“It’s true,” he grumbles.
She flicks her gaze to him, then back to me. She swallows, her throat bobbing.
“I heard…I heard the faeries fuck like animals.”
Desire sings in my veins, and I loose my genius, drenching the plane with the scent of spring rain. They both startle, look to me, the air heady and heavy.
This. This is power. This is control, if even for a moment. This is that feeling I have been chasing ever since Jeremee died. This glorious and painful reality, like the shallow nick of a blade against skin. Something to remind me of my own body. Something to reclaim.
So reclaim I do.
I prop my elbows on the edge of the mattress and take in the gorgeous fae sitting cross-legged before me.
“Your word?” I ask. “Utter it once and everything stops.”
“I-I’m not sure,” she stammers.
I glance at the king. “How about ‘apple’?”
Heat glints in his half-lidded gaze, his cock flexing.
“ ‘Apple’ it is,” the fae says.
Taking a breath, I search for someone, an ex-lover, a beautiful stranger, to envision as I service the fae once more. But as my mind flicks through the possibilities, it keeps landing on the same one, no matter how much I abhor and abate the image.
My mind magnetizes to a silver-haired female.
Something twinges low in my gut. I push down the panic, the self-hatred that comes with this realization.You cannot slip once, not even for a second.
So I stoke the fire of my own desire that I will never share with another. I think of her in her nightdress, the neckline slipping down one shoulder. I think of her sleek skin, the cutting glances, the sharpness of her tongue. I imagine it on me. I imagine those blood-red dagger nails scraping down my sides as she gets on her knees before me, this time in her lingerie of gems.
When I open my eyes, I drink in the pink fae, imagining a silver one in her place. I know my gaze exudes lust. And the fae knows it, too. She sits up straighter, her breath catching, her own eyes widening. Has anyone ever looked at her like this before? A creature to worship. For her sake, I hope so. For her sake, I hope this is not the first time someone will break her apart with care.
“You wish to be ravaged by a faerie,” I hum.
She hiccups.
The plane vibrates around us.
“Shall we make it so?” I ask.
“I…” She wets her lips. “I don’t think so.”
But she does not sayapple.
“You do.”
Sinking hands and knees into the mattress, I crawl toward her. She shifts. As I slink closer, she leans back on her hands, her expression both terrified and thrilled. When I reach her crossed legs, I wrap delicate fingers around her ankle.
“What are you—”
I kiss her ankle bone, unfolding her leg. She gasps in disgust, jerking. But she doesn’t signal me to stop, so I do not. I pin the limb to the mattress and brush kisses up the inside of her calf, her knee, then her thigh. She squirms toward me. My face descends to her upper thigh, my mouth sucking in her stunning skin, my left hand holding down her other leg.
I kiss and inhale and lick the area around her hip bone. Her pelvis bucks and I brace my forearm across it, strapping her down. Trailing fingers over the shivering skin, I bite her round hip. She gasps again. Heat radiates from between her legs, as she tilts her sex toward my mouth.
I do not indulge. Not yet.
She whimpers as I plant gentle kiss after gentle kiss along her navel, up her center. When I reach her chest, I prop an arm along her spine, brace my hand on the back of her neck, holding her in place. Into her skin, her luscious stomach, I murmur:
