Min the predator scolded herself, reminded herself to concentrate. Sentiment was not on the menu.
Bard curved his left hand around her waist, gently tugged her closer. His eyes glowed with rising heat, green as sun-shot ferns in a forest grotto. "Close." He murmured, the hint of teasing half-buried beneath desire.
"Hmm?" Min had lost track of the conversation. She unbuttoned his right sleeve and laid it open to the night air, ran her lips over the whipcord strength of his forearm.
"Carpentry. Woodwork," he clarified when she raised her head and shot him a questioning look from sleepy-lidded eyes. "I do custom cabinets...tables..." His voice trailed off when Min's questing tongue reached the bend of his elbow and lingered. "I can show you some of my work when we go upstairs."
"Upstairs. Good idea." Min raised her head and smiled into his eyes, now hazed to match her own. She took his extended hand and followed him up the tidy buttermilk-yellow stairs to the front door. He paused, struggled a bit with the antiquated lock. She took the opportunity to lay a kiss between his shoulder blades, enjoyed the scent of clean cotton and the thin line of warmth between their bodies. Breathed heat down the center of his spine and laughed a little as her distractions made those clever hands fumble. Pressed tight, pointed nipples against his lower back and heard the keys hit the wooden deck.
She stepped back to give him room to retrieve them. He bent and scooped them up, looked up at her before standing again. "Vixen."
"I try," Min replied, hands folded in a demure pose.
Bard swept his eyes over her with a headshake of disbelief and seemed to regain his coordination. Within seconds, the door was open. Min followed him into a space that glowed like the heart of a forest clearing at midnight.
The first thing Min noticed was moonlight. It spilled through the oversized window with its spectacular panorama of city lights. Pooled on the polished hardwood floors. Transformed the unadorned white walls and plain white sheets of the bed facing the window into a silvery bower. Min heard the tap of her heels as she crossed to touch the headboard, drawn by the shafts of light delineated by the sinuous tracery of the carved wood.
"Your work?" Her fingers caressed the twining vines, the detailed artistry of leaf and limb framed in branches that curved like the arms of a woman.
He nodded.
Min glanced up, then back again, held his eyes until the faint shyness that had rippled through his features at the compliment faded and deepened into a wordless regard that matched her own. "It's beautiful."
She pivoted slowly on her heel, took in the details of Bard's living space. One chair, tiny kitchen, no television. The wall that in most homes would have been dedicated to TV space was filled with a line of neatly-racked instruments. Guitars, mostly--Min counted four. But there in the end, she saw a mandolin, and..."Is that a lute?"
Bard's face creased in a disarming little-boy smile that knocked away another barrier against the rising tide of tenderness mixed with lust. "I told you, I work with wood." He had been busy in the kitchen while Min explored his domain, and he handed her a glass of golden bubbles. "Sorry about the glass." He gestured to the chunky crystal with a rueful expression.
"Hey, champagne makes any glass look good." Min smiled and clinked her drink against his. She took a tiny sip. "Excellent." She regarded him over the rim of the glass. "So, you really are a bard, then."
"I guess." He turned his face away, but not before Min surprised a fleeting look of guilt and...was that regret? He turned back to face her, interrupting her scrutiny. "I'm glad you like the champagne." He sipped from his own glass, cursed softly when he misjudged and spilled a few drops on his shirt.
"Here, let me." Min brushed at the scattered stains, rubbed her thumb along that fascinating white line on his upper lip. "What happened here? Flying nail?" She raised up on her tiptoes, retraced the scar with her tongue. He tasted of salt and dry grapes. Intoxicating.
"Nope," he murmured while Min licked the trail of champagne that had trickled down from his bottom lip to his collar. "Broken string."
She opened the top three buttons of his collar with practiced ease. "You're kidding me, right?" Her lips buzzed with the salty brew of fermented sweat. She lapped at the dip between his collarbones, traced the flat upper side of his pecs.
"No." He had thrown his head back a little and his voice was dreamy, drugged. "Those suckers can be dangerous...." He hissed the word as Min's questing tongue found the nipple and circled it, sucked him in.
