And unlike you, I can take the gamble.
So that’s what he’s after, while I’m willing and laid out like a feast. Fine by me.
Let’s see what this Fae can do. Let’s see how long we last. Let’s see—
My breath hitches as that sly gust sketches the flesh around my knees, tracing the scars made by countless chimneys, countless pits of darkness. A raw and achy emotion wells in my throat. He changes course, his pace delicate across the knobs of my knees, the wind grazing its lips over those old wounds.
The rawness in my throat gets worse. Lots of blokes have yanked those knees apart in a hurry. None of them have paid my scars any mind.
Tonight, my skin tingles there. My joints go limp into the mattress, and the sheets sigh across the bed. It’s all I can do to maintain an ounce of resilience, to hold my own against this. I’d counted on wicked moves, but I hadn’t counted on this one.
Maybe neither had he, because the breeze slips and retreats for a second. I whine and pitch my knees high, searching for him. Then the gust returns and reshapes itself, taking on the texture of a mouth that licks a path between my sloped thighs. My eyes clench shut, the stillness of my body amplifying the sensations.
Nevertheless, when that draft splits between my thighs and sweeps them far apart, my hips buck. The wind snakes around my waist, restraining me until I calm down. By now, my center is swollen and slick with moisture.
But the draft bypasses my pelvis, gliding up to my navel and between the points of my breasts. At my collarbones, the onslaught forks, coasting north with an agenda. It grasps each of my wrists, links around them, and extends them over my head, pinning me to the pillows.
My gasp punctuates the movement, my eyes flaring open. I arch my spine. My tits lift proudly, my nipples stiffening under the nightgown. Even at this angle, I see them poking through the garment.
And I see the wind. Now that he’s shown me, I see it.
The silvery blue vapor is weightless, hovering over me. Sprawled beneath, I dart my tongue across my lips and blow humid air. “Cerulean.”
That sets off a chain reaction. The wind whisks in a discreet direction, veering downward. The nightgown bunches around my hips, exposing my core to him, every wet and wanting part of me. Open like this, I feel the sharpness of his gaze—the dark, mesmerized thrall.
My groin thrums. The nub protruding my body pulsates, desperate for friction. If he doesn’t fix this, I’m going to scream.
A second later, the wind dives, looping into the rift between my legs and curving up my slit. In one prolonged pass, it slides along the gap that leads into me and ascends to the tiny crest hidden within the curls.
On a shocked cry, I go taut as a noose. My body whips off the mattress and bows upward.
The wind narrows—and tastes me. Quick flicks lap up the soaked opening, feeding on the dampness. It’s almost the same as a tongue, but not quite. It’s something more, without edges or limitations.
Therefore, it reaches deeper.
The pressure tapers to a point and works me into a frenzy. Each lash is agonizingly gentle, whipping against my folds, drenching me anew. It licks me relentlessly, over and over, coaxing out more wetness. My entire being reduces to the place where my arousal floods this wind.
I’m feverish all over, humid and sweating. When the wind fans out the walls of private flesh and dabs into my tight, slick passage, I’m ruined.
“Oh, fuck,” I stammer.
I lurch from the bed, my pelvis grinding itself into thin air. My head thrashes, and my hands fist the sheets, and I can hear someone sobbing with pleasure.
It’s me. And the guttural noise carving through the air is him.
I imagine his head bobbing between my shaky thighs. That diabolical tongue of wind flexes in and out, drawing on my moans, each one louder than the next. Then out of nowhere, the gust withdraws and flies toward that sweet ridge of nerves.
Oh, my Fables. Yes.
My mouth falls open, disjointed cries falling from my lips as my apex grinds against the wind. It dashes over that peak, stroking and teasing, doing endless damage.
At last, it latches and suctions around the soft flesh. The hot tug moves with short, swift pulls, yanking stuttered noises from my mouth. I’m shouting, weeping for more. I need it to end, and I’m desperate for it to last a lifetime.
I can’t take this, I can’t, I can’t.
But I will.
My pelvis chases the wind, chases the shape of his touch. Then my body seizes up. And I spring apart, a great convulsion of heat bursting from my core.
