been a lot of things touching me. He'd called the glamour back in place. I wasn't feeling what was really there.
I dragged him back around to face me. The shirt was open to mid-stomach. The chest and stomach were pale, muscular, smooth, perfect. I undid another button and the stomach that showed was cobblestone, like an ad for the after shot in a gym commercial. Sholto let me unbutton the shirt and pull it out enough that he was exposed down to the leather of his belt, but he wouldn't look at me.
"I guess if you're going to hide behind glamour, it might as well be handsome."
He did look at me then, and he looked angry. "If this was my true appearance you wouldn't turn from me."
"If this was your real appearance you'd have never become king of the Host."
Something passed through his eyes, something I couldn't read, but anything was better than the anger tinged with bitterness. "I would have been a noble of the sidhe court," he said.
"A lord, nothing better-your mother's bloodline isn't good enough for a greater title."
"I am a lord," he said.
I nodded. "Yes, on your own power, your own merit. The queen could not let such a power walk away from our court without a title."
He smiled, but it was bitter, and that anger crept back into his eyes. "Are you saying it's better to rule in hell than serve in heaven?"
I shook my head. "Never, but I am saying that you have everything your mother's blood could have given you, and you are a king."
He stared down at me, his face that arrogant mask again. The one I saw so often at court. "My mother's blood could have given me you."
"I haven't turned you down," I said.
"I saw the look on your face, felt the reluctance in your body. You don't have to say it out loud for it to be true."
I started to pull his shirt out of his pants. He grabbed my hands. "Don't."
"If you walk away now then it's finished. Drop your illusions, Sholto, let me see."
"I did that." He jerked the shirt out of my hands so hard that he almost dragged me off the bed as he moved away.
"It'd be nice if I could have embraced you without flinching. I am sorry that I couldn't, but give a girl a chance. The first look is a little overwhelming."
He shook his head. "You're right, I am king of the sluagh. I will not be humiliated."
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. He looked perfect if a little sulky. But it wasn't real, and I'd spent the last few years hiding, pretending. Pretense, no matter how pretty, can grow very old. Though they rejected him, there was no one that epitomized the Unseelie Court better than Sholto did. A combination of unbelievable beauty and horror, not just side by side but entwined. One could not exist without the other. In his way Sholto was the perfect marriage of all the court stood for, and they rejected him because they feared that he was indeed the ultimate Unseelie sidhe. I doubted they thought of it that clearly, not in so many words, but that was what frightened them about Sholto - not that he was alien, but that he wasn't alien.<
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"I can't give my word that I won't turn away a second time, but I can give my word that I will try."
He looked at me, arrogance like a shield in his eyes. "That's not good enough."
"It's the best I have to offer. Is fear of rejection really worth losing your first touch of sidhe flesh so quickly?"
Doubt flickered in his eyes. "If you can't... stomach it," something about the phrase amused him, but not in a happy way, "then can I call glamour and..."
I finished when his voice trailed off. "Yes, we can."
He nodded. "That is the closest I have ever come to begging."
I laughed. "Lucky you."
He looked puzzled then, and it was almost a relief to see the real Sholto peeking through that careful mask. "I don't understand."
"Your magic is powerful enough that you probably don't." It was my voice that held bitterness now. I shook it off, literally shaking my head, sending my hair sliding around my face. I held my hands out to him. "Come here."
Distrust showed on his face. I guess I couldn't blame him, but I was getting tired of holding his emotional hand. I didn't want to hurt him, but I wasn't sure I wanted to tie myself to him forever. It wasn't the tentacles- it was the heavy emotions that seemed to swing back and forth so quickly. He was going to be a high-maintenance partner when it came to his feelings. Men like that are so damned exhausting that I usually avoid them, but Sholto could offer me things that the others couldn't. He could give me back my home-for that I could shovel emotional shit for a while. But truthfully, it was almost a bigger mark against him than his extras.
"Drop the shirt and come here, or don't. It's your choice."
"You sound impatient," he said.
I shrugged. "A little." I motioned him closer with my hands.
He slid the shirt off his shoulders to spill to the floor. A flurry of emotions crossed his face; he finally settled on defiance. Fine with me, because I knew that whatever was on his face wasn't how he really felt. He'd use a mask until he was sure of his welcome.
He dropped the glamour.
Chapter 13
I TRIED TO WATCH ALL OF HIM AS HE WALKED TOWARD ME, BUT FINALLY gave up and stared. The tentacles were the same gleaming white as the rest of him. There was the faintest marbling effect in the thickest tentacles, and I knew from Bhatar that those were the muscular arms, the tentacles that did the heavy work. There were longer, thinner tentacles in groupings around the ribs and upper stomach. They were the fingers, but a hundred times more sensitive than a sidhe's. Then just above the belly button was a fringe of shorter tentacles with slightly darker tips. That he had those made me wonder even more if what lay in his pants was sidhe, or not.
I sat on the bed and stared until he was standing in front of me. He kept his face turned away, hands elapsed behind his back, as if he didn't want to see or touch me. I reached out and touched one of those smooth muscular tentacles. It jerked away at my touch. I stroked it, and I felt Sholto's gaze before I looked up to meet it.
I stroked the outer skin of the tentacle again. "These are for hard work, lifting, capturing prey, or prisoners." I traced my finger on the underside of the tentacle, feeling the slightly different texture. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was thicker than human skin, almost rubbery, like the skin on a dolphin.
"I suppose Bhatar told you that." His voice was angry.
