by Renee George
Lucien yelped but didn’t move away.
Sol rewarded him by licking the fresh wound clean. With his hands, he splayed Lucien’s cheeks, exposing his tightly puckered hole. He traced around the sensitive skin with a finger.
Lucien issued a low moan.
The sound drove Sol mad with hungry lust. His baser wants and needs boiled to the surfaced with a ferocity that scared him. He would fuck Lucien raw, but first, he would make sure the man knew what it meant to be truly possessed.
He loaded his tongue with saliva and slid it over the circular muscle. His fingers grasped Lucien’s firm hips, digging into the flesh as his tongue breached the tight hole.
“Oh fuck,” Lucien groaned, his knees giving slightly.
Lucien took one hand off the counter and stroked his cock to match the quick thrusts of Sol’s tongue. He slapped the nix’s hand away and said in a rough voice, “Hands on the counter,” before continuing his tongue fucking.
He reached between Lucien’s thighs and wrapped his fingers around the swollen length. He gathered the pre-cum on his index finger then used the liquid to circle the tight rosette.
Lucien gasped as Sol fisted his cock once more, quickening his strokes as he licked every bit of the pre-cum from the nix’s ass.
Gods be damned, he tasted so fucking good—so fucking clean—with the slightest hint of salt and earth.
Fucking fae. Both Lucien and Romy had his emotions twisted in a tangled knot. Neither of them could possibly know how deep. Romy knew he was a lycanthrope. But what about Lucien? Did he know what Sol was?
The alpha wolf in him wanted a pack. It chose Lucien and Romy. He didn’t want to ruin the moment with words, but if he wanted to make his claim—a real claim—Lucien had to know. And accept.
He kissed his way up Lucien’s back, the fingers of his free hand replacing his tongue as he continued to stroke the pale man’s cock. Leaning over, his voice ragged, he asked, “Do you know about me?”
“Yes,” Lucien hissed. He thrust his hips forward, ramming his length into Sol’s palm.
“Tell me then. I need to know that you know.”
“You’re the fucking big bad wolf.” The words were tight, spoken between gritted teeth. “Now be the big bad fucking wolf.”
“You’re mine, Lucien Kobald.” He pushed his finger deeper into Lucien’s opening, giving a slight twist.
“Yes.”
“You’re fucking mine.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“‘I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.”
Lucien’s hands pushed against the counter, moving him back, forcing Sol’s fingers to go deeper. There was a sudden and unexpected slickness, which made Sol even more eager. He withdrew his finger and pressed the tip of his cock against Lucien’s readied ass.
“Do it,” Lucien pleaded. “Damn it, just fucking do it.”
Sol pushed the head in past the first tight ring and the velvet grip nearly took him to his knees. When Lucien didn’t protest, Sol pushed himself the rest of the way in until his balls rested against his lover’s. He adjusted his hips. The movement elicited primitive noises of approval from Lucien.
Sol stroked himself half in and half out, in a steady rhythm. “Oh fuck, you feel so tight and liquid, all at the same time.”
Lucien moaned. “Let me touch myself. Fuck, Sol, please.”
“Not yet,” Sol told him. Gripping Lucien’s waist, he dug his fingers into the pale flesh and drew the sprite tightly against his rotating hips.
Lucien shuddered. “Shit, so damn good.”
Sol watched his cock lightly tug the skin of Lucien’s opening as he withdrew, until the meaty head was the only part of him still inside the nix. The willingness of his lover to give everything—to take everything—appealed to a more savage nature in Sol. With complete avarice, he plunged his cock hard and fast into Lucien’s eager body.
“Ah!” Lucien cried out.
“Too much?” Sol asked.
“No, no.” Lucien shook his head, his dark hair falling forward. “No. It’s good. Harder, faster.”
Sol took him at his word and thrust his cock fast, hard and deep. Lucien’s willingness astonished Sol, the way the nix’s ass gripped his throbbing shaft, massaging the length of him with each stab. Lucien’s lubricated channel—not like a woman’s slick heat, more like a smooth, cool gel—amazed him even more.
