by Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 992
Edgewater, Florida, 32132
Faery Surprising
Copyright © 2009, Mia Watts
Edited by Courtney Hoffman
Cover art by Rika Singh
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-102-3
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringe-ment without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic release: December 2009
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To that crazy little thing called love.
Acknowledgments
In Faery Surprising, there is a reference to a “Lady S Party”. The business name actually exists and was used with permission by the owner for purposes of plot.
My sincerest thanks go to Kimberley for her generosity in creating a discount code toward purchases made at the real Lady S Party website.
Visit www.LadySParty.com and use the code G24NSY at checkout to receive an unlimited use discount of 25% off, through August 27, 2010*. Kimberley reserves the right to extend the discount coupon beyond the date provided, or suspend discount without further notice.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
Flora Harper clamped her naked thighs together, successfully holding the throbbing, whirring Beastmaster in place. Not the right place, but it would get her there. She reached behind and unhooked her bra, flung it across the room, and gasped when her rocking motion nudged the vibrator. Her eyes nearly crossed with pleasure.
“Fuck, yeah.”
This time she rocked on purpose, but to her frustration, the sensation didn’t repeat. She grabbed it, trying to make the damn thing submit. Instead, her palm grazed the panel of buttons at the base, setting off the blinking fluorescent lights and an electrical monkey-crank version of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”
“I would go pop, if you would go round my bush.” One of the oddly shaped fingers at the base suddenly hit home, buzzing her clit while the Beastmaster pumped its stupid, rotating, gel-formed head inside her.
Look at him go, George. Look at him go, an insane cartoon voice filled out the asinine mental image of stupid cock and clever clit teasing sidekick of porn.
“Stop thinking about cartoons, genius, you’ll never get there.”
If she could just…shut off…her brain…long enough to—to—to— “There it is, baby. There it is.” She caught the sensation, squeezing her eyes shut to hang on to it.
Her ears began to ring and her voice sounded like it was bouncing off bathroom tile. The tinge of male sweat teased her nostrils. That’s what she needed. It almost seemed real, especially when steam touched her cool cheeks.
“Oh fuck! I’m going to come!”
“That’s it, honey. Ride your weasel.”
What the fuck? Flora’s eyes flew open.
Ian Tate, Dixon City’s newly acquired quarterback, stood over her with his hands on the low slung waist of his football uniform. Bare-chested and barefooted, his easy grin and blue eyes were all about seeing the Beastmaster chew an orgasm out of her.
Flora yelped, shot to her feet. Her toes curled on wet shower tile. “Not a-fucking-gain!” she bellowed.
Gelatinous George slipped out of her and hit the floor with a thud. Gyrating, neon-flashing, purple cock squirmed toward the drain on dying chords of “the monkey chased the weasel…” as though it too was embarrassed by its naked exposure.
Pop! goes the weeeeazel.
Ian rubbed the back of his neck. “Whew, Bobby Sterling told me this town was friendly.”
Flora crossed an arm over her chest and her hand in front of her apex. “Turn. Around. You fucking pervert.”
He gave her a slow once over before conceding. His chuckle did nothing to reassure her dignity.
“I reckon it’s all a matter of perspective,” he said.
“Did you say Sterling?” Her mind raced. What would the new jock have to do with Bobby? He wasn’t in player acquisitions or even the coaching staff. Bobby handled team event bookings.
“The way I see it, I’m minding my own business, gettin’ ready to take a shower,” he continued, ignoring her question.
“Fuck the shower. How do you know Bobby?”
“Honey, I’d say you already fucked the shower.” He chuckled again. “The way I figure it, you provide a very tempting, visual service for the guys who need a different kind of workout after practice.”
Flora screeched, snatching the giant purple gyrating cock off the slick tiles and straight at his head. The weasel popped its batteries and died a slow, tinny death.
“Hey watch it!” He twisted to look at it over his shoulder. “You keep throwing your dick around and someone’s liable to get a concussion.”
The raucous boom of slamming double doors, the clatter of cleats on glazed tile, the thunder of male voices whooping and taunting, tripped apprehension up her naked spine. Oh, shit, practice is over.
“Well, well, well. Guess who’s about to get caught with her pants down.” Ian’s smile broadened, clearly making the same connection.
He stood, leaning his rippling athletic build against the half-wall of the locker room showers with an insolent smile and an amused twinkle lighting his eyes.
His gaze lingered on her pussy. “Here kitty, kitty.”
“Give me a towel,” she begged as the voices grew louder. Any minute now and she’d be seen by the whole team. Her credibility would be shot to hell, but more than that, she’d worked hard to be the professional she’d become.
This would destroy her. Bobby had been after her job forever and without him even lifting a finger, her damn faery curse had delivered her fate to his doorstep. The board of directors would not overlook what appeared to be blatant fraternization with the team.
