by Billi Jean
Long, beautiful minutes later she softly came back to reality and opened her eyes to see Alex above her. He’d shed his cloak and shirt. That fact fascinated her. She’d not felt him moving. His broad chest filled her vision, tantalising her with the need to touch. He raised his upper body and she saw his erection for the first time. Her breath left her. His cock stood out from his tightly muscled stomach at a heavy angle from his body, proud and so long and thick, she reached out and circled the stalk, sliding her hands along the rigid flesh to the large sack beneath with a low sound of pleasure.
He jerked his head back and the ridged lines along his torso tightened. “Ah, damn yes, yes, your hands are so soft and warm, feels so good.”
She bit her lip, more turned on than ever from his reaction. She explored his body, rubbing her hands up and down the velvety soft skin of his rigid shaft and watched as a drop of moisture formed on the plump head.
With a pained sound, he looked back at her and dragged her hands from his flesh, kissing the fingertips as he lowered himself down closer to her. “I’ll no’ last if you do that. Let me bring us both pleasure, eh?”
When she didn’t stop him, he hissed out a breath at the first touch of their chests. He was hot, so much warmer than her. Was he always so hot? Coherent thought fled as soon as he kissed her. Everything in the universe centred on him—the feel, taste and touch of him settling over her.
He thrust his tongue past her lips and stroked every inch of her mouth. Emboldened by the sizzling heat of his hard shaft, she wrapped her legs around his lean hips and arched her body off the ground to strain against him. Instantly he groaned into her mouth, clearly pleased with her.
She smoothed her hands along his back loving the warm and silky smooth skin. When she reached his firm ass, she gripped the muscles and rocked upward against his hard shaft.
Alex jolted away from her mouth.
“Holy hell,” he gasped and dived from her lips to ravage her breast with a low toned, possessive voice “Yeah, show me how much you want it.”
Her pussy clenched, empty and aching at his coarse words. She tossed her head, dug her nails into his shoulders and tightened her legs around him. In response, Alex shifted. Suddenly his cock slipped along her wet core. He husked a curse against her breast and stroked her rapidly. He was so thick. So long and heavy. The heat of his erection slid through her folds, making her gasp and moan his name. If he entered her, she’d feel him for days after, weeks possibly.
“Yes, so wet. For me, eh? No’ some mailman? Come for me again, witch. Come for me.”
She nearly did just from his rough growl. The pressure grew, hotter and brighter until she whimpered from the subtle vibrations circling her body. She felt trapped in pleasure without the burst of orgasm she needed.
“Alex, please, please.”
“Aye, witch, show me, tell me how wet you are for me, eh?” He cupped her waist with a warm, calloused hand and shifted her so he could angle his body up and give her long, slow thrusts. She nearly screamed. Frustration and lust mixed to a heady degree. She needed him—needed every inch of him inside her—now.
“Say it, witch, tell me you’re wet for me. Me, only me.” He drove her farther down the road of insanity with his mouth. He sucked and nipped at her breasts, and never wanted it to end, but when he rose to kiss her again she couldn’t decide what was better—his lips on her mouth or her breasts.
Breaking their kiss, he rolled his hips, hitting her clit with long, slow passes of his shaft. Her eyelids grew heavy with pleasure, but she refused to miss a single second of him—Alex—giving her such blazing passion.
“Say it for me, say it,” he chanted, timing his torment with his low, husky words. The arousal in his voice broke something inside her—her willpower to keep her heart safe—but she tightened her hands on his shoulders and rocked on his perfect body ready to give him anything—everything.
“You, only you.”
He pulled away, shoved the material of her gown farther out of his way, and lifted her hips. He latched onto her clit with his mouth and with a shudder she felt all the way to her toes, she felt him lick madly at her tormented bud.
If his mouth on her breasts and lips were devastating, his lips on her pussy were destructive. She arched her back and wantonly wrapped her legs around his neck. He began kneading her ass, licking her deeper as he did, seeming as out of his mind as she was.