The one thing going through his head at this moment of pure bliss—why didn’t we do this sooner?
His balls tugged up against his body and the blood from his limbs seemed to pour into his groin. “Now,” he said raggedly. “You can stroke yourself now.”
Lucien’s hand dropped from the counter and his arm vibrated both their bodies as he jerked his cock. Three more quick thrusts from Sol, and Lucien moaned loud and long as his back arched and his canal pulsed in a rhythmic clench and release, milking Sol’s shaft.
Sol cried out, his own moans joining in with Lucien’s. He held himself locked inside his lover until the last of his orgasm subsided. Overwhelming relief flooded his body. The rapture of climax had tripped the relaxation switch in his brain.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he slipped his softening cock from Lucien.
The nix stood up and turned in his arms. “Don’t be.”
“That was…”
“Unreal,” Lucien said, finishing Sol’s sentence. “Weird.”
“I would have gone with awesome, but okay, unreal and weird work.”
Lucien chuckled. “We’ll go with awesome.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I usually have much better self-control.”
“I know.”
“Yeah.” Sol shook his head. They’d been fooling around for weeks—lots of hand jobs, blowjobs, some frottage here and there, but they’d never taken their sexual adventures to this level. The sex had been intense but they’d both, without saying it aloud, set limits.
“Limits demolished,” Sol mumbled.
“What?” Lucien quirked his eyebrow.
“Nothing.” Sol felt foolish and insecure. He had no business claiming Lucien or Romy. He was defective and dangerous. “Something is wrong with me.”
Lucien smoothed Sol’s hair away from his face. “I can help you forget. I can give you peace.” He kissed Sol tenderly with a soft brush of his lips. “I can do that for you.”
Sol shook his head. “No. I don’t want that, Lucien. I don’t want to forget. I want to understand. These feelings are so intense.”
Sympathy etched Lucien’s expression. “Someone cast a spell on Romy, and it has, through her, infected us as well. Call it lust. Call it love. Whatever you call it, it will not be denied.”
“So what I’m feeling isn’t real?” The idea that his emotions were purely artificial, manufactured because of magic and not truly his own, upset Sol more than if he were really losing his mind.
“No, it’s real.”
“How is that possible?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but what little I do know about Puck’s curse, or as some call it, being touched by Puck, is that sometimes the effects are irreversible. If it can’t be reversed, then it’s real. It’s not something that will fade with time.”
“Oh.” Sol let his arms drop to his sides.
Lucien picked up his clothes and dressed. “I’m sorry, Sol.”
“For what?”
Lucien had decided the night before to leave Fortunate—and Sol and Romy.
Sol’s reaction to him when he’d arrived had been unexpected, and Lucien had surprised himself by totally submitting to the wolf. Doing so made it even harder to say goodbye, but he was determined. He couldn’t fall in love—not with Sol or Romy or anyone.
Even as the thought came to him, looking into Sol’s azure-blue eyes, he knew it was too late. He did love him. Whether it was the spell, or real, or real because of the spell, he wouldn’t deny his feelings. At least not to himself. Lucien was a realist, and the facts were hard to
refute.
It didn’t mean, though, that he had to act on those feelings. He would leave, and put a lot of distance between himself, the wolf and the dryad. Distance would heal his heart. He knew Romy was dying. He could feel it when he’d twined himself around her.
In his watery form, he’d tried to permeate her damaged areas to heal her, but he wasn’t enough. Thinking about Siobhan and her death, he understood that he never would be.
Sol’s wide shoulders tensed as he waited for Lucien’s response. “Sorry for what?”