The corner of Min's mind that was all about business noted that he had lost the power of speech. Her nimble fingers made short work of the rest of his buttons, laid his shirt open for her impatient touch. He was fully engaged, his rich energy spread like a banquet. She slid eager hands up his rib cage and drew in a tiny bit through the energy centers in her palms. She didn't want to gobble, didn't want to be greedy with the feast laid before her. Artists were tricky; they seemed to have no brakes on the floodgates they released at times like this. Min felt strangely tender about this Bard, oddly protective. She didn't want to drain him past all recovery...she hadn't made that mistake since she was a young thing. But with this fey mood upon her, she didn't entirely trust her control.
Min forced herself to draw away with a light kiss between his pecs. "All better."
Bard grabbed her wrists with gentle force. "Not yet." He drew her around to the side of the bed, led her to the window. Pressed her barely-touched glass into her right hand. "Here, drink your bubbles before they go flat." His glance indicated the sea of lights sparkling like scattered diamonds across the black-velvet landscape. "Enjoy your drink while I enjoy...you." He ghosted behind her.
Min shivered at the trailing fingertips across her shoulders. Sipped dutifully, played along with the game. Passive was good. Passive would keep her from devouring him like an untrained kit.
Bard stood behind her like a dark shadow. The faint sound of his breath seemed lost in the weight of moonlight that poured across them with nearly physical force.
The touch, when it came, was firm, leisurely. His callused fingertips eased under the two long ropes of pearls and lifted them away. Min heard the whispery clatter and deduced that he'd dropped them on the bed.
His rough hands caught a little in the sheer fabric as they skimmed over her shoulders to the front of her blouse. She felt him move closer, felt the heat of his body cradle her from behind. The places where they touched turned to liquid heat. She sipped the cool liquid in her glass, felt the bubbles fizz across her tongue and the alcohol relax her senses. His presence defined her world, bounded by the play of heat where he pressed against her, his bare chest warming the nape of her neck, his hard thighs brushing her own.
She waited for him to cup her breasts, go for the prize. Awarded him points for self-control when his talented fingers danced down the row of buttons and released them before she'd taken two breaths. She lifted her arm for another sip, gave him room to tease the tails of her blouse out of her waistband. His thumbs brushed her nipples, a casual, incidental graze. Min recognized the work of a master even as she succumbed to the slow needy burn stoked by each oh-so-casual touch.
He withdrew his hands. Min nearly cried out at the sudden chill where rough palms had warmed her flesh. Felt the heat move to the back of her waist, hot fingers dig into the small of her back. A tug, a slide. The faint hiss of satin against the rough lace of her panties as her skirt drifted like rose petals to the floor. The whisper of sheer silk down her arms as her blouse floated to join them.
Min's lips curved at the faint gasp behind her. He'd seen the garter belt. Min had chosen that particular accessory with care. She turned to favor him with the full effect. White silk camisole over lacy white bra. Tiny sheer panties the next thing to nude. And a garter belt the color of deep red roses glowing against her skin like rubies on creamy satin.
He looked stunned. Just the way Min liked it. She twirled a finger in the air. "Your turn."
Bard swallowed, turned obediently
to face the bed. She tapped up behind him on ruby-red heels and proceeded to give him a taste of his own teasing.
Min eased his shirt down his arms, revealed an expanse of toned back only slightly lighter than his arms and face. She noted with approval that he wasn't over-pumped like too many of Hollywood's would-be muscle men. The muscles that rippled in his arms and shoulders were lean and firm, the product of a craftsman using his body in a natural extension of his art.
She reached around and unbuckled his belt, eased it from the loops, released it to slither atop his shirt. Struggled a little with the button of his jeans, slipped her fingers under the zipper to savor the eager swelling and gain enough slack to accomplish her task. Slid the zipper down and let her hand rest over the base, bathed him with the warmth building in her palms.
"That's it." Bard turned, stripped off his own jeans and briefs before she'd registered more than their navy blue color. Min felt a smug thrill at this evidence that she'd driven him to lose control before she'd removed his pants. Point to Min.