The stimulation walloped her like a shot of the strongest liquor ever invented. She began to come apart, trembling in tighter and tighter spirals of stunning sensations. Fear heightened the spirals into pulsating bursts of pure erotic pleasure that ricocheted through her body and brought a soft gasp of his name from her lips.
“Alex, oh goddess, yes.”
At his name, he drove her farther along her climax with steady, barely there flicks of his tongue until he stabbed his tongue past her entrance to lick fiercely.
Lights burst behind her closed eyes and her legs shuddered at the force of her climax. She burst apart, only faintly realising when he replaced his ravenous tongue with two fingers because her body clenched on them in delicious contractions. The feel of him inside her was so perfect she tossed her head and whispered his name. Seconds later, he latched on to her breast. He ground his hard cock against her core again, straining along her folds almost frantically for entrance. Yes! She wanted him, all of him filling her to the point of pain. She dug her nails into the muscles of his back and bit his solid shoulder, wild for him all over again.
“Ah, fuck yeah, sweet heaven, witch, yeah, yeah,” he gasped. His body tightened along hers, the weight of him so incredible, she felt like she might fly apart. With a heavy thrust she felt the hot splashes of his seed against her skin. She arched her hips up and bit him again, falling into another orgasm.
“Perfect, so perfect,” he whispered, continuing to groan for wonderful, long, sweaty minutes. All at once, his gorgeous muscles tightened. He pressed frantic kisses to her neck and began pumping his hips against her stomach with more and more urgency. He tensed again, bit her lightly on her shoulder and she felt more of his seed burst from him.
She shivered all over at the power of his release, the total lack of control, amazed by his passionate, wild lovemaking. When he finally fell on her, breathless and still rubbing his hot shaft against her stomach subtly, he pressed kisses along her shoulder, murmuring that her mailman had never made her toes curl like that. Within seconds of wrapping his arms around her, he fell asleep.
A tear broke past her control. The passion of his embrace had been so hot she felt branded. But the rough teasing threatened her in ways she couldn’t name. How would she survive this? Mailman? A shaky laugh broke free before she could keep it inside. Alex didn’t stir though. Amazed, she traced the line of his brow, wondering how the silly man knew there was no mailman. Probably because he had made her toes curl.
How would she survive without him now?
Chapter Sixteen
Alex helped Sorcha arrange her gown, watching her closely. She was oddly silent. Had he disappointed her last night, coming so quickly? He’d not even entered her lush body. He’d nearly not lasted long enough to taste her orgasm on his tongue. He wanted to taste her again, feel the sweetness spilling from her while she called his name. She’d come three times, but he’d not given her the deep, intense orgasm only a man’s hard cock could give a woman. What if she thought him a poor lover?
He stopped her halfway along the path and turned her gently—not tugging or forcing her—merely turning her. She frowned and some emotion passed over her face, something he couldn’t understand. Was it regret?
“Are you tired?” He wasn’t a coward, but he’d start there, test her mood, then decide whether to move on to any dangerous territory.
“A bit, but I won’t slow us down.”
Had he been too hard on her last eve? He’d spilled his seed all over her lovely stomach and come even harder when he’d realised some had marked her rounded breasts.
He’d probably squeezed her too tightly. Damn it, he’d taken too much, hadn’t he? No shit, the first time she lets you kiss her and you pushed her for more.
He brushed a curl off her cheek. “We can wait until you are rested.”
“No, I’m fine, just tired. I can walk. Besides, time moves differently here and we should hurry if we are to make the next meeting, right?”
“The next meeting is a trap, remember? And that isn’t for two days. He’ll wait if we are not there.” He frowned when she did, but then he asked, “What do you mean, time moves differently?”
She shrugged and motioned with her hand to the low building that held their rooms. “Here, time moves slower at times, faster at others. I thought you knew that, I would have told you sooner, if I’d thought you didn’t.”
Did she sound apologetic? For what? His lack of knowledge?
“We should leave.”
Her sudden concern for his scheming made him nervous, but he agreed with her. They should leave, yet he found himself reluctant to do so. “Our time here could have already used two days is what you’re telling me.”
