“You okay?” Ginger paused, meeting Candace’s gaze over top of her pubic mound.
“Never—” Candace took a deep breath. “—better.” And she was so, so close. It would take only the barest touch to make her go over.
And like a fairy godmother sent to grant her wish, Ginger entered her with two fingers and took her clit between her lips, applying the perfect amount of pressure.
Candace’s clit spasmed and her inner walls contracted around Ginger’s fingers, launching her into ecstasy. Ginger stilled her movements while Candace’s body shook around her digits. Spent, Candace exhaled a heavy breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d come so hard or fast. A year-long dry spell probably had something to do with that.
Delirious, Candace chuckled. “Fuck, I needed that.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before Ginger was on top of her. She planted a quick kiss on Candy’s mouth before moving higher and offering a rosy-red nipple to her. Candace took the offering between her lips, she tasted like cinnamon and strawberry, adding to the enigma of this mysterious woman rocking her world.
Not bothering to linger for long, Ginger gripped the headboard and straddled Candace’s face. “Your turn to dine.” She lowered herself until her centre was millimetres from Candace’s mouth. Ginger’s labia were an alluring pinkish-brown, plump, and completely devoid of hair. Wanting to bury her face between the glistening folds, Candace cupped Ginger’s backside. Before she could get a decent grip of the small firm globes, Ginger chastised her.
“Tut-tut.” She swatted Candace’s hands. “Resume the position.”
Confused, Candace frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Oh no, no, no, Candy. Not at all.”
The tantalizing aroma of Ginger’s arousal as she hovered above her made Candace’s mouth water.
“But this is my fairy tale, which means I’m in charge.”
Frustrated, yet incredibly aroused by Ginger’s declaration, Candace tentatively ran her tongue along the length of Ginger’s slit. The flavour of sugar and spice exploded on her tongue.
Unable to get enough of her, Candace feasted on Ginger as if it was her last meal. With every swipe of her tongue, Ginger groaned and rocked her pelvis. A cacophony of soft whimpers and the headboard banging against the wall with each thrust of Ginger’s hips echoed around the room.
After a few minutes, Ginger fisted Candace’s hair and rode her face. Candy held her tongue flat, letting Ginger take her pleasure.
After a few bucks of her hips, she cried out. “Oh yes, yes, yes. I’m going to come.”
Ginger’s thighs quivered and clamped down around Candace’s head, muffling her hearing. The only sense she was aware of was taste. Ginger’s release was thick and white. Her taste was out of this world. Not musky, not salty, but like vanilla icing.
How is that even possible?
As she levered herself up, creamy drops landed on Candace’s chin, the hollow of her neck, and upper breasts.
“Oops, sorry about that.” Ginger ran a finger through the sticky mess and sucked them clean. “Mmmm, no wonder people love cookies and cream.”
Still feeling as though she’d been drugged, Candace climbed off the bed. “Come on. Let’s clean off in the shower.”
Hand in hand, they entered the bathroom. Candace turned on the water and towed Ginger in behind her. She plucked up the facecloth and tried to gather her thoughts while wiping the sticky mess off her neck and chest. What was she supposed to do now? Kick her out? Let her stay at the cottage? Would they date?
The best plan of attack was probably to talk, which in hindsight, she should’ve insisted on doing before they got down and dirty. Candace turned to Ginger. Water cascaded over Ginger’s body.
A surge of panic tore through Candace. “What’s wrong?” She stared at Ginger in stunned horror.
Ginger’s smiling face morphed into a lop-sided grin, then fell away altogether, literally. Her shoulders narrowed, then disappeared. In the blink of an eye, Candace found herself staring at a pile of cookie dough on the shower floor.
Chapter Three
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Candace half expected to find cookie crumbs in her bed. Relieved when she didn’t, she flicked back the duvet cover, climbed out of bed, and padded to the kitchen in search of her morning brew.
After putting the coffeemaker on, she slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and opened her tablet to the manuscript she’d abandoned the night before. She couldn’t believe the words jumping off the page.
