Chapter Five #2
“My favorite.” Grinning, I caught both her ankles and draped her knees over my shoulders, then spread her pussy lips with my fingers.
I studied the slick rose folds in dick-stiffening anticipation, then leaned in to press my open mouth over her luscious sex.
I started licking and suckling with all the skill Elin Wynne had taught me when I survived my final duel.
I used every one of those lessons as I explored Iona’s exquisite body. Gods and devils, she was wet. With a growl of anticipation, I buried my face between her long thighs, breathing in her musk, tasting her, glorying in her with every tongue stroke.
To my delight, I heard her gasp, felt both hands fisting in my hair.
“Dearg!” Her voice sounded strangled, and I smiled in satisfaction against her sweet, wet rose.
Dancing my tongue over her pearl of a clit, I sought out each delicate bundle of nerves, then played with them until she writhed in my arms, gasping, hunching in desperation. So, so close.
“DEARRRRRG!” The scream echoed across the room as she pumped her hips. I could feel, smell, taste her orgasm gathering…
Iona lifted her head and gave me a sharp goddess bark. “That’s enough!”
I froze, wondering what I’d done wrong.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she growled, and threw herself off the cushion, landing in my arms with a splash. I was so surprised, I almost dropped her, but she wound her long legs around my waist again.
My entire nervous system seemed to spark and snap as she reached down, grabbed my cock, and aimed it upward. And pushed it deep in a hard, fast impalement. “Dragon’s egg!” I grabbed for her ass, intending to start thrusting, but she caught my face in both hands and forced me to meet her gaze.
“All those women were goddamn idiots,” she snarled. “You’re amazing, and if I ever visit your palace, I swear by Maeve’s Forge I’m going to call out every one of them and chop them into bite-size bitch kibble.”
I blinked at her savagery but forgot my surprise as she began to buck and pump, grinding on my cock as she stared into my eyes as if she could see my soul.
The slick pleasure of her cunt was so exquisite, I had to wrench my body back under control to keep from coming.
But my self-control was, by the Egg, better than that, and I held it off, determined she’d damn well climax first.
Iona still challenged every bit of discipline I had with her slick, tight grip milking my cock.
I met her stroke for stroke with her power thundering through me.
As entranced as any mortal in a fairy tale, I stared into her lovely face, watching the magic glow and snap in those peridot eyes.
Her small white teeth were set, her expression fierce as our hips slapped a deliciously filthy rhythm.
She threw her head back and screamed out her pleasure. As if the sound were permission, my own orgasm tore up from my balls like a firestorm, my bellow of pleasure threatening to spiral into a wolf howl. I fought it until she yelled, “Don’t you dare! Give me all of it. All. Of. It.”
I howled as I’d never howled in my life, locked in a climax fiercer than any I’d ever known.
* * *
Iona
Dearg’s wolf howl made my ears ring, and I grinned in triumph at pleasuring the prince who’d been treated with contempt from too many past lovers, son of a king or no.
What the fuck was wrong with those damn fairies?
Didn’t they see what a mind-blowing lover he is?
Well, their loss was my gain. The muscles in my legs were still twitching and my entire nervous system rang as hard as my ears.
Cachamwri’s Egg, the man is good.
As I tightened my grip on his broad, powerful back, a thought stole into my head: Can I keep him? I bit my lip to keep from giggling and told myself sternly that he wasn’t a puppy. Anyway, dog jokes were definitely not appropriate.
Dearg sagged against me, my power telling me his knees were shaking. He promptly lifted me onto the silk mattress he’d conjured and climbed onto it with me. Pulling me into his arms, he rolled us both so he was on the bottom.
Because of course he did.
We fell into a doze together, drifting in bliss.
Then his stomach growled so loudly, I thought it was his wolf until my own rumbled in agreement.
I tried to remember the last time I’d eaten.
Couldn’t. And if I couldn’t, it had probably been even longer for Dearg.
Which, given the metabolism of werewolves, made me a truly lousy hostess. “Guess that’s my cue.”
I rolled off him and sat up. Reaching for my magic, I summoned a couple of dinners from the stasis cabinet in the kitchen.
“There’s a Brounie in town who’s Maeve’s Gift in the kitchen,” I told him, handing him a conjured fork.
“I stock up on her meals once a week. They don’t last any longer than that. ”
His brows lifted. “Sounds like her stasis spell needs work,” he joked, sitting up, gloriously nude.