“Yes, so we should hurry.”
Something made him stop her when she turned to the low, grey stone structure, clearly ready to go with him.
“If it’s been past our time, we will figure something out.” He wanted to add, ‘together’, but couldn’t seem to get the words out. Instead, he walked ahead of her and opened the chamber door for her. “If you’re tired, we will stay here longer.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she shook her head. “It’s nothing, really, Alex. But thank you, for asking.” She lifted a hand and brushed her hair off her eyes, her look softening, but still he thought he saw fear settle in her green eyes before she turned slightly away.
Still not believing her, he left to gather his things—what few there were—instead of confronting her on whatever seemed to be wrong. Frustrated, he remembered he’d left their bag behind. No doubt, it was lost now. The witch’s fire probably had destroyed it. Hell, he also had no clue what to say to her. He had no experience with women, or with magic. He rubbed a hand over his chest, feeling oddly happy for some reason, then understood that while he might not have much experience with either, he sure as hell would soon enough. He wasn’t letting Sorcha go. He’d protect her from Zith.
He’d got them this far—admittedly, with Sorcha’s tricks—but he’d simply have to be more alert to the dangers facing them. He’d go back to the battlefield and discover if their bag was ashes or not. Then he’d learn what was wrong with Sorcha. Perhaps she was simply shy with him now. The thought intrigued him as he dressed.
The Fay had cleaned and folded his clothing neatly on the huge canopy bed he’d woken in hours before. Seeing it, he realised that last night he could have made love to Sorcha here, under the silk and velvet, treating her as he should have rather than taking her on the forest floor. Could that be why she had been so silent?
“Ready?”
He turned, startled she’d been able to come up on him without his knowledge. Seeing her again sent a shot of lust right through his body. She’d already gathered her clothing and held the dark mirror clearly outlined by a piece of black velvet.
“You didn’t change.”
She halted half in the doorway and raised her delicate eyebrows, most likely at his sharp tone. A slow pink blush coloured her cheeks as he watched, fascinated by the reaction until she ducked her head, hiding her face behind her long hair. Could it be she was shy with him?
“I like the Fay clothing,” she finally murmured.
He did as well—on her. The grey-blue silk brought out the green of her eyes, making them appear a darker, more intense colour than usual. Unless he pissed her off, he thought. Then they sparkled like rare emeralds.
“Aye, I will wear mine as well.” He strode to her side and took her bundle of garments. He’d worried over what to buy for her back before he’d kidnapped her. Now, seeing her in the clothing he’d purchased filled his chest with some kind of satisfaction he’d never experienced before. Taking her elbow, he steered her out of the chamber and up the path. No Fay were about, but he guessed they’d given them lodging far enough that no one would disturb them. Or far enough away, they wouldn’t have to deal with him. Either way, he owed the Fay a debt for allowing them safe passage.
“We will need to find the pack, then make camp, eh? For the—”
“Sorcha! Oh goddess, look at you!”
A black-haired, blue-eyed woman rushed along the path and he frowned sensing another Lykae. Dressed in a brown and green tunic and leather knee high boots, with a long bow criss-crossed over her chest, she breathed heavily as if she’d run a long distance to reach them. Her blue eyes shown against the healthy glow of her face and the traditional Fay weave to her hair revealed rounded, not pointed ears. Smiling she reached them and stopped a foot away, as if waiting on them to know her before coming closer.
“Bethany?” Sorcha asked.
Alex glanced at Sorcha’s surprised face, then at the woman and recognition set in. This was Samantha and Susanna’s wee sister. He’d not heard she’d come to the Fay realm. By the look of her, she’d been here among the woodland Fay, for some time.
“But you’re”—Sorcha paused, and hugged Bethany then held her at arm’s length—“you’re older.”
“Time, it flows differently here,” Bethany said, but Alex stiffened. Something in her tone, sadness—no sorrow—had his hackles rising. Bethany had always been a quiet, thoughtful child, seeing her with the bow and now noticing a knife at her side as well, made him wonder if that quiet child hadn’t grown into her wolf more fully.