At first, she chuckled, imagining the old woman brandishing a rolling pin. Then her heart soared and she found herself rooting for Ginger. Yes, she had a saviour. A few pages later, she stopped reading long enough to fan herself.
Phew, that was hot.
When she got to the words “The End,” she didn’t know whether to chuckle or groan, so Candace did both, emitting a weird strangled laugh. For a split second, she considered rewriting the ending, then decided to hell with it, because that’s the way the cookie crumbled.
Resigned to her fate, much like Ginger, Candace hit send. At worse, it would be rejected by her publisher, in which case she’d console herself with cookies and cream.
After logging out of her email account, she poured a large mug of coffee, picked up a book, and headed outdoors, certain her day wouldn’t be anywhere near as exciting as her character’s. But a girl could dream.
About the Author
Donna lives in the land of the long white cloud, otherwise known as New Zealand. Living in a picturesque country and enjoying the outdoors has provided many opportunities for her to create stories featuring dominant, loving women.
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011054266912
White Roses
A.D. Song
To queer people who always wanted our own fairy tales.
THE RING WAS a garish red blotch of a ruby that resembled a bloody wound more than an engagement ring. Whenever Iliana was forced to untangle the damn thing from a loose thread or a strand of her hair, it glinted at her malevolently, like the watchful eye of a dragon. She thought, in her more blearily fatigued states, that Alexios was somehow spying on her through it, his light unblinking eyes somehow gleaming out of the stone, roving possessively, stickily over her sleeping form.
It had been passed down from Alexios’s grandmother to his mother—or so he said. Alexios said Iliana looked like she was born to wear it. The crimson was striking, overpoweringly so, against the delicacy of her thin white hand, her small tapering fingers. Iliana could still remember the day he had proposed. It felt like a vague dream, the ones she could barely recall because her slumber was too dark, too deep, her weak, flicking consciousness swallowed up by the yawning cavernous abyss of sleep.
“Iliana, my darling, my sweet. From the moment I saw you trapped in your cursed slumber, I knew you were the fairest maiden of all the lands. I knew we were destined to be together. How could you not be mine when you are so beautiful?” Lord Alexios drew her into his arms. His muscles flexed. He dropped to his knees, turning his solemn, eager face toward hers. “Iliana, as the man who has broken your curse, I am your true love. Marry me. Be my bride.”
All of the handmaidens nearby fluttered their hands to their hearts, gazing at Iliana enviously. His eyes were a light, bright gold against the smooth brown of his skin. His teeth gleamed white. Everything was too bright, too harsh, and her skin was burning. And she was so hungry.
Iliana blinked and tried to smile. “Yes.”
Now, in his castle, she sat alone in the bedroom he had prepared for her, where she would stay until their wedding. She seldom had visitors because she was still recovering from the curse—and because they so rarely had them. His castle was perched on a cliff, overlooking the brewing sea in one direction and the shadowy woods in another.
Iliana reclined on cushions, silver tassels trailing across her rumpled silk sheets. Her
ivory satin dress, edged with gauzy lace and silvery ribbons, pooled around her, shimmering like puddles of water. Alexios thought white suited her. It did highlight her full red lips and her long black hair that hung in limp curls down her bony back. Even two months after she was freed from her curse, she was still too emaciated, her movements too languorous. She had always been slight, but now, she moved wispily as if she was sleep-walking. Whenever Iliana glanced in the mirror, a stranger peered out, a ghost of a girl with half-lidded eyes, large and liquid black, too dark against a sickly pale complexion.
“My little beauty,” Alexios called, knocking once and stepping into the room. A bouquet of white roses nestled in his arms like wounded doves, filling the room with their sickly sweet odor. He brought her white roses every day. Vases of white roses filled the room, ragged white petals drifting to the floor like discarded love letters.
“Alexios,” she murmured, rising unsteadily to her feet. He embraced her, his arms heavy and tight across her shoulders. With her face buried against his chest and buttons of his coat poking her eyelids, she could not draw enough air to fill her lungs, the scent of wool and musky sweat making her queasy. His fingers dug into the flimsy white cloth at her shoulders. She stepped back, receiving the roses he heaped upon her, smiling inanely.
