Chapter 7 #2
It’s warm and natural feeling, better than any lube I’ve ever felt. I take him easily, lightning running down my spine when he crooks his finger and rubs my prostate. “More,” I breathe. “Fuck. Give me more.”
He repeats the motion, gathering his precome, and soon he has three fingers inside me while I writhe, sobbing out incomprehensible words, my head tilted to the sky, and my eyes blind.
I’m burning up. His skin is hot everywhere I touch, and when my sweat hits him, I’m sure I hear it sizzle. I run my hands over his broad chest, scratching his nipples and hearing him gasp.
“Fuck me now,” I say, rising in his lap.
“You are sure?”
I nod. “Now.”
His cock kisses my opening, and I hover for a moment, teasing us both, but then my patience runs out, and I lower myself. I move slowly, but I don’t need to. My body opens like I’m a lock and he’s my key—my flesh the perfect fit as he slides in.
I cling to him, kissing his lips and then pulling away to shower kisses on his nose and cheeks. “Oh fuck, you’re so deep inside me.”
“Is it good?” he asks, his voice harsh with the strain of keeping his control.
Instead of answering him, I fasten my hands on his shoulders to get my balance, and then I start to move.
I slide up and down, keeping the pace torturously slow and feeling his hands digging into my hips.
He’ll leave bruises, and I can’t wait to see them tomorrow.
All the while, his cock piercing rubs over my prostate, lighting me up like the national grid.
He watches me, his mouth open as he pants. His hair is wet and clinging to his face, his eyes wild. I see the moment his control snaps, and he cups my buttocks and rams up into me in short, hard strokes.
I scream loudly, and he moans in reply, his hips pistoning. We move together like a well-oiled machine, and I writhe in his lap, gasping my pleasure into the night.
“You’re like a flame in my arms,” he grunts.
I kiss him, open-mouthed, panting as he moves me.
His hands fall away, and he grips the stone wall behind him. “You drive me mad, elskling,” he mutters.
I twine my fingers into his hair, tugging at the strands, feeling my thighs burn as I lift up and nearly off him, hovering with the head of his cock just inside my opening. Then it pops back in, and I shove down again, riding him furiously, sensing the finish line.
“I’m going to come,” I gasp.
“Yes.” He reaches for my cock, and I bat his hand away, my eyes blind as I search for it.
“Oh,” he says brokenly. “You are going to come without—”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because I’m there. I grind down on his cock, my hands on his shoulders, and feeling the sparks race over my skin. I groan as I come over his chiselled abdomen.
He guides me through it, his hands firm and endearments dropping from his lips.
“Come in me,” I slur.
He grips my waist and shoves me back, pressing my body urgently against the ground. I wind my legs around him as he thrusts deeply again.
“So good, so sweet,” he chants. “Oh, it’s so sweet.” His voice fractures, and his hips pick up speed.
There’s a sudden pressure in my hole. “Oh my god,” I breathe. “What is that? I think you’re getting even bigger.”
His eyes widen in alarm, and before I can tell him that it feels fantastic, he pulls out.
Then I’m crying out as he strokes his cock over me, marking my skin with thick stripes of come.
It seems to last forever, yet when it ends, it’s much too soon.
He falls onto me, and I wrap my arms and legs around him, feeling the warm come smudge between us as we kiss.
After a few moments where we struggle to catch our breaths, he rolls onto his back, cuddling me against the length of his body. The air is warm with his magic, and everything feels good. I tip my head to meet his eyes. “What was it that happened right before you came—when you got bigger inside me?”
He breathes deeply, snuggling me closer. “That was wonderful, my Cary.”
“It was the best,” I say, forgetting my question.
I stir, trying to push away a thought that’s been at the back of my mind since I found out his secret. I can’t stop my next words. They come out unbidden with the force of a thunderbolt. “That’s why I can’t believe you’re doing it with me.”
“What?” He sounds completely incredulous.
I cover my face, feeling my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. Then I mutter, “You’re this amazing magical being and I’m just me. Boring Cary Sutton.”
There’s a brief moment of silence, and then he pulls my arm away. His face is gentle and curious. “But mayhap Cary Sutton is exactly what I need. Mayhap he is curious, clever, fierce, and kind.”
The simplicity and honesty in his voice floors me, and I bury my head in his shoulder and speak into his neck. “Thank you.”
