Chapter 30
Lyra
I USED TO DREAD MY Saturdays with Cairn. Now I spend the whole week being excited for them, looking forward to the early-morning walk down to his hut, hoping I might have the chance to steal a touch or a kiss when we’re alone.
Today’s no different. We spend the morning raking more leaves and mulching more garden beds.
I never noticed how much landscaping there is around the academy until Cairn started assigning me wheelbarrows of mulch and telling me where to put it.
Now I realize just how extensive the work is that Cairn has done around here.
Plants and flowers are tucked into almost every nook and cranny around the castle, and he cares for them all.
These days, whenever I see ivy crawling up the stone or broad-petaled flowers reaching for the sun, I think of him.
Well, honestly, I think of him most of the time. Especially since Samhain.
My pussy isn’t sore from being stretched anymore; it took a couple days for the slight ache to fade, and now I’m hungry for it again.
Even now, as I watch Cairn rake leaves, his tunic stretched tight across his broad chest, his horns curling over his head in the thin gray light, I think about how his fingers and thumbs felt inside me, how heavy his cock was in my hands.
He looks over at me, his dark eyes meeting mine with a jolt, and a little tingle of anticipation dances through my low belly.
“What is it?” he asks, voice deep and rumbly.
I give him a small smile. “Just admiring you.”
Despite the beautiful brown tint of his cheeks, I can still see his skin flush red. He flicks his thin tail and glances around—I already know no one’s out here in the cold—then meets my eyes again. “You’re supposed to be raking,” he grumbles, but I can hear a hint of bashfulness in his tone.
I heft my rake and quickly attack a few colorful leaves, stepping closer to Cairn with every scratch of the metal tines along the moist ground.
By the time I get the leaves added to his pile, I’m only an arm’s length from him—close enough I can smell woodsmoke clinging to his clothes and hair.
He must’ve been sitting beside the fire this morning, perhaps with another steaming dandelion latte.
I wish I could’ve been with him.
As I look up into his dark eyes, a bit of sadness settles over me. Alina’s voice echoes in my mind: You have to be careful. If you get caught, who knows what’ll happen . . .
I don’t want to get expelled, and I really don’t want Cairn to lose his job. But I want him so badly. And the simmering look in his eyes tells me he feels the same way.
How do we make this work? I’ve got two and a half more years at the academy. Will we have to sneak around for that long, hiding our nights together and being nervous someone could find us out? That might be fun for a little while, but in the long term . . . Would it even be sustainable?
I bite my lip. Cairn’s gaze follows the movement, and his nostrils flutter as he lets out a deep sigh.
“Do you have anything to eat?” I ask. I’m not actually hungry—well, not for food, anyway—but if by some chance someone is listening in, it’ll sound innocent enough. “I’m not sure I can rake another leaf without having some brunch first.”
Cairn glances around again, acting more cautious than usual. I wonder what has him so on edge. He doesn’t find anyone watching; I’ve already looked. Then he nods. “Let’s get this pile picked up, then we’ll take a break to eat.”
One more leaf pile, I tell myself. Then I can get him alone.
WELL, AS IT TURNS OUT, Cairn made us clean up three more leaf piles, and now I actually am hungry.
My stomach grumbles pathetically as we walk back to his hut.
The air has grown colder, and thick dark clouds have moved in, ushered along by a bone-chilling wind.
There’s a scent of moisture to the air, and if Maeve were here, she’d probably tell me a storm’s about to hit.
But that’s just fine with me. I wouldn’t mind an excuse to get trapped in Cairn’s hut for a while.
Please, weather gods, send a deluge to strand me here forever!
Cairn wipes his hooves on the doormat, then opens the door for me and steps to the side, gesturing for me to go first. I do the same, wiping the mud and leaf matter off my boots, then slip into his hut.
The air is warm and smells of fresh-baked bread. Immediately, I yank off my boots, then pad across the wooden floors in my thick socks in search of the fluffy goodness Cairn must’ve baked this morning.
I find it sitting on a bread stand in the center of the kitchen table—the table where Cairn spread my thighs and made me cum so hard my legs shook. The reminder makes my cheeks tingle with heat.
“Take a seat,” Cairn says as he appears in the kitchen beside me. His arm brushes mine lightly as he moves past me. “You like cinnamon toast?”