Ian sighed and pushed up from the wall. “Just remember, you owe me.”
“Anything, just get me out of here without anyone seeing me.” Flora muttered a curse at the prank-loving faeries who were probably watching with amusement. The gift of teleportation could have been fantastically convenient if it functioned properly. But no, it only worked at the worst times—and even then, unpredictably.
She huddled, squatting low to the floor. Ian unlaced his football pants with deliberate tugs. Flora’s eyes bugged. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’ll ruin me!”
“Oh honey, it’ll fit. It always fits,” he teased.
“Not that, you moron! My career.” A locker slammed. Flora winced. “Hurry. Please, hurry.”
Ian chuckled, shucked his pants, and handed them to her.
She looked back at him blankly.
“Put ’em on.”
Sweaty, grass-stained football pants weren’t her first choice, but it was all she had for the moment. She snatched them from his fingers, refusing to stare at his only remaining cover, a packed jockstrap.
He bent, picking up the dead dick and shoving the batteries back in. Before she finished lacing up the loose-fitting pants, he pushed the purple cock down one leg. “Authenticity,” he said.
“No one has a cock this b
ig.”
“So you haven’t slept with Bing. Good to know,” Ian teased.
The image of sexy dark-skinned Bing strutting around the field like a warrior filled her mind. Oh God, she really shouldn’t know that. But then again, maybe she could use him to promote something that would require a bathing suit. Or body soap.
“Put this on, too.”
Pulled from her thoughts with the damp slap of jersey on her breasts, Flora automatically clutched it. It stank with stale body sweat. Ian reached behind the wall for the towel he’d brought and walked it over to her. Flora shimmied into the jersey, feeling the cool material stroke over her nipples and drape there. The hem fell low to her knees and she tucked it in at the front. The weight of the material still held it taut against every curve and highlighted the tips of her breasts.
She knew because she slept in a jersey just like it and used to wear it when she wanted to torment her ex-boyfriend. Show him the goods, without showing him the goods. It had proved quite an effective tool for getting what she wanted.
Standing still as a similar glazed-look came over Ian felt like waving a red flag before a bull. Payback’s a bitch.
Ian moved close holding the towel over her head. For a moment she was obscured from the rest of the room, forced to look at Ian and his darkening blue eyes.
Locker doors slammed, their sound ricocheting off the hard tiles to announce her discovery was at hand. She might have whimpered. Trapped and at Ian’s leisure, she fought the rise of panic.
“Keep this over your head. Let the ends hang down over your chest. Keep your face down and walk out through coach’s door. He’s going to be in the media room with the offensive and defensive coordinators. Don’t look back. As long as they don’t see your face, they won’t know who you are.”
He was right. It would be okay if she just kept her head down. And didn’t transport into, say, a newsroom. Flora quickly shut down the wayward thought not wishing to tempt faery fate.
“Go,” he whispered.
Flora ducked and bumped him as she moved around.
Ian caught her arm and whispered through the terrycloth. “Remember, you said anything. I’m holding you to it.”
Something tugged at her crotch. Ian grabbed her fake cock and squeezed the base. Gelatinous George ground to life beneath the white spandex, rotating along her right thigh, determined to cream her knee.
Ian laughed, slapped her ass and said, “Go on, now.”
“What the fuck?” she heard Bing yelp as he leaped back.
Flora raced away.
“That dude’s dick was alive, man. Alive!” Bing swore as she stole through the suggested exit and raced for the empty visiting team’s locker room. Thank God it was only a practice day.
She shoved the door closed and leaned against the wood facing a room identical to the team room but without any of the players. With shaking hands, she clamored for the courtesy phones next to her.
Jabbing in the numbers for her sister, she impatiently paced until Fauna picked up.
“Where are you?” Fauna asked, not bothering to say hello.
“In the secondary locker room. How did you know it was me?” Flora asked her twin.
“You only ever call me when you teleport somewhere and get stuck. You’re also the only one I know who works at the stadium. Caller ID.”
“This one was a beaut.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in about twenty,” her sister said.
“Fauna? Bring clothes and shoes from my apartment. And my purse.”
Silence reigned over the phone line. “I won’t even ask.”
“Thanks,” Flora muttered.
“I’m not going all the way to the apartment, though. You’ll have to wear my workout stuff, and I’ll leave you some money for a cab.”
“Fauna! C’mon! I can’t show up to my office in sweats.”
“Sure you can. Everyone else does. Some even wear those very chic whistles around their necks and eau de ‘mildew’ toilette oozing from their shoes. I’m sure one day without the diva sex kitten will be fine. Maybe even make you more approachable.”
“Can’t you drive me home?” Flora pleaded.
“I have a job. I’m leaving it to help you keep yours, which means I get to miss my lunch break later. I’ll bring my workout clothes and some money. The rest is up to you. Do you want my help or not?”
“I want your help.”