He hugs me tightly. “I think we should ask a much more important question.” His tone is deliberately light, and I know he’s changing the subject to gloss over my sudden awkwardness. I feel a wave of gratitude towards him.
“Oh yes?”
“How do we get home when we are now stuck together?”
I pinch him, and our laughter floats like the sparks of his magic into the velvety blue night.
I come awake the next morning in a tumble of warm bed linen that smells of my dragon. I stretch, feeling the twinge in my arse with satisfaction. We’d made love all night.
Record scratch. Made love?
My eyes fly open. Fucked. That’s what we did.
My worries appeased, I look around for Sigurd. The bed is empty, and I can hear whistling coming from another room. I sigh happily and then must leap a foot in the air when there’s a loud crack and a shrill voice says from Sig’s pillow, “You look well served this morning, Master Cary.”
“What the hell?” I gasp, rising to a crouch and then, as an afterthought, clutching the sheets to my groin.
Wilfred has appeared and is sitting cross-legged on the pillow. I catch a glimpse of gold coins, and then he holds up his hand. The coins fall from it, there’s a soft chinking sound, and they vanish. “Good morrow,” he says cheerfully.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
He cocks his head, his mouse eyes bright and knowing. “I thought to see you. You are very handsome with such lovely curls and eyes the colour of the sea when the sun shines through the depths.”
His voice is far too innocent, and I narrow my eyes. “Bullshit,” I say, interrupting his monologue.
“What does that mean?”
“It means rubbish. Why are you really here?”
“Bullshit,” he says, slowly trying it out. “What a lovely word. I shall use it when I see my kindred next.”
“Oh no, don’t,” I jerk out.
“Why not?”
“It isn’t very polite.” I quickly change the subject. “So, why are you here, and I know it’s not for my stupendous locks and seaside eyes.”
He waves a careless hand. “Ah, the piskey community is curious about you.”
“Why?”
He opens his mouth to reply and then shuts it again.
After a moment, he says in an offhand manner, “We are a nosy race. Anyway, I promised an exact accounting of your condition.” He laughs lustily.
“And my, you look as if you were eaten alive. Did the dragon go without his supper and feast on you instead?”
I look down at the love bites that are strewn across my torso. One big one stretches down towards my groin, and I adjust the sheets. “Well, it was nice of you to visit,” I say briskly. “Maybe next time reserve a slot in the day when I’m likely to be wearing clothes.”
“Ah, I do not think the dragon will allow that awful state of affairs to happen very much. Anyway, I suppose it is always nice for you to see me.” I laugh, and he smiles up at me.
Then he stretches out his legs and admires his shoes.
The buckles are so highly polished that they sparkle with a brilliant shine.
“I like your shoes,” I say.
He preens a little, his weathered face happy. “Thankee. My grandfather always said that tidy feet lead to a tidy mind.”
“Is that true?”
He shrugs. “He died riding a snail, so sometimes I doubt his wisdom.” I blink, and he turns to me, wagging a tiny finger. “But tell no one that. 'Tis our secret.”
“I shall take it to the grave,” I say solemnly.
I hear the sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps coming down the corridor.
Wilfred winks at me. “And so I went to Boscastle and found a brewer of beer,” he says in a breathless voice. “But the beer was bad, and I had a fearful headache for weeks. And then my cousin bought some ribbons from a fae trader and—"
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t always talk so quickly and full of rubbish, do you?” I whisper.
His grin shows all his little sharp teeth. “Ah, Cary. The dragon told you that piskies love mischief. He is na?ve enough to think we only practice it on humans.”
“You’re very naughty.” I’m fighting the urge to laugh.
He chuckles. “And it is such fun to watch him open and shut that big mouth of his, unable to think what to say.” The door starts to open, and he launches into more of his monologue. “The ribbons were too gaudy, and my aunt said only a light-skirted piskey would wear such a thing.”
Sigurd peers around the door. He gives a beaming smile when he sees me, but then he sighs wearily. “Oh no. Why are you here, annoying piskey?”
“He’s visiting,” I say primly.
Sigurd groans. “Why are we suddenly on your visiting list, Wilfred? Surely there is someone far more deserving of your company.”
Wilfred cocks his head. “Someone who has done as much good for the community as you, I warrant.”
“No,” Sigurd snaps. “Someone who has done a lot worse.”