I scoff. “Of course I like cinnamon toast. Who doesn’t?”
Cairn tosses a glance back at me. “People who are allergic to cinnamon.”
I roll my eyes and plop myself down into a chair at the table. “You’re no fun.”
His lips pull up on one side as he fetches a couple small plates, a shaker of cinnamon, and a little jar of sugar. He returns to the table and cuts us two slices of bread, then smears them with butter and sprinkles cinnamon and sugar over the top. My mouth waters. My stomach grumbles again.
“You really are hungry,” Cairn says as he puts one of the plates in front of me. “Did you eat breakfast?”
I shake my head and take a big bite of the still-warm bread. It’s fluffy and almost melts in my mouth, and the cinnamon sugar makes me sigh in happiness. Around the bite, I say, “No.”
Cairn takes a seat across from me. His dark eyes narrow slightly. “Why not? I’ve told you to eat breakfast before you come.”
I shrug. After swallowing down my bread, I give him a small smile and say, “I was too excited to see you.”
There his cheeks go again, turning a little bit red. Is this a new thing, or was I just not paying enough attention before to see the way the color dances so beautifully across his skin? I decide I like it. A lot. It makes me want to say more things that’ll make him blush.
“So . . .” I take another bite of bread and tip my head at him. He looks at me like he’s worried about what I’m going to say next. That’s probably fair. “Have you missed me?”
His laughter is sudden and wonderful. He leans back in his chair, making it creak a bit beneath his weight, and then reaches up to scratch his beard. “It’s not been so long since we last saw each other.”
I give him a little smirk. “Is that a yes? You can admit it.”
One of his brows pulls up in the corner. I hold his gaze as I finish up my slice of cinnamon-sugar bread, not letting him off the hook so easily. When I don’t break our stare, he shakes his head and lets out another deep sigh.
“Yes,” he says at long last. The word is quiet, like it’s supposed to be a secret. “I missed you.”
My heart squeezes so hard I think it might pop. I lick the sugar from my fingers, then push up from my chair and twirl toward Cairn before plopping myself into his lap and wrapping my hands around his strong neck. He sits back suddenly, blinking in surprise.
“I knew it,” I say. My fingers play with the soft brown curls along his nape. Then my gaze lifts to his horns curling over his head. They’re ridged slightly, and their tips are tapered and sharp. I start to reach for one, then pause and say, “Can I . . . ?”
He gives a small nod.
Slowly, I continue to reach out. When my fingers meet Cairn’s horn, he softens a bit, some of the tension going out of his body.
I touch the base of the horn first, where it meets his head and is covered by his thick dark hair.
It’s warm, perhaps from the blood flowing beneath.
Then my fingers dance up the curling length.
The horn is smooth between the ridges, and it’s cooler the farther from the base I go.
It narrows into a sharp point, and I brush my thumb across it, feeling the slight bite against my skin.
“They’re amazing,” I whisper, admiring how even the gray autumn light slipping through the kitchen window makes them gleam.
Cairn huffs out a little breath. “You think so?”
“Mm-hmm.” I let my fingers glide back down the curling horn, and Cairn shivers. I glance down at him. “Can you feel that?”
He nods. “The closer to the base, the more I can feel it.”
Hmm.
I glide my fingers around the base of his horn, noting how his eyelids flutter closed for a moment. “And does it feel . . . good?”
Since I sat down on him, Cairn has kept his hands off me, one curled into a fist on the table and the other alongside his thigh. But now he reaches for me, his warm fingers finding the dip of my waist. He tips his head a bit so he can meet my eyes. “Everything you do feels good.”
Now he’s the one making my cheeks warm.
I shift atop him, letting my legs fall along either side of his hips. He tenses up again, and beneath me, his length twitches.
Sliding my hands down his warm, firm chest, I whisper, “Can we do it again?”
I know full well he’s aware of what I’m asking, but he plays innocent. “Do what again?”
In reply, I take his hand and guide it from my waist up my chest, settling it over my breast. “Stretch me.”
His cock twitches again, his nostrils flaring and his tail flicking my calf. The pad of his thumb brushes my nipple through my sweater, and he squeezes it softly.
Then he abruptly clears his throat and drops his hand, making me pout.
“No. We’ve got more mulching to do. And raking. Mulching and raking.”