She felt her eyes widen and took in his smug grin when he stood, streams of moonlight silvering every plane, every shadowed curve, the firm height of his cock. Suddenly he was a creature of the forest, the wild sweet beams transforming him into something fierce, something savage, something...fey.
Bard drew her in like a god of the oak. His mouth blazed a fiery trail down her neck, her camisole. Fastened on her aching nipple beneath the thin silk and drew it into his mouth with a wild sweet tug just this side of pain. His left hand kneaded her breast, slid down to reach beneath the edge, and tug the camisole up and over her head. His right hand flicked the front clasp of her bra and dragged it off her arms, bowing her spine and pressing her eager breast farther into his hot mouth.
He moved back and sat on the edge of the bed. Pulled her atop his lap, her thin panties pressed against his hard shaft as his hands kneaded her breasts. Min twined her fingers into his curls and held on, tightened her hands into a fisted hold just short of pain at the sharp press of teeth around her areola.
"Yes," she encouraged him. He drew her breast in farther, elongated her nipple, released it with hard flicks of his tongue. She bit the top of his earlobe, a quick nip of approval, and held on while his lips and tongue abraded her and all thoughts of control vanished.
Min felt his fingers on the buttons at the end of the garter belt, heard a snap as he released the front of her stockings, left, right. Bard leaned back and lifted her above him, tongue flicking her nipples as he released the backs. His thumbs hooked her panties and slid them down. They caught on the top of his shaft, slicked themselves against the round damp head.
"Change of position," he whispered hoarsely. Min released his hair and he rolled her on her back. He half-sat and dragged the wispy lace down her legs, twisted around and removed her heels, left, right. They fell with heavy thuds into the silvery silence. He scooted up beside her and propped himself on his right arm. His left arm caressed her body almost reverently.
Min watched his face, saw tenderness and sorrow chase each other across the half-shadowed features. She felt swollen with need, caught on the brink of fulfillment. The slow movement of his hand was torture to her aching flesh.
"Turn over," he half-whispered. Min complied, her needy skin whimpering for his touch. She felt his hands under her shoulders gently guide her to the headboard until her cheek was resting on the white pillows, face turned to gaze at the candle-lit mantel. She hadn't seen him light any candles, hadn't seen the little alcove decked with crossed branches of greenery, their nature hidden in the shadows beyond the bed. Her skin tingled at the scrape of his nail releasing the back clasp of the garter belt, the slide of her silk stockings down her legs as he undressed her in this enchanted space.
Bard’s tongue touched the bottom of her right foot, swirled in spirals around her instep. Then moved to her left, swirled again. Min hummed a little with pleasure as his mouth fastened on the back of her right ankle and slid in a long, damp line to the back of her knee where it lingered, swirling in pointed spirals, one-two-three.
Min was beginning to sense a pattern here. His mouth painted her with a fiery line from her left ankle, finished with that spiraling movement. Musicians always like to keep things even, her muzzy brain observed.
Bard’s mouth moved again to the back of her knee and continued upward, burned a trail up the back of her thigh to the curve of her ass. He lingered at the conjunction, nibbled her until she was squirming with impatient need. His tongue pressed a hard line up the back of her ass to her tailbone, and stopped. Min stifled a cry of loss as he swooped upon her other leg, moving swiftly now, and repeated his actions, finished with the hot spiral of tongue around her tailbone.
He eased her legs apart a little to make room for his knees and drew his tongue in a fiery path up her spine, stopping to make that deliberate spiral at odd intervals in his journey...the small of her back, a few inches higher, between her shoulder blades, the back of her neck. His hands kneaded her hips, followed the path of his tongue with the pads of his thumbs.
Min heard the rustle of cool cotton sheets as Bard knelt beside her. His lips moved in her hair with tender ferocity. "On your back," he murmured in her ear.
Min heard the soft clatter as she eased onto her back; saw the rich glint of her pearls spilling from Bard's upraised hand. "May I?" His eyes pleaded for her assent as he gently lifted her right wrist to the headboard, wrapped a strand of pearls to anchor it around the carved oak.