“I’ll see you in twenty. I’ll knock on the secondary locker room door so you know it’s me.”
Flora sighed. “Thanks, sis.”
“You owe me.”
Flora hung up and leaned her head back against the wood. “Stand in line. Apparently, I’m keeping a tab.”
George the Beastmaster made another whining circuit by her knee. She jammed her hand into her pants and ripped it out to glare at the blindly flopping dick. “And you owe me. Never got that orgasm. You are being replaced.”
It groaned out a gyration and four notes sluggishly began the musical round.
“Shut up.”
Chapter Two
Damn, that woman looked fine. Ian stepped out of Flora’s peripheral vision as he watched her pass. Morning light flooded through the posh upper offices, polishing every pressed angle of her short black mini skirt, every inch of her steeply inclined heels. She’d unbuttoned her blouse to mid-breast. Excellent tailoring explained the way the white top hugged her body. But it was the flash of silver resting on the rise of one honey-colored swell which snagged his attention better than a shimmering lure to a wide-mouthed bass.
Ian followed her into her office. So, his naked seductress was Flora Harper. Bobby wanted him to seduce her? Hell, she seduced Ian by breathing.
She paused beside her desk as she picked up a note, tossed it aside, and dropped the plastic bag on the floor by the garbage. She booted her computer and leaned over to scribble on a sticky pad. Flora looked pulled together, in her element.
He caught a glimpse of her full breasts and white lace dipping at the center where the filled cups came together. God, he loved seeing the unconscious display of female skin when she didn’t know she had an onlooker. He had a feeling that capturing Flora Harper unaware was a precious commodity.
Flora didn’t look like a blackmailing bitch. Bobby must be wrong. He’d clear it up the next time they spoke. Until then, Ian would enjoy the view.
Ian gave a subdued whistle of appreciation.
“You have great breasts.” He slipped his hands in his pockets to hide the extent of his appreciation. “I’ve thought about them all night.”
Flora righted. A look of practiced boredom flattened her expression. “Of course you have. They’re amazing.”
“Hm. That right there just took ’em down a notch.” Ian shook his head. His spiked brown hair barely budged.
“Let me guess, breast-rating is part of your latent charm, right? Did they teach you how to sweet talk women in Backwater, Plainsfield?”
“Hell, darlin’, sweet talking is reserved for the ones that make it a challenge. I’ve met you twice, and both times you’ve shown me your favorite assets.” He sauntered to her desk. “I don’t mind, just maybe consider holding out for the next guy. It ruins the fun when you act all desperate.”
Flora gasped in outrage. “I am not desperate.”
“That’s good. The way you threw yourself at me yesterday had me concerned.” He smiled, picked up a fancy pen from her desk and rolled it between his fingers.
It pleased him to see her cheeks flush hotly.
“So you called?” he asked, reminding her of the message she’d texted. She’d requested that he report to her first thing in this morning.
She appeared to be biting back words. Lots of angry words.
With a sharp jab to the air, she pointed at the plastic sack by her desk. “Your pants.”
“You did remember to remove your pulsating cock, didn’t you? I’d hate to explain that to the guys on the field. They told me you were a ball-buster. They
never said anything about amputated penises.”
“Grow up,” she snapped.
Ian’s smile faded. He’d hoped teasing could find them on common ground, a shared story they could look back on and laugh about over drinks. Apparently not.
He pursed his lips and reached for the bag, checking inside as he took it. “You forgot my jersey.”
Her eyes shifted away. “I spilled bleach on it.”
He didn’t believe her. She seemed to sense it.
“And fingernail polish.” Flora sat and scooted up to her keyboard. “Are you done?”
“Not even close.” Ian circled her desk and came up behind her. Casually, he lifted her hand off the desk surface. He slid his palm against hers, supporting her from beneath and tilting it toward the light. Silky smooth and warm, her palm teased him with the suggestion that she might be as touchable everywhere.
He resisted the urge to lace their fingers together, to tug her closer, and find out if he was right. He had a point to prove. The glaring lack of polish on her trimmed nails only seemed to stretch out the silence until finally she snatched her hand back.
“I didn’t like the color.”
“You know most people give up the lie when they realize they’ve been caught. I’ll give you points for stubbornness, though.” He sat on the edge of her desk, hoping his smile was as cocky as she seemed to expect.
He could play this game all day. She and her office were so much better smelling than a field teaming with deodorant-challenged men. Besides, she was stunning whether naked or dressed, and letting her drag out the denial only gave him a reason to stay and admire the view.
He was looking into the toffee colored depths of her eyes when they glowed with calculated interest.
Flora’s hand crept to his thigh. “Now, Ian, you won’t go spilling my secret, will you?”
“Hadn’t occurred to me.” Lots of things had occurred to him about hands and thighs and naked body parts and lips and perky pink nipples. “No one would believe me, anyway.”