I stifle my urge to laugh, knowing it would only embarrass him more. Instead, I smile up at him. “First of all, you won’t betakingme at all, but making love to me. Second of all, I can help you get…acquaintedwith lovemaking.”
A mischievous grin tugs at his lips, and his body relaxes. Bringing his lips close to my ear, he says, “Tell me what you like.”
I kiss the corner of his jaw, then the lobe of his ear. “Undress me.”
He pulls back to eye my gown, the one he so adorably had made for me. He quirks a brow. “I don’t know much about dresses.”
Slowly, I turn around so the closures at the back face him. “Good,” I say. “I like it slow.”
He brings his hands to my shoulders, then slides them down my back until they reach the low back of the gown where the clasps are. Despite him having little experience with undressing a woman, he undoes the closures with ease, working in silence while his breath stirs the back of my hair. Then, with the back fully open, he slips his hands beneath the fabric and runs them down my arms, taking my dress with it. With one more tug past my hips, the dress falls to the floor in a puddle of silk and lace. I angle my head to meet his eyes but make no move to turn around.
“What else do you like?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my neck.
My breaths quicken as I take one of his hands in mine, then guide his palm over my breast. His other hand splays over my stomach, and I guide it down to the sensitive place between my thighs. He presses in close behind me, lips moving down to my collarbone. I turn my head to give him greater access, then close my eyes as his fingers light a fire as they move against me, achingly slow.
My legs begin to tremble, my knees growing weak as a whine escapes my lips. His grip tightens on me, and I feel the softest graze of his teeth against my neck. “Gemma.” The way he breathes my name, such a tender, musical sound, has my heart hammering against my ribs, flooding with warmth as pleasure burns my flesh.
I spin to face him and reach for his loose cravat, sliding it from his neck and tossing it to the floor, then begin working the buttons of his shirt. Once freed, I tug the shirt off him and slide my hands over the broad expanse of his chest, taking in the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. I explore his torso like a treasure map, breathing in his woodsy scent. When my hands skate lower toward the waist of his trousers, his breath hitches. I pause and meet his eyes, finding vulnerability in them. “You’re going to see me,” he says, voice trembling. “All of me.”
It takes me a moment to understand his sudden concern. Then it dawns on me—his leg. Keeping one hand on his hip, I move the other up his chest to rest over his rapidly beating heart. “I know, Elliot. You don’t have to be afraid. I want to see you.”
He releases a heavy sigh, then takes my hand off his heart, clasping it in his. With his sweet shyness returning, he leads me toward the bed. I stand naked before him while he sits at the edge, then slides down his trousers. My eyes lock on something that has my heart beating faster, and I guarantee it isn’t his prosthetic. Lips pulling into a wicked smile, I meet his eyes. There’s still hesitation in his face, but he seems encouraged by my reaction. Keeping his eyes on mine, he undoes the prosthetic. Once detached, he sets it softly on the floor, then sits motionless, a question written over his face.Are you still fond of my body?it seems to say. Or perhaps it’s,Do you still love me?
I look him over, my eyes roving every inch of his flesh, then resting on his amputated leg. Ending at the knee, the skin is puckered with scar tissue in places, but is otherwise smooth. The sight doesn’t unsettle me in the slightest. I find myself slightly fascinated, but the partial limb seems as natural as any other part of him, no less beautiful than his pointed ears, his wine-colored eyes, or his formidable stature.
I step closer, standing between his thighs. He runs his hands up the backs of my calves, my thighs, head tilted back. Lowering my face, I press a soft kiss against his lips. “You’re beautiful, Elliot.”
He releases a trembling sigh against my mouth, then moves his hands over my hips. Our kisses turn fiercer, and I part my lips to welcome his tongue. Then I settle onto his lap, straddling his hips. He grasps my bottom and scoots us back, until we’re in the center of his bed. His hands wind into my hair as I move against him, eager to deepen our connection, to feel more of his warmth, his hardness. Slowly, I glide myself over him until he fills me, igniting a wave of sensation dancing within me, around me, mingling with the fluttering of my too-full heart.
