And knowing we’re in a Valentine’s romance gives me a better idea of what books I should read later tonight when I visit my secret romance collection.
That afternoon, I fly us to the waterfall and activate the crystal to create a warmed area in the pond.
Even though I’m more at home in the air than the water,these sessions are quickly becoming one of my favorite parts of the day. Skye flings her luscious body at me repeatedly, and I catch her over and over, my hands full of her luxurious curves.
We fall constantly, and I strain to contain my magic. I haven’t mentioned it to Skye yet, but my flying magic would allow me to lift her overhead with perfect form no matter what she did. Yet we have to do this lift within the book, where I’m human, so I force myself to practice without using any of my powers.
“One last time,” I say, when I can tell she’s getting tired.
She nods and trudges back across the pond, but a look of determination fills her face as she spins toward me. Skye runs, her arms pumping, her knees lifting high in the water. She approaches the jump point and flings her arms overhead right as she leaps upward.
I straighten from my crouch, and my hands find her hips in midair, propelling her higher… higher…
Not high enough.
She slams into me, landing with one thigh thrown over my shoulder, her ankle hooked over the top edge of my wing. Skye’s hands grab onto my horns, and her other leg dangles, her knee digging into my chest as she tries to climb me.
And her core. By the goddess! Her core presses against my face, filling my nose with her sweet and spicy scent.
“Fudging fudgsicles!” she gasps, her body moving first up then down, as if she can’t figure out the best direction to go. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t—”
It drags her sex over my face, up and down, over and over in a mimicry of the act itself. I groan, my cocks springing tolife, my hands digging into her hips. “Stop moving.”
She ignores me, continuing to wiggle, caught, unable to go up or down.
I growl again as her scent grows even riper, now tinged with arousal. I want to rip the clothes from her with my fangs, bury my tongue inside her and see if she’s as sweet in real life as she was in the book. I want to—
“What in the world are you young people doing?” an irritated voice yells.
“Oh, shit!” Skye whisper-hisses, swearing for the first time that I’ve ever heard, her body freezing in place. “That’s Mrs. Greely.”
My magic unfurls, lifting Skye high enough that she can pull her leg off my shoulder. Then I cradle her in my arms and carry her to the shore. With the tap of a toe claw against crystal, I cancel the spell on the pond, which returns to ice with a snap. Stoking my internal fire, I send a blast of heat washing over us, drying our clothing and hair. I stomp my feet into my boots, and Skye slips on her shoes.
By the time the little old lady works her way toward us, cane in one hand, dog leash in the other, the only thing odd about the scene is that neither of us wear coats.
“Mrs. Greely, hi,” Skye says. “What are you doing out here?”
“Skye, is that you?” The elderly woman squints, and the gold-colored dog sitting by her side squints along with her. “I can’t be sure. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“It’s been only a week, Mrs. Greely.”
“Humph.” She turns her attention toward me. “And you, young man. Whatever are you doing with our Skye? She’sa good girl, and that…” she jabs her cane toward the pond. “That did not lookgood.”
A growl rumbles deep in my chest. The idea that anyone less than five hundred years old would ever have the audacity to call me “young man” is patently absurd!
“It’s my fault, Mrs. Greely,” Skye hurries to say. “I wanted to try an ice skating move, but I fell, and Luke caught me.”
“You were ice skating? Where are your skates?”
“There’s this new thing where you practice the move without skates first,” the little witch says quickly, showing how agile her intelligent mind is. “It’s safer that way.”
“Humph.” Mrs. Greely’s eyes flick back to the pond, confusion flashing over her face. She saw us in the water, yet the pond’s now clearly iced over. Hopefully, it’s making her doubt everything she saw. Yet she rallies, taking another tack. “Where have you been, Skye? Your cottage is empty.”
“I’m staying at Luke’s while I’m on vacation. He has a large library, and I’m helping him sort it.”
Another loud, “Humph.” Mrs. Greely stomps her cane against the ground and shoots me a dubious glare. Then she turns. “Come, Max. It’s getting late, andsomeonespoiled our weekly constitutional.”
The sky overhead streaks orange and pink, the colors darkening as the little old lady slowly makes her way down the path to the turnoff where people park.
