Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection (8 page)

He made a small sympathetic noise. “That
sounds like my brother.”

“I never loved Carlos. I never really wanted
him.” She felt Silas’s hand trailing down her spine and shivered.
She turned to him, letting him pull her in and kiss her, their
breath mingling, already feeling him relenting. Part of her had
come here tonight knowing she wanted this, had always known from
the first time he held her in his arms.

She reached up to stroke his cheek, feeling
the scars there too, and he let her. “Silas, I want
you.
”

His silence stretched between them. Then he
cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean
it.”

“I mean it,” she whispered, and he brought
her mouth to his, the kiss fierce and full of everything they’d
been feeling and keeping in for months. If she could have devoured
him, turned herself inside out to feel him more deeply, she would
have, but she didn’t have to.

Silas gave her everything. There were no
more boundaries between them and he took her without restraint.
They rolled together on the bed, kissing, Jolee struggling under
his weight, but protesting when he eased up, wrapping her legs
around his waist, squeezing him between her thighs, rocking the
hard length of his cock between them like an iron bar.

She protested, but not for long, when he
rolled her onto her back and slid down between her thighs, his
tongue working magic again. But it still wasn’t enough and she
whimpered and begged and reached for him until he finally gave in
to her pleading, flipping onto his back and letting her crawl over
him on the way to his cock, stopping her when her pussy reached the
hungry gulp of his mouth and tongue.

Taking him into her mouth was a joy, feeling
the slick silk of his skin moving over the thick length of his cock
as she sucked him. His hips moved with her motion but his tongue
never wavered, flicking steadily over her clit as his fingers
explored her, sliding in deep and then retreating, rubbing the fat,
swollen lips of her labia with his fingertips, tugging at the dark,
wiry hair there. Jolee gasped and sucked him harder when he slid
two fingers in, then three, really stretching her, making her moan
and rock against his hand.

“Oh!” She rolled her hips, feeling him
fingering her, deeper, harder. His cock slid out of her mouth as
she felt her impending climax begin, rubbing the mushroom tip of
him over her outstretched tongue, feeling his delicious pulse
against her lips as she closed her eyes and gave into her orgasm.
It started between her thighs, where Silas was working so hard to
take her there, her pussy clasping his fingers in a fast,
fluttering dance, and then spiraled outward from her center, making
her grip his cock hard in her fist.

“Easy!” Silas croaked, gasping for breath
beneath her. “Go easy, baby, please.”

She let her hand relax a little, feeling a
thick wave of precum flooding over her fist. He shuddered and
moaned as she began to lick it off.

“Now will you fuck me?” she whispered,
kissing the head of his cock, slapping it lightly against her
cheek.

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

She yelped as he grabbed her, not even
bothering to turn her around toward the headboard before shoving
her legs open with his big thighs. His cock found its way into her
swollen wetness without her help and she cried out when he entered
her, nails digging into his shoulders as she took him as deeply as
she could, almost to the point of pain. She relished the sensation,
burying her face against his neck and urging him on.

“Oh Jolee…” He settled himself between her
legs, up on his elbows above her, face lost in the river of her
hair. “Oh god you feel too good…”

“I can’t believe you’re inside of me.” She
actually felt tears stinging her eyes, realizing for the first time
how much she had wanted this.

“You’ve been inside me since the beginning.”
He nuzzled her and she felt his scars. She cupped his face and he
stilled, her fingers moving over his cheeks.

“I want you.” She kissed his cheeks, his
closed eyelids, his chin, the corner of his trembling mouth.
“Please.”

He began to move, his cock a swollen,
driving heat between her thighs and a heady friction began to build
again almost immediately. His breath was hot against her cheek and
she slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper. He
curled himself around her as they rocked on the bed, the springs
squeaking fast and hard, the headboard banging against the wall
behind them, their breath coming in hot, short bursts. There was no
one around to hear them and Jolee let herself go, moaning in
pleasure.

“Fuck me,” she panted, heels digging into
his thighs. “Oh god, yes! Fuck me!”

Silas grunted and gave her more, making her
scream with every deep thrust, her teeth raking his skin. His cock
felt even more swollen somehow, filling her completely, and she
felt him tense, the hard, flat expanse of his belly slapping
against hers as he gave into his own lust.

“I’m going to come,” she whispered into his
ear, feeling the quiver of her pussy around the pounding heat of
his cock. “Oh you make me come so hard. It’s so close. I can feel
it. Right…oh…right there…Silas…”

He groaned and thrust deep, her imminent
pleasure forcing him to give into his own, his thighs spreading her
so wide she thought she might break apart like a wishbone and still
she wouldn’t have cared. She’d gotten her wish. He cried out and
called her name and buried his face against her neck. She felt
every glorious pulse of his cock as he filled her with the white
hot spurts of his release.

