Kiss My Ash

by Renee George

“It worked, all right. For about two seconds.” Romy fisted the front of his shirt, his skin so cool against the heat of her hands, even through the material.

  “And what about Sol?” Lucien’s face tensed with anxiety.

  “Uh…” What could Romy say? Sol was hotter than July in Texas, and Lucien mentioning the werewolf’s name sent twitters through her belly. Well, a little farther south. Was he asking her to choose between them? Could she choose? The answer was a definite no. Against her better judgment, she wanted them both. “What about Sol?”

  Now he grabbed her by the arms, his voice insistent when he spoke. “Does he remember?”

  “Oh, you’re wondering if your hoodoo mumbo jumbo gave him brain drain.”

  “I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes.”

  Seriously? He only cared whether he got away with his trickery. Gah! “Yeah, I think it worked,” Romy snapped. She’d somehow completely closed the distance between them, sliding his shirt up and over his head before allowing her naked chest to press against his stomach. Her body didn’t seem to care that her mind had called a time-out for conflict of interest.

  She stroked her finger down his chest, absorbing the cooler temperature of this dark-haired, pale-skinned creature of her desire. Her legs turned to jelly as her more sensitive parts grew heated.

  Lucien had gone rigid, and not just his cock. His whole body had tensed. “Romy.” He eased back. “You don’t want me.”

  “Yes, I do,” she replied, remembering his mouth on her sex while Sol had fucked her, and wanting him more and more with each breath.

  “Then answer me this. Do you feel like you would die without me?”

  What an odd question. “You really think a lot of yourself, huh?” She wouldn’t die, but she would be very, very sad.

  The sensation of being squeezed between both men had been like no other pleasure she’d ever experienced. The morning sex with Sol had been fantastic, more than explosive, even with the pixy-interruptus. However, the two of them together had raised Romy to a higher plane of existence. They’d filled the empty space inside her, almost making her feel as if she weren’t dying for once.

  It hadn’t mattered that she was the “dryad of death” when she’d been surrounded by the two of them. She’d give a lot to do it again, but not her life. Her hormones were crazy, not suicidal.

  Though really, in the grand scheme of things, what did it matter? She would die, whether she wanted to live or not. “No,” she answered. “A little rejection isn’t what’s going to kill me.”

  “Really?” He looked genuinely skeptical.

  “Really.” Romy shook her head, her hand sliding into the band of his jeans, her fingertips grazing the top of his firmly rounded ass. “I like you, Lucien.” She panted as she nipped his side. “A lot.” Lucien groaned with she nipped the other side. “But I have to know—did you have anything to do with the Puck magic?”

  “No.” He worried his top lip between his teeth and she twitched at the memory of what those teeth could do. “I know how much a love spell can cost. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Then why the whole forget spell? I mean, if it isn’t your fault…?”

  “I…I didn’t want you to suffer with regret.” He turned his gaze to the floor. “I have regrets I wish I could magic away.”

  The pain in his words tugged hard at Romy. “You’ve lost someone. Someone you loved very much? Was she touched by Puck as well?” She fumbled with the button on his pants, unzipped him and knelt to push the material down his legs.

  “No.” He remained stiff beneath her touch, but didn’t try to stop her from sliding his jeans to the floor. “It was a different kind of love spell. More so. A mistake.”

  Lucien’s cock brushed her shoulder as she stared up at him with genuine surprise. Her emotions ran the gamut. Jealousy, because Lucien had obviously loved someone else, and it’s hard to compete with that. Sadness, because she understood loss. She carried the responsibility of her tree’s death firmly on her shoulders. Curiosity, because his was a story that she needed to hear. “How long ago?”

  “Fifty years now,” he said, his face fresh with pain as if it had been yesterday.

  “You’ve been alone that long?”

