By the Light of the Moon (22 page)

“You have … things in your head, too?”

“Something like that.” He exhaled through his nose, nostrils shivering under the expelled air. He had started to wrap her hair into a ring around his finger and then smiled sadly, tugging just a little until she tilted her head and he could kiss her again. Slow at first, but growing and growing in depth.

When he finally turned around, he tugged his trousers down and kicked off his shoes. Tugging down the rest of her dress and undergarments, he fully joined her on the bed and she curled against him, there on the sheets. He radiated heat and still he was convinced that through some miracle, she radiated light; his beautiful Momo.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t ask and she didn’t stop him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly, not ready to let him go. Her breasts pressed against his chest and still they were kissing, heating each other until neither of them could breathe easily and his hand was cupping at a cheek of her rear. It made her gasp and moan when he grabbed harder, pulling at it so that the cheeks parted and she could feel a breeze touching her creamy, wet flower. Another moan, and her wide eyes landed on his, silvery brown and alive in the candlelight.

“Do you want me to stop?” he finally asked after all, forcing the words out one by one, quiet and raw.

Shaking her head was the only sign she was capable of as the torrent of new feelings invaded her body and her mind. He helped her open her legs and rest her thigh against his hip so that he could reach between them, careful fingers outlining the slippery, swollen edges of her labia, spreading her wetness without truly intruding.

“Breathe, little Momo,” he reminded her with a smile when she just stared at him, mouth open wide without any sound escaping. Almost instantly, she coughed the rest of air out of her lungs and smiled at him, wide-eyed and wondering.

And then he slipped his fingers between the twin folds of skin and fire, dragging the moisture down from her entrance up to the little numb that tended to pulsate sometimes and which she had touched that day after their first kiss. She inhaled again with a loud gasp — the feeling didn’t compare to anything in the world. Her lips moved as though she was trying to say something but no sound escaped her throat, just little whimpers when he started to circle the nub, slowly at first until her eyes rolled back and her mouth stood wide open — and then he kissed her again. It was hard this time, hard and demanding. In the corner of his eyes, he could see her hands flailing on the sheets, grasping and letting go, grasping and letting go.

Carefully, he lifted his hand off the sheet, where he had been supporting his weight. Pressing two fingers against her swollen nub, he found her hand, interlocked their fingers and gently moved it high up over her head, stretching her body a little as he smiled down at her.

“So beautiful,” he exhaled and found her other hand and moved it where the first was still waiting. Encircling both of her finely boned wrists and holding them down above her head, he started to move his fingers again, faster now and pressing against it with more force until he had to kiss her again to quell her loud moans.

It was when her hips started to wriggle and her feet to kick in the air that he moved them again to make her whine aloud, in protest and plead all at once. Instead, he moved it to her entrance, slipping a finger past the ring of skin. She was so wet, she almost sucked him in, gasping and shuddering against his mouth while he pressed his large erection against her thigh.

One finger soon became two, testing, gently loosening her tight opening. Owain had large hands, calloused from years and years of handling weapons and Moira could feel every crevasse, every pore and line on his harder skin, rubbing inside of her and making her want to die or explode or come to some kind of conclusion while at the same time, never, never stopping.

When he pushed deeper, he found a small obstruction. Carefully, he inspected it, pushing against it, trying to widen the opening while she moaned under him. The responsibility struck him, almost scared him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this, certainly never to a human girl — woman, he reminded himself. But what woman had never shared pleasure with a man? He blinked and then pressed his eyes shut for a long time. He knew human customs; if anyone found out about this, she would be ruined; her whole family would be. And yet, he couldn’t stop. Not when he wanted her so much, needed her; not when she was lying there, begging him to go on with every gasping breath and every moaning exhale.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked in the end, pushing against the tiny ring of skin again. Moira, however, shook her head fast and hard. For a long moment, she managed to keep her eyes open, feverish and shining.

“Please … ?” she whispered, “Please … ?”

He wasn’t sure she knew exactly what she was asking for but she was asking and he couldn’t deny those eyes of hers. Those luminous, emerald eyes.

