“This okay?” he whispers in my ear.
“Yes,” I practically moan back.
I feel his smile against my skin. “Can I kiss you?”
There’s only a moment of hesitation when I think about Sylvian. When I wonder what he’d think about me lying here kissing Ashton. But then I realize it’s probably silly to think he’d mind. I imagine he kisses women all the time. So, I just nod.
He moves to my lips and kisses me softly. His hand moves to the back of my hair, and he uses that hand to tilt my head. Our kiss deepens. The heat between us builds. There’s a buzzing in the back of my head as my thoughts turn to nothing. It reminds me of what it felt like with Sylvian, only different, like planting flowers and seeing that each one somehow looks different.
His mouth grows warmer against mine, the softness giving way to something deeper, more certain. His fingers tighten slightly in my hair, guiding me closer as if he never intends to let me slip away again. I feel the steady rise and fall of his breath, the heat of him seeping into me until the rest of the world begins to blur.
The satyrs’ laughter and the nymphs’ murmured encouragement drift somewhere far away, muffled and unimportant. I barely hear them anymore. My hand slides up his chest, feeling the strength beneath my palm, and Ashton answers by pulling me closer against him. The fur beneath us rustles softly as we shift together, but I hardly notice.
All I can feel is him. The warmth of his lips, the steady hand at the back of my head, and the strange, powerful pull betweenus that makes everything else fade until there is nothing left but this kiss.
And then, something touches my leg, and I jerk back, breaking our kiss. A satyr has gotten too close, leaning over us with a greedy expression, and everything warm inside of me vanishes in an instant. The others pull him back, but it doesn’t matter. The moment is broken.
Not that it was ever going somewhere. Not with an audience. Still, I don’t know what to do with myself any longer, and Ashton is just staring down at me with wide eyes, not even looking at the crowd behind us.
I glance at the crowd, then back at him. “Are we safe?”
He seems to come back to the present. “Safe? Yes. More or less.”
A nymph with a mane of red berries leans closer, eyes on me. “You know,” she says, “you’re the prettiest thing we’ve ever seen. It’s a shame you’re wasted on a wind prince. They finish so quickly.”
Another nymph snickers, “Not this one. I can tell. He’s got stamina. Maybe you’ll even last until sunrise.”
The satyrs roar.
Ashton raises an eyebrow, not quite hiding a smile. “What’s your record, then?” he calls back.
The nymph shrugs. “We once had a fae in here who went seven times in a night. He died, but he put on quite the show first.”
More laughter. I dig my nails into my palm.
Zomas finally wades in, voice like a bell. “Enough! Let the bride and groom enjoy their night.” He winks at us, all teeth, then shoves the crowd back with a sweep of his staff. “Go on! Give them privacy. It’s nearly time.”
The crowd peels away, grumbling and laughing. The door closes with a heavy thud, and I hear the shuffling of feet as the last of the guests staggers away.
Ashton lets out a long breath, rolling to my side. “That was… something.”
I sit up, eyeing the door, then letting my gaze drift to the little fire in the hearth near our bed. “They’re not really gone.”
He laughs, quiet and sharp. “No, but at least we have a door between us now.”
I glance around the cottage, looking for exits, weapons, anything. The place is a box, a trap. No windows, just one narrow chimney that probably leads nowhere. I spot a rusted knife stuck in the wood by the hearth, scratches by the door, and dark staining on the floor.
“What do you think happens now?” I whisper, because I feel like something bad is waiting for us.
Zomas had said it was time. Time for what? Our honeymoon? Sex? Another weird satyr thing?
Ashton stretches, then leans in, voice low. “We wait. When we’re sure they’re gone, we run for it.”
I nod, even though that sounds too easy.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my mind racing with dark thoughts. What if the satyrs come back? What if the nymphs decide to play another trick? What if Zomas never lets us leave? What if we’re stuck in this place forever, playing house for creatures who see us as things to entertain them rather than people?
Ashton climbs over and sits beside me, his leg pressed against mine. He puts his arm around my shoulder, not quite a hug, just enough to remind me I’m not alone. We sit in silence, listening to the wind get angrier outside, waiting for any sound from our merry captors.
