“Faerie’s fucking brilliant.” Bo squirmed, deliberate, fresh friction making Everil hiss. “Keep going, pretty kelpie.”
And Everil–
Winter–
How could he help but continue? Summer’s Lord in his arms, permitting him this. Allowing him the trespass of desire, careful fingers working the buttons of Bo’s shirt open. And perhaps it was his impatience or Faerie’s sense of humor, but the buttons only seemed to multiply as he worked his way down, pale skin revealed in centimeters.
“You’re exquisite,” he murmured as the last button at last gave way. “Intoxicating. I fear I find myself insatiable. The more you give, the more eager I grow to take.”
“I’m fucking down with insatiable,” Bo’s words came with sharp, soft gasps. With the roll of Faerie beneath their feet, pressing Bo up, coaxing his legs apart with the tug of flowered vines around his ankles.
Like an offering.
Ivy and epimedium. A crown of oak leaves. Summer heat and Bo’s pale, sweet skin, just there, waiting for the praise of Everil’s lips.
He leaned in, mouth just above Bo’s shoulder. Breath unsteady. “Will you allow me this?”
“Yes, fuck, please.” The words tumbled out as Bo shuddered against him. “Fuck, Ever. Take. Take me. Fuck me. I fucking allow it.”
Indecent. Obscene.
Everil kissed Bo’s shoulder, as Bo shook and moaned and pressed back withunchecked desire.
Sublime.
Salt and honey. The slide of Bo’s shirt, down his shoulders and off. Everil set it aside on a near, ready surface, without raising his lips from Bo’s skin. Each shift brought them closer, more andmore, fresh waves of friction and heat. Ivy climbing up Bo’s calves. The moss thickened, pressed up by stone, offering a place to lie that bloomed with yarrow and bedstraw, ringed in the bright yellow of hypericum.
A bed. No. An altar.
“My Bo. My Summer Lord.” Everil ran his fingers over Bo’s bare chest, trailing kisses down the line of his shoulder. Reverent. “Lie down for me? Let me worship you.”
Chapter twenty
Bo
“Lie down for me.Let me worship you.”
Anyone else, and Bo might have started laughing.Worship, with Ever’s kisses setting Bo to shivering, talking of a summer king. Different, with Ever, the kelpie all but fucking gagging for more with his careful, tentative touches.
Considering this was Ever, all mannered words and hesitations, maybe Bo should think of it as ‘Ever desired him,’ but Bo currently had tendrils of magical vines spiraling up his legs,spreading them, while Ever spun fantasies of old magic: fingers twisted in high grass, cries offered like prayers.
So yeah: Ever all but gagged for it, and Bo, moaning softly and grinding back, had zero intention of discouraging him.
Each light touch seared, plucked a new quiet tune through their bond. A song of oxygen-drunk gasps and knees made steady only from the coil of ivy and flowers. The lightest fucking brush of fingertips possible, paired with a soft-spoken request, and Bo shaking from it.
Tried to move, to give Ever what he wanted, but he was fuckingrooted. Ivy to his knees.
“I, fuck, I don’t know if Ican.” And if Bo sounded embarrassingly desperate, that was because he fucking happened to be. Half dressed, his jeans turned into some gauzy blue fabric that hidnothing, and Ever’s cock grinding against his ass. Of course, he fucking was.
And the vines really needed to get with the program.
Ashift. It wasn’t like the room moved. And Bo would’ve sworn he hadn’t either. Except the pressure of Ever’s cock was gone because he wasfacinghim. Something solid behindBo’s knees, then the ground rolled beneath him, and he wasn’t so much falling as beingpulledback.
A bed of moss and sweet-smelling flowers. Right where Ever had asked for him to be.
A soft, broken sound shivered in the air, wordless. Maybe something like Ever’s name. A sound he’d heard before, at the first stroke of ivy on his ankle. From him. It came fromhim, and as the vines tugged his knees apart, Bo couldn’t help but make it again.
Fucking weird, and Bo didn’t care. Shit, he didn’t botherpretendingto care. Ever stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Bo started to reach for him, only to feel the twist of ivy around his wrists. It twined through his fingers, pulling his arms over his head, while more seeking tendrils curled over his chest like filigree, small flowers and bright leaves and fuck knew what else.