Alexios was broad-shouldered and long-legged in a way that made the girls’ hearts flutter whenever he strode by. He was also soon to inherit all of the Sagehill lands, since his father, Lord Detros, was on his deathbed. It was wise to marry him. Furthermore, she owed him. He broke her curse, which meant they were destined to be together. Forever.
“What are you thinking about, my flower?” he inquired. Before Iliana could reply, he kissed her. His lips were rubbery and moist as he captured her mouth, trying to poke his tongue inside. He tasted like sour wine. She quickly leaned back, pushing her hands against his chest. When he left to change, she collapsed onto the cushions, scrubbing her mouth with the hem of her dress. She was grateful to Alexios—really she was. If it weren’t for him, she’d still be deep in her dreams, wasting away into a frightful corpse. She would have died. Yet, she wondered, secretly, guiltily, how such a kiss—his kiss—could have woken her.
ALEXIOS SWEPT HER down the shadowy hallway and finally reached the dining room that held a long table and a row of chairs, where they sat at the opposite ends of the table. Servants crept in, lighting the slim white candles that cast long jagged shadows on the faded wallpaper and carrying platters of tender roasted meats, bowls of creamy broth, and goblets of honey wine.
Iliana swirled her spoon in her soup, but the scents of the food made her feel nauseated. A gnawing, aching hunger always clawed at her stomach, but curiously, she never had an appetite for anything. Everything she ate made her ill. Alexios ate heartily, smacking his lips and chewing loudly. He was reaching for a slab of meat when a young man strode into the room. He wore the outfit of a soldier, a tunic and pants tucked into leather boots, a thick cloak clasped around his neck. Two daggers were strapped at his hips.
Alexios rose, frowning. “Adara. You have come so soon.”
“If you traveled all of father’s lands yourself, you would not speak so easily, brother,” he replied. His voice was husky, deep, tickling the back of Iliana’s mind…
When he pushed down the hood of the cloak, Iliana sat forward with a stifled gasp. The soldier was a woman. She came toward them, her sharp gaze resting on Iliana, her mouth quirked into a half smile. She bore a resemblance to Alexios, with dark golden-brown skin and short tousled tawny hair. But she moved with a spine-straight grace that reminded Iliana of sleek, self-possessed cats who prowled around Alexios’s grounds. They would spit and snarl when approached, but Iliana admired their feral elegance from afar.
“Are you not going to introduce me to your lovely betrothed?” Adara asked.
Scowling, Alexios replied, “My sister, Adara. She has been away.”
Iliana did not know if she should stand and curtsy or just incline her head. Alexios never even mentioned a sister. She dithered for a while before Adara solved her problem by offering her hand. When Iliana put her hand in Adara’s callused one, she gently pressed her lips to the back of Iliana’s hand. Her lips were warm and dry against Iliana’s perpetually cold skin. When Adara raised her head, Iliana saw that Adara’s eyes were a light mossy green with flecks of gold, the color of sun-dappled leaves. Iliana suddenly remembered she had not ventured outside in a long while. Abruptly, she was gripped by the fierce longing to gaze at the trees through sunlight to see if they matched Adara’s eyes.
“I apologize that I was not present for your arrival. I’ve been traveling through our lands to ensure our people’s security and comfort,” she said, giving a short bow.
“Of course, there is no need for an apology. My name is Iliana, Lady of Thornwood.”
“I know of you, my lady. Your story is on everyone’s lips: a sudden attack on your carriage, a spiteful faerie envious of your beauty, your cursed sleep, a kiss that broke it—accomplished by my dear brother, of course.” Adara stared at Alexios with an expression Iliana could not read. “They have also mentioned your legendary beauty, but even the most laudatory of ballads cannot compare to seeing you in person.”
Iliana felt herself flush. Adara’s gaze lingered on hers, causing a tingling warmth to spread in Iliana’s stomach. She felt a curious sensation prickling the back of her throat.