  “Yes.” Lucien’s eyes met hers as she stood and shimmied out of her underwear. He sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed her wrists to keep them away from his skin. “I need to tell you this.” His voice sounded strangled as he continued his story, his gaze never wavering. “I should have stayed away from populated areas but the isolation was too much. Especially for one of my kind. I’d heard from a traveler about Fortunate. I thought I’d make a fresh start and avoid attachments. Then two days in town, I meet Sol, and few weeks later, I meet you. I can’t risk the loss. Not again.”

  He blinked, his green eyes shining and liquid. “I’m leaving, Romy. I’ve already told Mathias. I used the fertilizer as an excuse to say goodbye. That was a mistake as well.”

  Romy couldn’t process the finality of his words. If he left, there would be a hole again. A part of her only Lucien could complete, even if he didn’t know it. She tried to reach out for him, but he kept her wrists locked and pushed away. He blamed himself for his love’s death, but that didn’t mean he’d killed her. Right? She needed to know, needed to understand what gave this complicated man the strength to deny his own desires. “How did she die?”

  Bright green eyes stared at her. “She drowned.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, it sounded cruel.

  “But…but—”

  He cut off her words before she could spit them out. “Yes, I’m a creature of water. A fosse grim. Ironic, huh?”

  Romy shoved down her shock and surprise. “Where you there when it happened?”

  “Even worse, yes.” He squeezed her wrists tighter. “I couldn’t help her.” His voice held a tremor. “I couldn’t do anything.”

  Romy got the distinct feeling Lucien was no longer talking to her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It was my fault.” His eyes were stark with misery. “My wife…she went into the water to find me. There was a ledge, a drop-off, just a few feet out. I’d told her never to go to the water. She couldn’t swim. I couldn’t hold her. Not in that much water.” His eyes glossed with tears as he said through gritted teeth, “Not in any water.” He threw Romy’s hands away and turned his back to her. “I told her to never go to the water.”

  He covered his face with his hands before brushing his dark hair back, his fingers combing through the length until they intertwined and rested on his neck briefly.

  Romy wanted to comfort Lucien, but there were no words to take away his pain and he didn’t want her to touch him. So, she did the one thing she could—she listened to his confession without judgment.

  He spun to face her. “Can’t you see? She was there trying to find me! I’m no good. No good for anyone. A grim who can’t control the water? I’m a joke!”

  More unshed tears glistened in his gaze, tugging at Romy’s heart. She wanted to give him meaning again. The look in his eyes made her believe that if she couldn’t find a way, he’d disappear from existence.

  If anyone could understand his pain, it was Romy. “You’re not a joke, Lucien.” She stepped closer and touched his cheek. “And at least you’re not an abomination. I’m a dryad who killed my very own tree just by being born. You didn’t kill your wife. You just couldn’t save her. Don’t you see the difference?”

  “You’re not an abomination, Romy.” His eyes softened at the corners. “You’re wonderful.”

  She’d been described as many things, but wonderful had never been an adjective used before, and it certainly was the kindest. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “They’re not just words.” His fingers danced lightly along her bare skin, a whisper-soft touch, making her shiver.

  Suddenly their shared nakedness was all she could think about. “When did you decide that?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucien said. “I think
the moment I saw you.”

  Romy’s lower lip trembled. Overwhelming emotion set her on edge. “The moment you saw me. At Mathias’?”

  He nodded, his black hair spilling over his shoulders, so dark against his pale skin. “You were flirting with Sol, and he flirted back. I wasn’t sure who I was more jealous over. You’re so lovely, Romy Shea. I can’t help but want to kiss you, to touch you, to make you mine.”

  Maybe it was the spell talking, but Romy didn’t care anymore. “Fuck it.”

  This? Them? It was happening, no matter the consequences.

  Grabbing his hair, she yanked him down into a kiss, pushing Lucien away from the breakfast bar and into the living room before he could protest. Every time he tried to speak, she silenced him with her mouth.

  Soon, his hands were roaming the same as hers, and his caresses on her skin were like the cool wash of freedom for them both. Words had been used to hurt and shame her, but she’d never been called wonderful. “Oh Lucien,” she murmured into his ear. “I think you’re wonderful too.”

