A Lady and Her Magic

by Tammy Falkner

  ***

  Ashley slowly joined himself with her, inch by exquisite inch, and grunted when he was fully seated within her. Her cheeks were rosy with heat, and her body loose and languid from her climax. He would have to work to bring her another. But he was up for the challenge.

  “Yours?” she asked playfully, her voice deepened by passion, sliding along his skin like silk.

  “Mine,” he grunted as he pulled out of her and pushed back inside, taking as much of her as he could. Her back arched and she tilted her hips, taking even more of him.

  “Such prolific words from you,” she teased, but her breath hitched as he adjusted her hip. God, he loved the noises she made.

  “Did you want a soliloquy? I just gave you a song.” He stopped moving for a moment and lowered her leg, allowing himself to lie atop her. “God help me, woman,” he groaned. He wanted to spill himself already.

  He rolled, pulling her atop him in the bed. She squealed playfully and stretched along his length. He was barely inside her now, and the silken hot wetness of her called to him. He kicked her legs apart with his own and tugged her knees forward until she straddled him.

  He lifted, taking the tip of her breast into his mouth as he fitted her more snugly on his manhood. She surrounded him with heat. Now, as long as she didn’t move, he wouldn’t spend himself. But then she did. “Blast and damn,” he grunted.

  She stilled, looking down at him with a grin. “Is something wrong?” She squeezed her wetness upon him, tormenting him anew. She began to rock her hips ever so slightly.

  He turned his head and thought about Finn. About a rack of lamb. About his garden. But all thoughts led him back to Sophie. He drew his gaze back to her, and she pushed up to sit atop him with her hands flat on his chest, her elbows locked.

  “I find myself in a bit of a predicament,” he squeaked. He cleared his throat. “I need but a moment. For you to be still.” He grabbed her hips and held them, but her sheath milked at him, pulling him deeper and deeper into her body.

  She smiled a siren’s smile. “You poor thing,” she crooned. Then a gasp left her throat as she raised herself slightly.

  “Let me see your wings,” he begged.

  She stilled. “My wings?”

  “Your wings,” he said again, heedless of the panting sound of his own breath. “Let me have all of you this time.”

  She moved on him slightly. “I think you already have all of me. Or I have all of you.” She laughed, which only exacerbated his need to finish.

  “Let me see them. Let me touch them. Let them be part of us,” he pleaded.

  She stilled, thank heavens, and closed her eyes. She waited but a moment, and then her wings appeared. They were the color of her flushed skin, a dusky rose color, interlaced with a pearly color the same as the skin of her breasts. He reached out a hand to touch the silky little hairs that stood at attention on the rims of her wing. They glittered like diamonds, like a banked fire. “Don’t touch,” she said, jerking out of her grasp. “They’re very sensitive,” she reminded him.

  He took her hips and pulled her firmly onto his manhood. “So is that,” he warned.

  She just grinned, and one wing arched toward him. “You can touch it, if you can be gentle,” she whispered.

  The edges of the bottoms of her wings tickled his thighs, but it took his mind off his need to spend, at least.

  He reached out one hand, only mildly annoyed to see his hand betray him as it quivering there in midair. When he touched the edge of her wing, she let out a hiss. Her mouth fell open. “I told you they’re sensitive,” she cried.

  He moved his other hand to heat between her legs. “More sensitive than here?” he asked. He knew it was naughty, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Very much like there,” she cried, as he caressed the outside of her wing, lightly stroking the length of it. “I thought I was done after the last one,” she cried.

  “You were wrong?” he asked with delight. She swatted at his chest rather playfully, but then she began to move upon him. “I’ll never be done with you.”

  As he stroked those fine little edges of her delicate wings, she rose and fell on him, her head thrown back in abandon, her breath hitching with every down stroke. She ground herself upon his pelvis, rocking just where she needed.

  As she got closer to her peak, he forced himself to wait. She rode him, rising and falling, and sparks began to fall around them, drifting like snowflakes floating to the ground. They filled the air around them. “What is that?” he was able to ask.

  “Magic,” she laughed. “We are magical.” She ground her hips against him and squeezed, which took his mind off the sparks.

  Ashley brought the tip of her wing to his mouth and tongued it gently.

  “Ashley, I can’t wait,” she cried. Her movements grew erratic, and he could tell she fought to maintain her perch upon him with her legs quivering, her arms shaking.

  He took her hips in his hands and took over. She arched her back and cried out, then locked her arms and rode out her climax. The air filled with shooting sparks that shot across the room like stars as she came. Then he came with her, and as he soaked her walls, grunting with satisfaction as he screwed into her, the shower only got more heavenly.

  She rode him until they both were spent. Then she collapsed onto his chest, sliding in the sweat between them. He brushed her hair to the side to look at her face as she placed a quick kiss to the patch of hair on his chest. “That was magic?” he managed to grunt.

  “That was us,” she affirmed with a nod, her cheek sliding in the sweat against his chest. She didn’t seem to care. He could feel her smile against his skin. The sparks began to fade.