“Do you remember anything at all?” Adara inquired.
Iliana shrugged a quick jerk of her shoulders. “Everyone has asked me that, but I do not remember much. We were traveling through the woods one night. Then, there was shouting and sounds of tussling outside. Everything went black after that. After tracking me for weeks, my huntsman found me sleeping in the wreck and carried me back to my manor. The next thing I remember is waking up, thanks to Alexios.” Here, she smiled a little at her betrothed. “I have ventured out to where we were attacked. The carriage is in pieces, and there were signs of carnage, but no bodies at all.”
“Do you know the faerie who could have attacked you?”
“No,” Iliana said, shifting in her seat. Her memory of that night was disturbingly dim. She never saw her horsemen, her guards, and her handmaidens again. She had so many questions—why did they leave her alive?—but no one to answer them. Her fingers trembled for a moment before she tightened them into fists on her lap, her nails biting into her palms.
“Ah, I have upset you, my lady,” Adara said. “My apologies. However the method you came to be in our lives, it must be a fortuitous one.”
When Iliana looked up, Adara was smiling at her warmly.
Alexios cleared his throat loudly.
“Ah, I interrupted your supper. Please resume your meal,” Adara said with a courteous bow. She left.
Alexios started eating once more, but Iliana did not pick up her spoon. Her heart had not stopped pounding.
THE NEXT MORNING, she felt like her limbs were weighed down with bags of sand and her head was stuffed with cotton. Lying in bed, she heard clanging and lively shouts. She went to the window and wrenched it open, letting in the cool morning air. At the side of the castle, next to the woods, Adara was dueling a gray-haired man. The clanging of their swords rang through the air, punctured by Adara’s bursts of gleeful laughter.
At last, they ceased. Wiping her brow, Adara squinted at Iliana.
“My lady,” she called, “Join me.”
“I could not,” Iliana responded, flushing. “I do not know how to spar.”
“Come and tarry with me for a while anyway. I know Alexios is often away and you must be restless.”
Iliana paused. Then, she shouted, “I shall come down.”
After washing up and scrambling into her dress, she darted outside. Adara was now practicing alone, her shirt dampened with perspiration. She had the muscled arms, sturdy shoulders, and swift grace of a knight.
“You seem as if you have not been outside for a while.”
“
I have felt ill even after my curse was broken so I mostly take to my bed.”
“My apologies,” Adara replied. “I feel glad you can join me.”
Iliana watched Adara practice for a while before she paused again. “Do you want to try swordplay? It is a useful skill and a good way to while away your hours.”
Adara was so appealing that Iliana nodded.
It was difficult since Iliana could hardly hold the sword, let alone swing it. And her skin burned red after just a few moments in the sun.
“Oh dear,” Adara said. “I suppose it’s because your skin is so delicate and fine.”
She traced a finger lightly over one rising welt on Iliana’s arm.
Iliana felt her throat close at the thought of leaving Adara so soon, but Adara added, “Why don’t we continue our practice in the great hall?”
Once they were inside, Iliana found herself laughing giddily, welcoming the soreness and burn in her muscles that came with movement. She especially welcomed the way Adara would guide her by standing behind her and holding her hands.
“Here, do not grasp it in that manner. Remember to put the force of your shoulder behind it, not just your wrist,” she instructed. She smelled lightly of clean sweat and spices and leather, a heady combination that made Iliana’s head spin.
They practiced until Iliana had learned a few simple moves. A servant came up to them, bowed, and announced, “I am sorry to interrupt, my ladies, but do you wish to break for your midday meal?”
Hours had passed, and Iliana had scarcely noticed. Noticing how close they were standing, she stepped away quickly, glad that the servant did not seem to notice.
“Shall we, my lady?” Adara inquired. Her hair was even more tousled, sticking up in tufts all over her head. Her skin shone with a layer of sweat.
Iliana had to gather her thoughts before answering, “Yes, of course.”
Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume One Page 37