  They fell onto the couch, Romy capturing his luscious lips with her own. His hands slid down her back, kneading the tense muscles into submission as his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip. She wriggled against him, closing any remaining space as the kiss became frantic, needy and desperate.

  He slipped his fingers between her thighs, caressing her curly mound before pressing them between the lips of her already aching, wet pussy. Looping his free arm around her back, Lucien positioned himself above Romy with a quick flip. His hand moved down her thigh as his knee pressed between her legs, parting them, spreading her wide for his pleasure.

  Her voice held a tremor of joy. “Yes.”

  His lips trailed away from her mouth, applying kisses down her neck, breasts and abdomen. Gentle hands grasped her buttocks as his mouth found her sex, his tongue flickering against her clit, licking and sucking the swollen bud sweetly between his lips. Tension coiled tight in Romy’s stomach, insistent and aggressive—the burning edges of an orgasm threatening to shatter. His tongue twisted and darted, sliding in and out of her channel, while his teeth grazed her sensitive flesh.

  Her body, desperate with need, arched under Lucien. She grabbed a handful of his shoulder-length black hair and pulled. When his hooded gaze met hers, Romy dipped the fingers of her free hand into the wetness between her thighs, as Sol had done in the woods.

  She placed her fingers to Lucien’s mouth. “Fuck me now.”

  Chapter Eight

  This small and curvy creature amazed Lucien. Something about her made him want to be her everything, impossible as the task seemed.

  “Romy,” Lucien said, crawling up her body. “Romy,” he repeated, his mind no longer worked coherently. He wanted this woman, just as much as he’d wanted Sol to possess him earlier. He was too deep in the taste of her, the smell of her and the feel of her to care why.

  He worked his tongue into her mouth, kissing her with voracity, shoving his passion down her throat. In that moment, he thrust his length deep into her and held himself still as he relished the grip of her pussy on his shaft. It had been too long since he’d had a woman like this, and it might be the last time. He would savor every moment without thought, afraid that if he dwelled too much beyond this pleasure, his mind would tell his body to stop.

  “Now, please, Lucien. Now!” Lust made her voice hoarse and raspy—so incredibly sexy.

  Without hesitation, he withdrew a little, and in one quick movement thrust inside her again, while one of his arms slipped beneath her and pulled her close, tight against his chest. He grasped her hair, pulled her head back and kissed her hard. Romy moaned against his mouth.

  Her slick core, hot and wet, massaged his cock as he drove into her pussy. She lifted her ass and arched to take his length deep, completely giving herself to him. The hum of music played in his ears. Romy’s song. The one he’d played at the lake the night before. He groaned with pleasure as her sharp nails scraped down his back until they rested on his ass, digging in, urging him to thrust harder, faster.

  “Yes,” she panted. “Yes. Yes. So hard, so…ah!”

  Romy’s hips bucked, her head turning to the side as the orgasm tore from her in a wail. The spasms and cries of ecstasy brought Lucien right along with her. He shuddered, quickening his movement, until one final plunge sent him groaning as he came, pumping the last of his pleasure inside her. When her shaking had quieted, he pulled his softening cock from her body and lay next to her on the couch, their heavy breaths synchronized.

  “You are mine, Lucien.” She played with his hair. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

  Her words rang true, as Sol’s had. She was his love. Sol was his love. Unbidden and cursed, they had both made him whole again.

  He knew he didn’t possess the strength to do the same for them—and that scared him more than anything else in the world.

  Chapter Nine

  Romy toyed with the ends of Lucien’s black hair as it fanned across her breasts. He’d been amazing. Just like she’d imagined. His skin was several degrees cooler than her own, refreshing her like a cold glass of water on a hot day.

  Even so, something was missing.

  That something stared at her currently, stared at both of them, with blue eyes naked with pain—and even deeper than that, possession. “Sol.” Damn.

  Sol’s blond hair was back in a tight braid. He wore a blue tank top that matched his eyes and tight jeans. Romy had never seen him looking so casual before, and hot damn, it looked good on him.

