Kelpie.Not a curse, but a caress.Beautiful fucking kelpie.
Wanted to see him. Wanted to feel it. Liked him grasping and eager and open-mouthed with desire.
Would let him break.
No.
Wanted to see him break.
Touched and kissed and stroked and stayed.
And more.
More.
Everil was sly undercurrents, water that ran slow until it didn’t. He’d spent a lifetime practicing control. Learning quiet and cautious reserve.
Everil shattered and shattered and shattered. Head back and eyes closed, mouth caressing the shape of Bo’s name. Shuddering apart.
His aspect, reined and neglected, surged forward, glamour falling away.
The sound of a river. The scent of new growth. The shadow of a stallion, rearing on the wall.
He knew what Bo would see. Silver-blue filigree on his skin, like scales or rivers, and eyes that shone like moonlight on water. Features sharper, mouth open to show serrated, vicious teeth.
“Bo.”
All he could think. All he could say.
Bo laughed. Didn’t startle back, didn’t gasp. He laughed, the sound wonder-bright, and traced his fingers over Everil’s lips.
“Youarea beautiful fucking kelpie, shit. You gave me everything. Let me see. Fucking perfect. So fucking hot. Ever, look at you. Like a goddamn painting.”
Everything. All of him. The rush of water. The thunder of hooves. The heat of blood (and sex).
Everil, utterly untethered. And Bo, there, above him. The bond bright,bright,laughter and desire and fondness and pleasure.
No fear. No disgust.
Everil slid his hands up Bo’s back, dragging him closer, careful of nails gone sharp. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Bo’s neck and shoulder, breathed in the scent of citrus and skin. His breath, like his hands, still shook.
His memories of the river, of the stallion’s play, were clearer now than they had been, his nature no longer suppressed.
“You’re real,”Bo had said, with old pain and new wonder.
“I’m real,” he murmured against Bo’s skin. “A kelpie in your bed.”
“Fuck yeah, you’re real.” Bo nuzzled against him, tugging at his hair and nipping at his skin. “So’s this.”
“It is.” It was. Real and more than real, Everil more himself than he’d been outside a river in much too long. Even so, his voice softened before he spoke again. But he did speak, echoing the words that had made him shiver. “You can put me on my knees if you wish. Fuck me. As I am. No glamour. No artifice.”
“Here I was, trying to think of romantic ways to say, ‘let’s turn you over so I can screw you senseless and limp into the mattress,’ ” Bo murmured, and Everil could feel the smiling curve of the man’s lips against his neck. “Beat me to the punch. No glamour, no artifice. I want you, Ever. Let’s get you on your knees so I can show you how much.”
Chapter fourteen
Bo
Bo’d known that Ever’smelodic, quiet voice would sound perfect wrapped around his name, edged with want and warmth. And fuck if he hadn’t been right. The black moonlit pools of Ever’s eyes closed with Bo’s direction to hands, knees, lips parting to whisper his name.