Slipping out his fingers, he brought them back to that little nub, rubbing another few moments until she was all but goo underneath him, wriggling and billowing. His hand found his cock and he said a silent prayer to the moon
. Don’t let me hurt her. Please, don’t let me hurt her.

He brought it against her slit, rubbing it up and down the slippery fold a few times before he gently started to push against her entrance.

“Breathe … ” he had to whisper again. This time, she was actively holding her breath. “Breathe, little Momo.”

When she did, he breached her entrance and his mouth quickly stifled her loud moan. Slowly now, he reminded himself, trying to hold on for dear life, nibbling at her lips, sucking one by one into his mouth and slowly, slowly pushing just the head in and out, in and out, a little deeper each time.

He heard her mumble his name against his lips, vows neither of them would be allowed to keep and finally, he pulled back and pushed in fast — breaking the ring of skin in one swift motion as his hand tightened around her wrist and her lips vibrated against his with her muffled cry.

He halted inside of her for a long moment, pulling back enough to look at her, check on her. But Moira raised the corners of her lips in a shaky, needy smile and he kissed them both — the right one and the left one and then the dimple on each cheek as well before he pulled out and pushed in again.

Slowly, he allowed himself to take more of what he needed and his strokes became longer and harder. He started to nuzzle against her neck, licking and biting like the wolf inside him needed to. “Momo,” he exhaled and heard her whimper his name like an echo, a much prettier one in his mind.

After holding back for so long, Owain knew he neither could, nor should, draw it out for too long, he managed to reach between them, find her nub again and rubbed.

Moira was floating and at the same time, felt like she was being hammered deep into the ground, into the earth’s cavernous depth. Everything felt vibrant and stark, her body was tinglingly alive. There was an edge of pain but she almost wasn’t aware of it at the face of such overwhelming pleasure that forced a moan of acknowledgement out of her throat with every breath, every push.

When he started to rub that special place again, it only seemed to take moments before she started to wriggle beneath him, losing control of her muscles and her voice until she reached that high point, the pinnacle with a hoarse cry. She felt her insides rhythmically clamp down on his erection as though her body was actively trying to hold onto him. He was grunting too now, much more quietly than she but she loved his noises — almost animalistic, snuffles and grunts against her neck while she was still pulsating around him, delirious and out of breath.

He pumped again. Once, twice, and finally with a hoarse cry, almost like a wounded animal, he pulled out, and something warm and slippery erupted over her stomach and his teeth clenched hard against her neck.

Breathing hard, he finally let go, pushing his sweaty forehead against her cheek. His hand around her wrists slackened and his weight was heavy and warm upon her. It was a glorious feeling, as though her flyaway body was safely rooted to the spot and she didn’t have to worry about where it might float.

“Momo … ” he whispered against her ear, kissing her neck. His tongue snuck out to lap at the clear bite-mark once, as though trying to soothe it, then he nuzzled it, marveling in her smell and her taste; so much sweeter than anything he had ever had the pleasure to be with. Finally, he managed to pull himself up enough to look down at her.

“Momo,” he repeated, but it sounded different now. His body, relaxed and heavy a moment ago, was suddenly tense and he pulled himself up further.

“Hmmm?” she asked, confused, looking up at him, at the sudden surprise in his face.

“You’re glowing … ”

“I … what?” She had no idea what he was talking about. His eyes lingered on her face, then her arms and breasts and instead of the adoring tenderness he’d held before, he was now frowning.

“Look,” he exhaled and almost roughly brought her hand down in front of her face. The room was gloomy, candles burned low and Moira gasped at the sight. It looked like there was a light inside of her, like her body was a candle.

“Wh … what?” she stuttered again and then her eyes filled with tears when Owain backed away and let go of her arm.

“You’re Fae.” The word held more venom than she had ever heard in his voice and all she could do was shake her head over and over.

“I’m not. I’m not … Owain, I’m not!”