“Freezing hell, Gemma,” he says with a moan. “How did I ever live without this before? Without you?”
I devour his question with another kiss, and he shifts his weight until he’s on top of me. Bracing himself on his forearms, we begin to move again in a new way. My arms wrap around his lower back, pressing him closer while my legs encircle his waist. Soon we find a familiar rhythm, as if we never stopped dancing in the library, pulsing against each other as heat floods my core. My eyes lock on his, taking in their garnet hue, the desire that spells my name with every beat of our hearts, pounding in tandem as pleasure unravels us both.
36
Sweat-soaked and spent, we recline on Elliot’s bed, the sheets pushed back, the room too hot for covers. I lay my head on his chest, my arm flung over his torso while one of my legs entwines around his. The music of his heart lulls me into peaceful relaxation as he brushes his hand along my hair. Every part of me that touches him feels like it’s on fire, while the parts of me that brush only naked air are warmed by the glow of the hearth. I close my eyes, nestling closer.
Elliot presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ve been alive over a thousand years, and yet never have I truly lived until now,” he whispers. “Is this what it’s like to open myself to the array of emotions and feelings and experiences humans have to offer?”
I prop my chin on his chest to look at him, tracing the line of his bearded jaw with my forefinger. “Is being in your unseelie form truly so different?”
“Yes, and I always carried pride about never having shifted into my seelie form.”
“Are many fae like that? Remaining in their unseelie form their whole lives?”
He nods. “Long ago, that’s all we ever were. There was no seelie or unseelie. We were all just creatures and spirits. We were more than animals but very different from humans. But when humans came to the isle, their presence began to change us. Some of the fae began to model themselves after humans, adopting their voices when they were taught human language, reshaping their bodies when they tried on human clothing. The ability to take seelie forms was born from that, and emotions and other human feelings came next. But not all fae considered it a gift. Those who maintained their original forms called themselves unseelie, and this divide led to unrest amongst the fae, fueled the wars we had with the humans. It pains me to say I spent my entire life fighting for whatever side pitted me against the humans. If I’d ever had my way, the humans would have been annihilated, or at least banished from the isle.”
His words chill me. Remembering the trickster wolf I met when I first came searching for thirty-three Whitespruce Lane, it isn’t hard to imagine that version of him being as cold and cruel as he says. But it hasn’t been long since he last expressed disdain for humankind. Could he truly have changed so much? Or is it only me he’s come to value amongst my people?
He seems to read the concern in my expression and rolls to face me. “You’ve changed me, Gemma. Changed me in a way I never thought I’d want. I never thought I’d want pain or pleasure. I never thought I would choose both over the freedom that ignorance brings. And, yes, it’s changed the way I judge your people. While I’ve yet to meet many I consider worthy of my respect or affection, I’m willing to believe your previous assertions are true—that not all humans are the same.”
I bring my palm to the side of his face, and he angles his head to plant a kiss on my wrist. “You’ve changed me too, Elliot. You’ve reminded me what it means to trust, reminded me that pain in my past doesn’t mean love can’t exist in my future. It feels stupid now, realizing I nearly let one man close me off to the experiences of life.”
“Does that mean you won’t leave anymore?” A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face. “You can, Gemma. I know how much you miss your home country. I will not keep you here, no matter how much I love you—”
I press my forefinger to his lips. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. Independence doesn’t require running away and being alone. I can have freedom and still live amongst others. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven human society, but I have a feeling there’s more to Faerwyvae than what my experiences have shown me so far. And even if I were to discover every city on the isle is just as stifling as Vernon, well…I’ll still have you.”
“Yes, my love. You have me. So long as I live, I am yours.” He kisses me, his hands roving my back, as if seeking undiscovered lands he hasn’t already laid claim to. I do the same in turn, feeling his flesh, his muscles, his hair, tasting the salt of his skin. A spark of desire returns, and we continue to fan its flames late into the night, until we’re too tired to move a muscle. Until we fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