The werewolf’s body rippled with energy. His powerful long arms, wide chest and long torso rivaled an Olympic swimmer’s. Because he was nearly hairless, each muscle stood out in ridged definition. Lucien wanted to run his tongue along every groove—to memorize every inch of Sol. It took all of his self-control to not throw himself at the blond and never let him go. The overpowering anguish threatened to choke him. He desperately wanted to touch Sol, desperate to feel the weight of the other man’s lips pressing against his own, desperate to feel his cock stretching him wide, filling the void of loss.
How could he say goodbye?
He couldn’t.
Gazing into those blue eyes, so full of concern and affection, Lucien decided to take the coward’s way. He would leave in the morning, but first he’d go see Romy. It was selfish, what he was doing to both of them, but they would have each other for as long as Romy lived. Thinking of her death gutted him.
Stroking Sol’s hair, Lucien slipped into his arms and embraced him. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
“Tonight?” Sol asked.
Lucien gently kissed him with a soft brush of his lips. “Maybe.” He allowed Sol’s silky hair to tangle in his fingers as he silently said his last goodbye.
Chapter Seven
Still upset, Romy scrubbed the pinprick on her calf with warm soapy water. Stupid pixy! No telling where his sword had been.
Her mind turned to Lucien and Sol, the memories of Puck lust taking her the night before, sending shivers down her inner thighs. She didn’t blame Sol. He clearly didn’t seem to remember any of what had happened the night before, though there was no way he’d forget about this morning.
But Lucien! That water sprite had some explaining to do.
Not only had he known about the spell on her, he’d participated in its benefits and cast another spell to cover his tracks. Thinking of his probing embrace, his cock in her mouth, his tongue on her swollen clit, Romy bit her lower lip to stifle a moan. She licked her lips and swallowed hard. Yep. He definitely had some explaining to do.
Tucking her hair back behind an ear, she squinted at the tiny puncture. It itched like a mosquito bite. Maybe Mathias would have a remedy. After all, as a korrigan, he’d probably had experiences with the wee-kind.
No. She wouldn’t go to his shop. No way was she ready to face either Sol or Lucien.
Although, in her mind, Sol had been a victim of the Puck curse too. Lucien seemed to be the only bad guy in the equation. Okay, and maybe the stupid pixy…but mostly Lucien.
Oh, how she would make him pay the next time she saw him.
Or strip off his clothes and screw him senseless…then she would make him pay.
The idea made her nervous, and more than a little turned-on.
Stop it, Romy.
Her stupid libido was completely out of control! She hated the chaos. She’d had enough of that to last her short lifetime.
To distract herself, Romy left the bathroom and found the pot Mathias had given her. Its contents looked ordinary, for the most part. The dirt was standard potting soil. She could feel a mild, pulsing warmth in her fingertips as her hands covered a circular pattern in the red pot she hadn’t noticed before, a groove that was barely detectable. She wondered what kind of seed Mathias had planted…
Anxiety over potentially killing the mystery seed kept her from sticking her finger down into the soil to identify the plant. The energy was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It held a wildness she associated with nature, but also something she couldn’t identify. She twisted her mouth, perplexed as to how to care for the damn thing. The dirt looked dry. It would definitely need water to grow.
At least it was giving her mind something to fret over besides Lucien and Sol.
She took the plant to the kitchen sink and turned on the spout, filling the pot until the soil turned soggy. She gazed out the window and grimaced as she put the pot on the sill. Every time she glanced at her lawn, it made her crazy. She really was an albatross. Occasionally she’d see neighbors shaking their heads as they walked by, or local teenagers snickering. Romy knew in those moments what a cruel joke her life was.
She’d been dealt a great big “fuck you” from Mother Nature, and would wonder what she’d done in a past life to deserve it—if she believed in past lives, which she didn’t. But damn, her birth had been a mistake, and her fellow dryads had let her know it every day until they’d banished her.
“Bite me, bitches,” she whispered, returning her focus to the pot. She’d make something grow and show them all.
Then her shoulders slouched with defeat. Who the hell did she think she was kidding? No one, that’s who. Except for maybe herself. That she still had hope she’d somehow survive was almost laughable.
