Hewouldbe there beside her, soon. She could wait. She’d survive.
Stop wallowing,George commanded herself.He wouldn’t want you to feel this way.
How would he want me to feel?
You know the answer to that,she thought back saucily, as she tossed her thigh over the area where his erection would have been, if he were actually there.
“Deiwa hathemi, I’m losing it,” George mumbled into the tunic-covered pillow.
She inhaled deeply, and his masculine scent was the last straw. Her magic hardened the pillows beneath her body into his firm chest and muscled thighs. Keeping her eyes closed, she didn’t bother creating a mirage. She wanted to focus on the physical sensations rather than trying to replicate his beautiful face.
With a groan at her ridiculousness, she bid her magic to slip between their bodies, recreating Isahn’s big hands pushing apart her thighs. His ghostly fingertip ran the length of her seam, opening her for him.
It felt magnificent.
For the first time in over a week, she relaxed. Her magical Isahn brought comfort, pleasure, and security—however false.
George lost herself to the private moment, in the escape from reality, moaning softly into his tunic. Imaginary Isahn grabbedher around the waist, tugging her onto him. One of his hands slipped firmly between her legs, and she gasped, arching her back and ripping off her nightdress like he was really there to appreciate her.
He stroked her with gentle intensity, and she moaned, unbidden, allowing her subconscious to have its way with her, allowing her magical Isahn to lead wherever he wanted to take them.
Fingers explored the most sensitive areas of her body as she bucked and mewed. Pressure against her entrance, then inside of her, brought George to the edge of ecstasy. She rode harder, afloat with the sensation of his hands grasping her, squeezing, rubbing, entering her. An imaginary thumb found her center again, and she squeaked out a final gasp before collapsing on the pretend man, panting.
Waves of pleasure rippled through her, shivering electricity coated her skin, and George snuggled against the chest she’d created for her own enjoyment.
Her breathing eventually settled, and she trailed along the edge of peace, until cold, hard reality stomped down hard, crumpling her heart in her chest. Hands balling into fists, she sucked in a single breath, froze, then burst into tears.
She missed him. Gods, she missed him so fucking much.
Isahn’s imaginary arms wrapped her in a tight embrace, holding on while she gulped for air between sobs and slowly drifted off to sleep. The magic would stop then, but it was what she needed for the time being.
“PGeorgie,Georgie.”Ean’svoicewas far too close.
Her eyes shot open to blinding morning light, and she flailed wildly, accidentally slapping the faerie and sending him flying across the room.
“I’m fine!” He buzzed over while George yanked her blanket over pillow-Isahn, hoping the boy hadn’t seen the evidence.
“What are you doing in here?”
“We need to go. Or ye need to go.”
“Go where, why?”
“Yer da has Dunstan.”
Terror numbed her toes. “What?” She launched herself out of bed.
“Come on, get up and put somethin’ on. Please,” he squeaked.
“Deiwa,sorry, Ean.” George grabbed her tunic from the floor and yanked it over her head before racing toward the closet. “Where does he have Dunstan?”
“In histablinium.”
Nodding as she pulled astolaover her tunic, George wished her breasts were bound, but didn’t have time to findstrophiumto wrap herself. She sprinted into the washroom and grabbed the key to the secret passage. As she raced toward the sitting room door, holding her bouncing chest in place, Ean caught up to her.
“Can I come with ye?”
“Sorry, Ean.” She paused before the panel to pull aside her macrame hanging. “I need a cover. You have to get out in the hall. Pretend I’m in the bath if anyone comes by.”