“Fae glow at night,” he rasped, his own eyes filling with tears of confusion and pain. “You’re Fae.”

“Please,” she got out somehow, one hand stretching out to him. “Owain, please I … I’m not. I love you. Please!”

His mouth opened, and then closed. He shook his head and forced himself to take a breath and then another. She was Fae, his beautiful girl was Fae. Most people, he knew, thought them all gone or worse, just a myth. But he’d heard different. He knew they weren’t gone, knew their threat was still real. He wasn’t old enough to remember the wars of course, but he had family who did — and passed down through generations were the warnings of Fae retribution, the knowledge that they would come and take it one day. One day, they would try to repay the Blaidyn’s betrayal, multiply the suffering they themselves had endured after their treachery shifted the fortunes of war.

“Who are you?” he exhaled grasping for his shirt and stepping back further.

“Moira, I’m … I’m Moira! Owain!” Tears were streaming down her face now, each one like a glowing little diamond. It was beautiful, terrifyingly beautiful; but how could he trust her? How could he trust her now?

He was still walking backward, grabbed his trousers and his shoes.

“I have to … I’m sorry … ” shaking his head, he reached for the door and before she could get out another word, he had melted back into the shadows. Her door closed, leaving her shaking. Tears blurred her vision but she didn’t need it to be sharp to stare at her luminous skin — utterly lost.

It went like a shock through his system and from one moment to the other, Brock sat up straight in his narrow bed. He looked around and inhaled deeply. A warm shiver ran over his features. He was glowing, which was surprising. Trained in the arts of spies, Brock had all but quenched that natural function of his Fae body, exercising an amount of constant control few Fae were capable of. But here he was and he actively had to suppress the magic until the room was left in the gloom of the last embers in the fire.

He was out of the bed the next moment, slipping into his robe, and was out the door a minute later, gray-white hair flying behind him. It couldn’t have been the crossling. Not like this. He tried to concentrate, hard, even as the excitement and nerves were flooding his body. There was a Fae in the castle. That much he knew without a doubt in his mind — and for over a hundred years, the only Fae in the Bramble Keep was he, Brock, and he alone. He found himself almost running through the warren of corridors, past dark tapestries that flapped a little when he rushed too close past them. He wished he had taken the oil lamp at least, as his night-vision wasn’t great when he suppressed his magic, his glow.

It took him a moment to catch his bearing and prepare himself mentally when he realized that he was, once again, in Moira’s corridor. The intense feeling of magic came once more from her chambers. He blinked and breathed again. The smell of wolf was in the air; wolf in heat, and there was more.

He shuddered. He had never liked the idea, but he supposed Fae had always indulged in their pets this way; but how could Moira … ? He had to check. Much as it might endanger his disguise as the girl’s aged tutor, he had to check if it was her or whether some Fae had taken up residence in her room. In his castle, his very own domain!

Anger boiling in his gut, he knocked at the door. Only once and almost immediately, he heard feet rushing to the door.

“Owain?” a familiar voice whispered through the wood, and the force of another Fae’s glow this close was like a cool drink on a summer’s day. Choosing to stay behind Lakeside and keep an eye on the humans there had always had its drawbacks; it weakened the magic if it wasn’t combined with others. It suffered alone, shriveled a little and longed for the unity with other magic. This one was weak and young and small; it was odd, like something he had never quite felt before and the mystery thickened.

“Owain … please?” the voice asked again, a little louder. Not very careful, Brock thought with another note of disgust, but then he noticed the snuffing and suppressed sob at the other side of the wood. He was centuries old. He had fought and almost died in the last Fae War. Brock was an old and experienced man, but he was at a loss.

Moira had been his charge. The first human girl he had to pay a lot of attention as the two former heirs had been young men, growing up into Lordship. Moira was more complicated; and she was interesting, much too interesting for a mere human, he now realized. In fact, he had been so blind to think he finally understood why some Fae kept Halla and other human pets. He had even spun plans that had envisioned him ruling the Keep by her side, she as his obedient pet, he her lord and master and finally, officially, the lord of his domain.