Nevertheless, she kept trying.
Wistfully, she caressed the pot with her fingers until a movement outside caught her attention. Lucien stood on her lawn. He thumbed his chin as if pondering whether he wanted to approach the house.
Romy jumped away from the window and pressed her back against the refrigerator. She didn’t want to see him. Not yet. Not while her hormones were all flibberty-gibbet.
Go away, she willed.
After a few moments of silence, she thought he had…until she heard the knock.
“No, no. no.” She’d wait him out. He wouldn’t knock all day.
“Romy?” he called from the other side of the front door.
Her own voice came as a mere whisper. “Go away.”
“Romy,” he said again. “I’m coming in.”
“The hell you are.” Had she locked the front door after checking her mailbox in the afternoon? She couldn’t remember.
His voice, no longer muffled, cut across the living room, which answered that question. “Hello?”
Crap! Heat rose in her body and her lungs tightened. Romy tugged at her collar, trying to create space for air. She scrambled backward, crab walking along the counter.
“I brought you some fertilizer. Mathias sent me with it.” He walked into the kitchen holding a small brown bottle with a stoppered top. He stared at her, perplexed, as she perched near the sink. “Are you okay?”
Was she okay? Hell no. “Fine.” Romy’s throat went squishy like her insides.
“I’ll put the stuff over here.” He placed the bottle on the center island. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“You know I’m not,” she said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Romy bit her lower lip. He didn’t know that she knew. The spell he’d put on them, sleep, dream, forget…
So…what? This was his way of taunting her? An “I had sex with you and made you lose the memory of it” moment? Ha ha. She would have the last laugh. His stupid magic didn’t work. At least it hadn’t with her.
“Romy?”
Of course, if he wanted to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened, maybe it wasn’t a bad thing to let him. “Thanks for the fertilizer. Tell Mathias I appreciate it.” Avoiding eye contact, she started wiping the counter with a nearby dishrag. “Is that it?”
Her brain told her she should be shoving him out the door, but her flushed skin, tightening nipples and the wetness pooling between her thighs betrayed good sense. She liked Lucien. Really liked him. There was something so vulnerable and genuine about him.
It didn’t change the fact that he’d tried to use magic to make her forget. Why would he do that if he didn’t hav
e something to do with the Puck lust that’d made her the meat in a water spirit and werewolf sandwich?
Lucien opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.
Coward, Romy thought. Both of them. She wanted to confront him, but was it better to let things go, let him think he’d succeeded? A debate over the pros and cons of giving Lucien a piece of her mind raged inside her. What if he thought he’d gotten away with it? Would he try to do it again?
“Uhmm…” Lucien’s green eyes widened, and he was closer, much closer than he’d been seconds before.
No, he wasn’t closer. Romy had moved toward him. “How’d I get over here?” Apparently she’d walked the distance without even realizing.
Artemus’ tits! He’d magicked her again.
“Stop that!” she demanded.
Lucien took a step back. “I haven’t done anything.”
Breathing became a chore. She took off her shirt to let more air into her tightening lungs. “If you think you’re going to trick me into having sex with you again, you’re sadly mistaken.” That didn’t stop her from taking off her bra next, the restrictive material too tight, too much. Her nipples went even tauter in the coolness of the air conditioning.
“Seriously, Romy. I didn’t do anything.” His already low voice dropped an octave when she shimmied out of her pants, leaving her dressed in nothing but pink underwear. “Stop! You’re making it hard for me to keep away from you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already have.” Romy abruptly noticed her state of undress. “And why in the hell am I getting naked?” She pointed a finger at him. “This is your fault!”
For a guilty man, Lucien appeared more baffled than culpable. Of course, his expression might have been saying one thing, but the bulge in his pants said something completely different.
Finally, he admitted, “I’ve done nothing more than try to ease your…” He cleared his throat. “Burden. I take it the forget spell didn’t work.”