"Yes," she whispered, and felt her other arm lifted up and secured with the other strand.
"Okay?" He asked, his eyes shadowed pools, his tone gentle.
"Yes."
Once again that odd look of sorrow rippled across his face. Min wanted to lift her hand, comfort him, but her wrists were securely pinioned. Oh, she could still move them if she wished. An experimental tug proved the bindings to be a little bit slack, certainly enough for her to slide free. But pretend was the essence of the game. She laid back and smoldered at him, slid her tongue over her own lips and watched the banked heat fill him with purpose.
Min expected him to begin at her feet. He began, in opposition to his previous efforts, at her head, breathed spiraling heat into her crown. Min's stab of confused surprise faded away beneath the sensation that someone had plucked a string from the place he caressed, leaving the space full and tingling with pleasure.
Bard kissed her brow, almost a benediction despite the lustful press of his cock against her hip, and another string lifted away.
Bard skimmed his lips down her nose to her mouth and kissed her with a feverish intensity belied by his methodical progression down her quivering body. He moved to kneel between her legs and caught her face between his hands. Gazed for a moment in her eyes before kissing her again.
Min wrapped her legs around him and returned the kiss, a wild duel of tongues that ended when Bard broke off and laid his lips at the hollow of her throat beneath the spirit pearl, which glowed with visible radiance she hoped Bard's mortal eyes would attribute to moonlight.
The warm lassitude was spreading now. It slid like melting ice cream from the crown of her head and down her shoulders, following the path of his insistent tongue. Bard’s mouth lingered in the valley between her breasts, his tongue tracing a pattern that seemed familiar, almost word-like. The boneless tide of desire was spreading, stoked by his hands, his mouth, the tug of his lips on her nipples, the slow deliberate track down her ribs to her navel.
She heard herself panting, moaning, pleading, her own voice a faraway song of need. The flickering candlelight danced across the crossed branches, illuminated the runes carved into the mantle. Runes that looked all too familiar. Runes that matched the spell he was painting on her flesh with his fingers, his saliva, his will.
She gasped as his seeking tongue slid lower, parted her. Min struggled to hold on to the clues that danced on the edge of comprehension, fought the waves of pleasure that broke upon her taut body with each
new lick, the hard flex of iron hands holding her pinioned and open to his glamourie. She tugged at the bonds, gripped by a rising sense of dislocation, like a faraway siren moving closer, closer. She should leave, should escape before the magic she sensed stirring beneath the tranquil moonlight and the slow, sure caress of his tongue broke the shining surface of this dream.
Bard's tongue spiraled around her opening in that strange pattern of three that now filled her with dread. His movements were more about purpose than pleasure now. Min could feel the sigils he had inscribed with his saliva come alive at each of the energy centers that anchored her Earthside. A test of her own power centers revealed them to be blocked, bound away from her by living manacles.
His questing tongue circled her pearl with a loving caress. Inscribed her swollen flesh with a sigil that shot a lightning bolt of pleasure up her spine and left her panting with furious need. Drew away with a final kiss before he arched over her and sealed the spell with his body.
Min felt him slide into her in a long, slow glissando. Moonlight backlit his taut shoulders and arched head with a silvery crown. “Min,” he whispered. Her half-panicked tugs stilled, transfixed by his dark, tender gaze as he slowly withdrew, poised at the edge. “I didn’t know you would be so beautiful.”
“Bard,” she sighed. The echoes of his last word lingered, swelled into a single plucked note that drew them into a pocket of time suspended between one exhaled breath and the next. Bardic magic, from a voice that shaped worlds.
The swirl of dust motes in moonbeams seemed to slow, their dance as ponderous as the unfurling stardust of a supernova. Min saw passion glide like a leviathan beneath the surface of Bard’s skin, ecstasy graven in the bones of his angelic face. Watched him struggle to keep his eyes locked with hers as he slid his full length into her and paused, his mobile face lyrical with sensation.
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