"Yes." I grabbed the base of the tentacle where it melded into his body. I pulled gently but
firmly down the length of it. It wrapped around my hand, holding it, moving it away from him.
"Don't," he said.
"It felt good didn't it?" I asked.
He looked at me, so angry, so scared. "How do you know what feels good to a nightflyer?"
"I asked."
He looked startled then, and I was able to pull my hand free of him.
I touched one of the groupings of thinner tentacles. They retracted like sea fans when a diver brushes them below a coral sea. "Bhatar could do the most intricate needlework with his fingers."
I moved my hand lower, not quite touching the last visible line of tentacles. "These are very sensitive-they can be used for the finest tactile work, but they're actually a secondary sexual organ."
He looked startled. "We do not usually share that bit of information with outsiders."
"I know." I smiled. "Bhatar used to caress visiting ladies with them. They were often afraid to tell him to go away for fear of offending him, and offending my father. I noticed when I finally went back to court that the Host often caressed nonsluagh with the lower tentacles. It's a sort of in-joke that you all have on us. You touch us with what amounts to a breast, and we're none the wiser."
"But you know," he said.
"I like a good in-joke when I'm not the butt of it." I ran my hand in a long movement over that last line of organs.
His breath went out in a sigh. His eyes stayed defiant, protective. I didn't even blame him for it. I had enough mixed genetics in my own ancestors that there but for the grace of Deity go I.
I touched them gently, and they began to weave around my fingers. The ends were slightly prehensile, not nearly as much so as the upper ones, but there was a slight depression on one side of each of the tentacles. I stroked a finger into one of the depressions; it made him shudder.
"I take it that has a specific job if you're with a female nightflyer?"
He nodded, wordlessly.
"What can they do for me?" I asked the question for several reasons. First, I was curious. Second, I had to know if I could stand for him to touch me intimately with them. I was touching him in almost a detached scientific way. You do x, and y happens. Detachment might allow me to touch him, but it wouldn't get me through sex.
He reached down with his hands, but that put the thicker tentacles in a mass against my face. It made me jerk back. Sholto instantly straightened. Maybe he would have stepped away again, but I grabbed a handful of the lower tentacles. It froze him in place, and his breath caught in his throat. The reaction reminded me of what happens when you touch a man's penis when he's not expecting it.
He reached down with his hands and jerked my shirt out of my pants. The movement put the thick muscular limbs against my face. This time I didn't pull away, but it was an effort.
He pulled the shirt over my head, and let it drop to the floor. The defiance was tinged with something else, something darker and more real. He used two of the muscular tentacles to gently move my hands away from the lower organs. Then the long thin tentacles grew, stretching longer and thinner, like muscular clay. The tips caressed the mounds of my breasts in quick teasing movements. It made me both startle and gasp.
The tips plunged inside my bra, and it was like a snake crawling against my skin. I was about to tell him, no, I couldn't do it, when those reddened tips found my nipples and I discovered what the depressions on the underside were for. They had suction, and the touch was expert. My nipples hardened under the sucking, squeezing sensation.
A second organ played low on my belly, tickling along the top of my pants. He asked without asking. I pushed him gently away. "Enough, please."
He pulled away from me, but this time he wasn't hurt. The look on his face was almost, not quite, but almost triumphant. "The look on your face just now, that alone is worth much to
me. "
I took a shaking breath and tried to think. "Glad to hear it, but there's one more thing I have to check before I know for sure. "
He looked at me.
"Lose the belt, please," I said.
I didn't have to ask twice. He took the belt out, but left the pants buttoned. I liked that he had done exactly what I asked, no more, no less.
I undid the pants, exposing the line of his briefs. The bulge in them was straight and firm, and looked very... human. But after what I'd just seen, I had to be sure. I pulled the underwear carefully over that bulge, and saw him nude for the first time.
He was as straight and perfect as his face had promised, like
a carved alabaster sculpture. I wrapped my hand around him, and he cried out.
I wasn't teasing, I was looking for something. Bhatar had had a spine inside his penis nearly as long as my hand. Something no human woman would survive. Only the royals of their kind had it, and it meant they were fertile males-without the spine the females didn't ovulate during sex.
Sholto watched me, eyes eager. "A man's control is only so good. "
"That's why my pants are staying on. " He was like thick muscled velvet in my hands, but there was nothing there but flesh, no nasty surprises. "Your father wasn't royal?"
"You're looking for the spine. " His voice was low, hoarse.
"Yes."
"My father was not one of the royal drones." He whispered those reasonable words in a voice that was growing less reasonable after every touch.
"Then how did you get to be king?" My voice was calm. I hadn't stayed excited once the tentacles stopped touching me. It hadn't lasted, because I wasn't aroused by the sight of him. Lord and Lady forgive me, but I saw the extras as a deformity.
"King of the sluagh is not an inherited title. It is earned."
"Earned, " I said. "How earned?"
He shook his head. "I am having trouble thinking."
"I wonder why that is." I made it teasing, but I didn't mean it. I wished I did. I could have taken him a piece at a time. Maybe if he'd had just one or two tentacles, but he had over a dozen. The thought of pressing my naked body against him, of being embraced by the nest of tentacles... The thought made me shudder.
Sholto mistook my reaction, and one of the muscular tentacles brushed my hair like another man would use his hand. I closed my eyes, raised my face to the touch, tried to enjoy the caress, but I couldn't. For a night, maybe, but not night after night. I just couldn't.
I lowered my face, and the tentacle moved away. I held him in my hand as solid and lovely as any man I'd been with, and because of what lay writhing just above, I couldn't take the pleasure in it that I should have.
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