  Lucien scrambled off her to the end of the couch, then to the open kitchen to pick up his clothes.

  Romy sat up, crossed her legs and covered her breasts with one arm. “I’ve got to start locking my door,” she muttered. Surprisingly, she wasn’t as upset as she should have been. Matter of fact, she wasn’t upset at all. Her body tingled with renewed excitement at having both men in the room.

  “I knocked.”

  “I didn’t hear it.”

  “Obviously.” He sniffed. “I can smell you both everywhere in here.”

  Romy saw a visible shiver ripple along his exposed skin before he caught himself and allowed his lip to curl with disdain. If possible, Angry Sol was even more attractive than Cocky Sol.

  “Goddess be damned, you’re beautiful,” she whispered.

  “Don’t talk,” Sol said. He flexed her fingers, from fist to open and back to fist.

  The air in the room seemed to still, thick and heavy, full of potential. She stood facing him, naked in both body and emotion. She turned her gaze to Lucien.

  Having them both in the same room with her gave Romy a sense of serenity and calm, but by the looks on both Lucien’s and Sol’s faces, she was alone in the feeling.

  “I see you’ve made your choice. Both of you.” Behind Sol’s rage was a pain so deep, it pierced Romy’s heart.

  Choices? What possible choices did she have to make?

  Fully dressed now, Lucien walked to Romy. “I’m sorry, love. I have to go.” He kissed her cheek, his lips, soft and tender. “I’ll miss you more than I can say.”

  Romy watched, stunned, as he left her house.

  He was really leaving.

  Yes, he’d come to say goodbye, but she’d thought—or at least hoped—he’d changed his mind. She knew he’d found a sense of peace in her arms, inside her body…but it wasn’t enough. Not to keep him in Fortunate.

  When the door closed behind him, she collapsed on the couch. “No,” she whispered.

  Sol watched as the beautifully frail Romy wept. Her body shuddered with grief and loss. The sunlight streaming from the living room window brought out the gold and brown highlights, shining like tinsel in the red hair that his part of her face.

  Seeing Romy in so much pain, his first impulse was to comfort her, but she loved Lucien, not him. He wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t.

  Why had Lucien said he’d miss her? Was this a one-time thing? How could anyone be intimate with Romy a
nd not crave the pleasure of her body again and again?

  And what of his feelings? What was he supposed to think? He’d taken complete possession of the man earlier. Claimed him! And so soon after, Lucien was in the arms of another who’d also laid a claim. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” she’d said.

  The betrayal left him angry, confused and lost.

  Sol wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew without a doubt he needed time to figure it out. “Romy, I have to go.”

  “Don’t, Sol. Please stay.”

  Her words ripped his heart, but he had to get away. He couldn’t think when she was around, and that was dangerous. He’d spent so much of his life locked down in self-preservation mode, not allowing his emotions to rule his actions. “I can’t, Romy. I just can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  Her soft eyes, wide and pleading, pierced Sol to the core. He wanted to run to her and wrap him in his arms. Tell her that it would be all right. He would make it right.

  Instead, he shook his head. “Later.”

  Inside his head, he knew running away exactly as Lucien had minutes before made him no better than the sprite. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

  He would leave Fortunate. He couldn’t stay. Not if the two people he cared for more than anything in the world wanted to be together. He loved them both enough to give them up, to allow them to be happy, even if it meant his eternal misery.

  Frustration, rage and sorrow, all those emotions and more ran through Romy. She couldn’t fight the overwhelming feeling of emptiness inside her. Romy had always sensed death, but in that moment, it seemed closer than ever.

  Rage edged out the other emotions slightly as she stood and went to the kitchen, tossing an end table, knocking some books off a shelf and kicking a chair along the way. The chair kicking hurt. Bad. Which forced her to rethink her urge to punch the wall.

  Up on the windowsill, the stupid pot Mathias had given her sat tauntingly in her line of sight. Romy swiftly picked up the pot with both hands and threw it against the wall. Wet dirt and red clay covered the floor and wall where it had shattered.