  “Good God, woman. I never imagined.”

  “Neither did I,” she said. He slipped out of her as she nestled into his side. Then her wing came up to cover them both like a soft, light counterpane. And she slept.

  Epilogue

  Ashley wrapped Sophia in her dressing gown, pulling it closed with a heavy sigh. “What’s wrong?” she asked, tugging the lapels of his own gown and drawing him back to her.

  “I quite like you naked,” he said with a grin. He tugged her dressing gown back open quickly and pressed a kiss to the center of her chest. “I plan to keep you naked a lot.” Then he closed her wrapper and stepped back from her. He sat down at a tiny table in their bedchamber and lifted a scone to his mouth. His appetite for her was only seconded by his appetite for sweets.

  A quick knock sounded at their door. “Enter,” he called absently as he opened his newspaper.

  Sophia looked up to see Lady Anne as she entered the room. Holding tightly to her forefinger was their newest addition. “Margaret said it was all right to bring her to you,” Anne said, somewhat reserved.

  “It’s always all right to bring her to me,” Sophia said as she bent to pick up the youngest Trimble girl. She crawled atop the bed and beckoned Anne to join her. “What are your plans for today?”

  But then, the sound of running feet in the corridor caught her attention. “Just when we thought it was safe to come out of the nursery,” Anne groaned.

  Through the door tumbled a dark-haired boy, their son and Ashley’s heir. He was the spitting image of his father. He wore a billowing shirt and wielded a large stick he swung like a sword. Margaret followed him into the room. “Sorry, Your Grace. He got away from me.”

  “He seems to do that a lot,” Ashley said, shooting his son a harsh glance. But the tot only squealed and wrapped his arms around his father’s legs. Ashley picked him up and tossed him atop the bed with his sister. And his mother. Sophia rolled to the side, protecting her stomach from flailing legs as Anne tickled her little brother, making him squeal and roll around. “Careful,” Ashley warned. The lad stilled. “Careful of the baby.”

  “Baby,” the littl
est Trimble repeated. She had no idea what she said, but she repeated nearly everything.

  “It’s better than that word she repeated of yours the other day,” Anne teased. Anne laid her hand upon Sophia’s belly. “Do you think this one will be a boy or a girl?” she asked reverently.

  “Definitely a boy,” Ashley said.

  “Do you think this one will be magical?” Anne asked. She’d been somewhat relieved that the first two Trimble children weren’t magical, from what Sophia could tell.

  Ashley rubbed his hand down her hair. “All of our children are magical,” he said as he bent and kissed her forehead.

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” Anne said. She reached for the baby girl and passed her to Margaret. Then she picked up the lad and said, “Let’s go and find some pirates to slay, shall we?”

  He nodded enthusiastically and let Anne carry him from the room, with Margaret quickly pursuing them. Ashley rolled toward Sophia and opened her dressing gown. He pressed a kiss to the side of her huge belly. It rippled with a kick. He was always enamored of their children from the moment of their conception. It pleased her to no end. “Do you think this one will be fae?” he asked.

  Somewhere deep inside, Sophia did want to have a child who was fae. She was quite happy with the three she already had, and they were magical in their own right, but having a little girl or boy with pointy ears and a penchant for good deeds would please her greatly. “Who can say?” she asked with a breezy wave.

  Ashley crawled slowly up her body, parting her dressing gown with his teeth and baring her skin as he went. He plumped her breast in his hand and groaned, “I love it when you’re like this.”

  She laughed and shoved ineffectually at his hand. “You must, because I seem to keep getting this way.” With a gentle shove to his shoulder, she tossed him onto his back and crawled over him. She opened his robe as reverently as he’d opened hers. “I plan to use you well this day, my husband,” she warned playfully.

  “I am at your disposal,” he said, laying his hands to the side as though in surrender.

  As she crawled atop him, she scolded, “Whoever gave you the name of the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth couldn’t have been further from the truth.”

  He laughed. “I’ll show you dangerous if you keep doing that.” She kissed her way down his flat stomach. It clenched beneath her lips.

  “Promises, promises,” she breathed. But then she looked up suddenly. “Have you heard from Lord Phineas or Claire?”

  “God, woman, at a time like this, you’re thinking about Finn and Claire?” he groaned, yanking at his hair.

  “I’m just curious to know how their mission is going.”

  “Just the thought of Finn and Claire on a mission terrifies me.”

  “Who knows? They might rub along together as well as we do.”

  “Somehow, I highly doubt that.” He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “Get back to what you were doing,” he scolded gently with a wicked smile.

  So she did.

  About the Author

  As half of the Lydia Dare writing team, Tammy Falkner has cowritten ten books, including A Certain Wolfish Charm and In the Heat of the Bite. She’s a huge fan of Regency England, and in her new series, she explores the theory that the fae can walk between the glittering world of the ton and their own land. Tammy lives on a farm in rural North Carolina with her husband and a house full of boys, a few dogs, and a cat or two. Visit her website: www.tammyfalkner.com.

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