“There’s nothing wrong with her spells.” I popped open the Styrofoam box to break the stasis spell cut into the box lid.
Steam instantly puffed from roast xyvexi with its surrounding selection of Sidhe delicacies.
A wave of my fingers summoned two glasses and a pitcher of honeystar tea, and we tucked in.
When both the meals and the tea were gone, he dissolved our cushion. I towed him over to the bed that stood beside the pool and we tumbled into it, asleep minutes later.
* * *
I woke with my own scream echoing in my ears. “No! Olwydd!”
“Iona!” Dearg exploded out of the bed and hit the ground transforming, fur rolling black over his skin, his body growing into his towering Dire Wolf form, crouched and scanning the room for threats.
“It’s okay,” I gasped, falling back on the bed, panting as if I’d run a marathon. “Just a nightmare.”
The prince stared down at me, breathing hard, his glowing eyes too wide over his fanged, snarling mouth. He looked as if he wanted to tear something’s throat out. “Who in the Egg’s name is Olwydd? Because he definitely needs killing if he made you scream like that.”
“He’s already dead. Helen Donovan -- Maeve’s werewolf -- killed him twenty years ago.”
He grunted, lips peeling off his fangs. “Too bad. I was looking forward to ripping out his heart and eating it.”
I eyed him. “Just what did I say during that dream?”
His opalescent gaze slid away from mine. “Nothing.”
Fuck. Pissing shit fuck. I’d made an idiot out of myself. Again. I grabbed a pillow and pressed it over my face, knowing talking about my freakout would only earn me another nightmare.
When I looked up, Dearg had transformed back to his Sidhe form. He crawled back into bed with me, then pulled me firmly into his arms with the air of a man who’d fight trolls for me.
My body was still vibrating, shuddering with leftover childhood terror. Softly at first, then more loudly, Dearg began to sing one of the few Sidhe love songs that didn’t end in tragedy, his voice rich, deep, the notes rising and falling, so beautiful goose bumps rose on my arms.
I don’t know why I was so surprised. I should have known that mellow baritone of his would make a damn good singing voice. When he finished, he began another -- something slow and deep -- and I slept without dreaming the rest of the night.
* * *
The next morning, we ate breakfast in the kitchen nook -- omelets and home fries I’d cooked myself. I wanted to prove I could do more than take a stasis spell off takeout. I was in the middle of my second cup of coffee when a communication spell from King Ll?r Galatyn bloomed above the table.
I was struck all over again by how incredibly handsome the king was. As I studied that perfect Sidhe face, I saw the resemblance to Dearg. Still, I found the prince more handsome than his father -- a little more human, a little less like the marble statue of a god.
“I have arranged for the family notification,” Ll?r said. “Unfortunately, Prince Swiftdeath means to meet you at the dimensional gate and escort you to meet the victim’s parents.” He grimaced. “And wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Do you have their names?” Dearg asked.
The king nodded. “Hammerthunder is Baareo’s father, while Phinarpia Darkmoon Cosmagio is his mother.
Skykick is his younger brother.” Skykick and Darkmoon were warriors’ names, so mother and son must have fought in one of the many ‘taur wars to earn them. Baareo, by contrast, had still gone by his mother’s clan name.
“Swiftdeath’s involvement means you’ll need full court garb and a royal escort, since he’ll have eight bodyguards. ”
“I expected as much. We’ll need to pick up the body from the mayor, who did an autopsy.” At his father’s lifted brow, Dearg explained, “His throat was slit, apparently while he was asleep -- there was no sign of defensive wounds.”
The king winced. “His parents are going to hate that he was unable to defend himself. It’ll be considered a dishonor to the family name.”
“Which is why I need to pick up a few things for his mother,” I told them.
The king frowned, looking uneasy. Probably afraid I’d accidentally offend the Centauri. “What things?”
“His movies.”
“Ah. Good thinking -- I’m sure his mother will want to see them.” Ll?r waved a hand. “You’ve got an hour. Will that be long enough?”
“Yes, sire,” Dearg said.
* * *
We went to the mayor’s house to collect Baareo’s body, and I asked Vildra for several other items. One was technically evidence, but one way or another there wouldn’t be a trial.
I conjured a bier properly carved with pictures of the Centauri gods, then floated Baareo over and laid him atop it.
The mayor’s spellwork was as skillful as always, and now he appeared to be sleeping rather than murdered.
Finally, Dearg and I painted him with the mystical Centauri symbols that promised his spirit revenge on his murderer.