She turned to him and frowned, tilting her head to the side so like a wolf, he grinned.
“Alex? Right?”
“Aye. How long has it been, then?” For them it had only been a few years. He’d watched this woman as a wee child, crawling around with Alrick, strategising the destruction of their enemies in the king’s study using small metal figures. Now she stood straight and tall, her Lykae blazing in her like a beacon. Her wolf was strong, strong enough that her otherness faded from his senses no matter how she dressed.
She squinted at him, as if he’d surprised her. “Your time, only a few years—Christmas I believe.” She fluttered her fingers at the past as if she didn’t know for sure. “But for me, here, a bit longer. I hear you were injured bringing home one of the children lost to the black arts.”
She’d been sixteen the last he’d seen her, he remembered suddenly. She’d come to the compound with Derrick and Samantha. He’d seen her talking to someone in the distance, but before he had been able to discover who she’d met with, the man had been gone. He’d not seen her but for a second later that day and had worried enough to ask Derrick if she fared well.
“Aye, it was nothing,” he assured her.
“I heard it was much more than that. We felt the forest shuddering even in this realm at the fight,” she replied with a grin.
“Bethany—”
Bethany laughed softly, interrupting Sorcha and squeezed her hand. “I go by Blood Moon, now, Sorcha, but most people simply call me Moon.”
Sorcha blinked then shifted her green gaze to him, more worry on her face than he’d seen since he’d asked her to come with him. By her expression, he guessed she thought something was off with Bethany. He examined Samantha’s sister again, but other than her wolf pacing close, as if protective, he sensed nothing amiss. She was whole, healthy and he felt a sense of pride at how strong she’d become. As a Lykae, he could often sense others of his kind, without tapping into his wolf’s powers. With Bethany, nothing about her worried him, other than the way her wolf guarded her like a mother bear would her cub. Could that be why she was here and not home with her sisters?
“How long, then?” he asked, not sounding as gentle as he could have been, he supposed because he spotted Sorcha rolling her eyes.
Bethany—Moon, he corrected himself silently—gav
e him a half grin and a shrug reminding him of Markee. “A few centuries perhaps.”
“What! A few centuries?” Sorcha whispered. She touched Moon’s long hair. “Goddess, you’re all grown up, too, aren’t you?”
Moon nodded, smiling fondly at Sorcha’s concern.
“You’ve been well? I mean…” Sorcha trailed off looking more upset. “I suppose I didn’t even miss you, did I? One of my own coven, and I had no idea…”
“Sorcha!” Moon gripped Sorcha’s hand. “I’m sure you have been busy. I know you have been. Besides, I am fine. I am more Lykae and Fay than I am a Jade witch, Sorcha.”
“I will always consider you one,” Sorcha responded softly.
Moon hugged Sorcha close for a long moment. “Thank you, Sorcha.”
“You have grown into your powers, too,” Sorcha said when they separated.
“My powers come from my Fay heritage. I study with Gregory a great deal. My spells, I will admit, come from Samantha’s lessons, but the weave of my magic is from my Fay ancestors. It’s the same for Sammie and Beauty, I believe.”
“Yes, the thread from my family to yours is thin, but it’s a link I value—” She paused and shook her head. “Moon, I see you have embraced your place in life. The Sisters of the Moon have great things ahead of them. I can sense you have already begun that. Here”—she gestured to the Fay realm.
Moon grinned at that, reminding him even more of the pack. He snorted and Sorcha finally laughed.
“Of course, I hit hard, just as Sammie and Susanna do.”
Alex laughed at that and Sorcha grinned.
“You are well, though? Here among the Fay?” he asked.
“I am very well. I study with Gregory and the high woodland elves. Evil has reached this realm as well, or perhaps, as I’ve learnt, it has always been here. While it’s not the evil of the Death Stalkers, it must be brought into balance with good.”
He didn’t like the sound of that, but nodded. She was a warrior, much like her sisters. But here, alone among those that didn’t understand her needs, she had isolated herself in ways a member of the pack rarely did—other than by force.