I can’t help but laugh, and he looks at me, his whole face lighting up. “Such a lovely sound,” he says and shoots an irritated look at the piskey. “Much nicer than your voice.”
Wilfred stands up. “I thought to see Cary this morning.”
“Why?” Sigurd asks rather warily.
The piskey shrugs. “Is he not worth looking at every morning?”
“Yes, and much too nice a person to be subjected to your chatter before he breaks his fast.”
As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, and Wilfred gives a merry laugh.
“You had best feed that monster before it consumes the world.” He offers me a very formal bow, taking off his hat and flourishing it before me. “Cary, I shall see you again.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?” Sigurd says waspishly and then gives the tiny creature his usual kind smile. “You honour my house with your presence, piskey.”
“Really?” Wilfred asks with a lively curiosity.
“No, but it sounded nice.”
The piskey gives a hearty chuckle, and then there’s a crack, and he vanishes, a trail of sparks twinkling for a few seconds in the air before disappearing.
Sigurd turns to me, and my belly warms at the soft expression on his face. “You slept well, Cary?”
“Is that a question or an observation?”
His mouth twitches. “’Tis merely a statement coming from the recipient of your snores.”
“Oh my god, I don’t snore,” I say, fighting laughter.
“Cary, I have lived for centuries and been in the thick of battles with all their chaos and noise, yet your snores were still louder.”
I give up and break into laughter. “Oh, shut up.”
He comes closer, taking my chin in his big hand and staring into my eyes.
This close, I can see the coppery flecks in his.
He smiles and drops a kiss on my mouth. It’s soft and so affectionate that it makes me feel a bit funny.
It’s such a stark contrast to the way he is during sex, when he’s wild and deliciously forceful.
He settles down to sit cross-legged on the bed, watching me with a merry look on his face.
His hair is loose over his shoulders, some of it gathered in a small plait on the side, giving him a Viking appearance.
I’ve seen men wear this hairstyle, but I’d bet none of them were actually around when it first became fashionable.
He’s wearing jeans and a T-Rex concert T-shirt from 1976.
The shirt appears old enough to be genuine, and I’m reminded again of how old this man, who looks like a student, actually is.
“Do you ever age?” I ask.
He smiles. “Ah, we have begun the day’s questions. Could you give me a few seconds to prepare?”
“I’m only sorry my sleep interrupted them.”
He laughs and then sobers. “When we reach the age of twenty-five, our ageing process stops.”
“Really?”
He nods. “We stay the same then, for good or bad. You can imagine it can cause problems amongst humans, so we tend to retreat into our halls at intervals.”
“And what do you do there?”
“One such time I taught myself to cook.”
“I’m very thankful for that,” I say fervently and his mouth twitches.
“Other times we read, we sleep, and if we are fortunate, we hear poetry and plays on the breeze.”
I cock my head. “But you’re out and about now. What caused that?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? Mayhap I just awoke.” His words are casual, but there’s something concealed beneath them.
I sense deep emotion, but I know already that he’s not going to tell me about it.
Fair enough. I don’t appreciate people who pry as if they’re entitled to your secrets—like they can turn you upside down and shake you until they come tumbling out.
I opt for an easy question instead. “Does that mean you’re going back to teaching again?”
He stretches his long torso, the muscles beneath his thin T-shirt visible. “Mayhap I will. It is perhaps time.” He lowers his arms. “But that is in the future. I am more eager to explore my time with you, elskling.”
“It’s only a few days until Christmas Eve,” I say regretfully.
“Then we must make the best of it.”
“So, what are we doing today? Breakfast?” I ask hopefully.
“Yes, indeed, but I need to go to St Ives. I thought we could eat there. There is a little shop that does the best breakfast rolls. What do you think?”
I nod, unable to hide my smile. “It sounds good.” He looks pleased as if my happiness means something to him. I’ve never had that before, and it’s curiously seductive. “Are we flying?”
“Ah, you like that?”
“It’s unbelievably wonderful,” I say honestly, and his eyes sparkle like sunshine on the waves.
“I am glad you think so,” he says solemnly. “But today I will drive. I need to stop into the shop a friend of mine owns and pick up some house supplies.” He leans in and snatches a kiss, his lips soft and warm on mine.
I run my hand through his thick hair and tug him back, taking another kiss from him and smiling when he gives a lusty laugh.
“I’ll get dressed.”