He closes the distance and backs me against a boulder covered in pillow moss, the ruffled ledge of my neckline fluttering against the V of flesh beneath his shirt. His labored breath stirs with my own. “I asked myself, why does she look at me like she misses me? Why do I recall touches that never occurred with her, words we never said to each other?” He tilts his head. “Or did we? For why does she remind me of someone I once knew? Someone I coveted for the briefest instant? A mere thirteen days might be long to a human, but to a Fae…”
His palms skim the backs of my thighs and lift me off the ground, depositing me on the mossy stone. My legs splay around his waist, my knees trembling. He steps into that slot, bracketing his hands on the boulder.
I reel my fingers around his nape and shimmy closer, bone sliding over bone. Cerulean twists, his bent head sneaking beneath my jaw, where he snatches the sensitive flesh between his lips. The universe reduces to that delicate spot, and I cling to him, my head lolling back.
He plants a single wet kiss there, then sketches the line of my neck. “She’s an infernal mortal, yet every time I’ve been near this woman, I’ve wanted to quarrel with her—” he nips my chin “—confess secrets to her.” He moves to my lower lip, which he traces with his tongue, coaxing it to drop lower. His hoarse whisper blows across my lips. “I’ve wanted to kiss her roughly and fuck her sweetly.”
Oh, my Fables.
Cerulean skates to my ear, drawing his tongue along the shell. “And now I know why.” He licks the lobe. “I haven’t slept since her arrival, and for that, I blame her as well.” His tongue probes my ear, that single erotic act fogging my consciousness. My body arches so far back, my tits are in danger of spilling from the neckline. “Her mutinous mouth is the cause of my physical upheaval. Her dust-swept cheeks are the culprit of my unrest. Oh, as a young Fae, I’d had the excuse of my age.”
He drags himself back, splays his fingers over the mask, and peels it from his head. Tossing it aside, his dilated pupils catch my hazy ones. “I have no such excuse tonight.”
So I’ve got one answer. As for the rest of my questions, the decadent rush of his voice makes it clear: Those questions are gonna have to wait. We’re not making it to them tonight.
We’re not even making it inside the tower.
27
It’s been too long. Nine years too long.
If I didn’t love him back then, I’m about to. I match his movements, slipping my own mask from my face, chucking it to the grass, and letting him see me.
Torch poles spray the park with sienna. The wind shivers through the rowans, their leaves and berries clapping, their branches shrouding the Middle Moon.
And me? I’m sprawled on pillow moss, my legs flanking the body of a forbidden Fae. My toes flex, loosening the slipper heels; they fall to the ground and land beside the mask. I taste the intoxicating burn of spirits from the masquerade, its residue coating my gums.
Cerulean’s blue eyes haunt me. I can’t get over the metamorphosis, all that hunger and wonder. “It’s you,” he says, gazing at me with bright eyes.
“It’s me,” I reply, my voice cracking.
“My mutinous Lark.” His hooded gaze lands on my mouth, and his ivories flash, the canines honed into points. “I want to pleasure you, as I did with the wind. Only tonight, I want to do it without help. Will you let me—”
This time, I’m the one who quiets him. My mouth crashes into his, splitting his lips apart. Cerulean growls and hauls me against him, his tongue diving into me and prying the seam wider.
I sigh, my fingers clawing through his hair. I’m here, and he’s here, and that’s everything I’ve waited for, and I want to cry, and I want to roar. And by the end of this, I’ll be doing both.
Cerulean licks into me with sure thrusts. With every pitch, I feel the undulating strength of his jaw. I take it all and give back, flicking my tongue with his.
My digits climb up his ears and reach the peaks, where I pop off the wing caps. My thumbs free the hard skin and fondle the tips. He hums, the effect tracking down his body—down to the erect length at the crux of his pelvis.
He’s long and stiff. Yet not stiff enough. Not for me.
I tear my mouth away, snag one of his ears, and suck on the crest. Cerulean seethes, his cock rising into the nexus where my feathered skirt splits. Much better.
“Hot damn,” I purr, slinking my palm between us and cupping that hardness. “Is this for me?”
“No,” Cerulean answers, then pulls back to drift his hands along my bare limbs. Under my gown, he seizes my ass with one palm and shreds my drawers with the other, the dainty rip slicing through the air. “Thisis for you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
His digits comb through the patch of moist curls, his index finger ascending the cleft. Blood swirls within my core. My mouth parts on a silent moan as he teases the wet opening, drawing around my swollen skin to the point where I’m soaked and muttering who knows what.
He takes his time, grazing the contours while peering at my flushed face, then outlines the tiny root of flesh poised above my center. I’m a quavering mess, throbbing as he dabs and circles around the crest, a million nerve-endings springing to life. I surrender, pleading nonsense, and he yields, giving me his touch.
With an appreciative noise, he sinks a finger into me. My muscles flutter around him, the slick glide of his digit pushing a cry from my mouth—then another as he adds a second digit. I bow into him, my knees steepling higher astride his waist, my buttocks gyrating across the moss-covered rock.
Cerulean hits a spot that pinches, torments. Then he withdraws…and slips in again…and again…and again. With each thrust, I grow damper, pooling around his fingers. Helpless moans skitter into the enclosure, demanding more, please more.
“That’s it,” Cerulean encourages. “Give me that exquisite sound.”