“Almost there,” she whimpered, rolling her
hips, arching up, and he moaned loudly and clasped her to him as
her climax came in just behind his own, her pussy milking his
still-spasming cock. Jolee threw her head back and let herself go,
quivering beneath him, barely able to breathe, taking all of his
weight and still wanting more.

“How did you get in?” Silas asked, still on
top of her as they rested. He petted her, stroking her hair.

She wrapped her arms around him, as if she
could get closer. “The door was unlocked.”

He rolled them up in the covers like a
cocoon, pulling her with him, impossibly hard still inside of her,
and they stayed that way, joined together, Jolee sleeping on top of
him. But it was still dark when she felt him carrying her naked to
her own bed before she even knew what was happening. He tucked her
in, kissing her forehead.

“Silas?” she asked sleepily, reaching for
him. She kissed his mouth in the darkness, her body instantly
remembering, wanting.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll see you
in the morning,”

And then he was gone and Jolee found herself
alone, wishing for his warmth as the door down the hall closed and
locked her out again.

* * * *

Silas had never really been afraid of
anything. When he was young, his father had labeled him “fearless,”
and he was. It wasn’t always a good thing. He took risks others
wouldn’t, especially when an injustice was involved. Bullies ran
the other way when Silas came along. Tyranny or inequity in any
form raised his hackles, and often his fists. He’d discovered that
fighting fire with fire, and fighting dirty if he had to, was a
good strategy, even if it wasn’t the most popular, honest or lawful
one.

He’d faced down everything, from bullies to
criminals to black bears. Once, in a bar, he’d taken a bullet that
missed his spine by inches. It had been meant for a woman he didn’t
even know, but the man who fired the gun had punched her before
pulling out his weapon—and that was all the information Silas had
needed. He couldn’t count how many times he’d faced death or the
possibility of death, and even that didn’t frighten him.

But he was afraid now. He was afraid of the
hundred-and-twenty pound woman in his house, who had taken over his
life and the way he lived it, in so many ways. She terrified him,
that tiny slip of a girl. He hadn’t thought about another woman
since Isabelle, hadn’t even considered the possibility. There was
no reason to—Isabelle had been the perfect woman, perfect for him
in every way, and you couldn’t improve on perfection.

But Jolee had been thrown into his life, had
found her way into his heart, and he couldn’t deny it anymore. In
the midst of protecting her, caring for her, guarding her against
the possibility of his brother’s harm—and he had to admit, part of
him had been thinking about Isabelle when he was doing those
things—he had fallen for her. The ghost of his dead wife had faded
in the light of Jolee’s smile, her quick temper, her soft hands
and, last night, her lush, full body.

It wasn’t Isabelle he thought about anymore
when he neared home, a little extra speed in his step, carrying his
bow over his shoulder. It was Jolee—the woman who had made curtains
for the cabin windows and stuffed pillows to sit on for the wooden
chairs, the woman who appreciated his subtle sense of humor, who
teased him about his slow, fastidious ways, who spent a night with
him in the stable when Anna was sick, petting the cow’s head and
singing to her in a native language he didn’t speak but spoke
straight to his heart.

He’d left early this morning, trembling at
the thought of meeting her in the hallway, going off instead to
find things to do outside—milking the cow, gathering eggs,
straightening the shed, repairing his trap lines—too afraid to face
her, too afraid to face what he might be forced to acknowledge.

Since Isabelle, he’d wanted to die, and when
his survival instincts had gotten him out of the fire and he’d
found her gone, he’d been determined to finish the job Carlos had
started and join her—or, barring that, at least end his own
suffering, although part of him still felt he deserved the pain he
lived in for not saving her.

He’d tried to end it all several times after
the fire. If it hadn’t been for Abe, he probably would have. After
the fire, the old Indian had found him crawling on his hands and
knees in the dirt, calling Isabelle’s name, and had made a litter
to drag him back on. The time he’d spent at the Bad River
reservation had been healing—and informational. They all knew about
Carlos and the mines and the logging camps.

And, of course, Abe had passed on the
information Carlos was telling everyone—that his brother and his
wife had died in a fire. That was the darkest time of his life,
when he’d realized that Isabelle was gone and he understood he
could do more good dead than alive.

And it was his hatred that kept him going,
in spite of Abe’s efforts to sway him. The only reason he’d stayed
alive was to thwart his brother’s efforts to rape and pillage the
land their father had left behind. And in the spring, he was
finally going to get the chance to end it all—his brother’s shady
business and his own pain. Jolee had been a complication at first,
but he only had to keep her here, safe until spring, he reasoned.
Then she would be safe wherever she went.

Now she was far more than a complication and
the plans he had so carefully and meticulously outlined seemed
ridiculously simple—and horribly final—in a way they never had
before. For the first time, he was questioning his decision, and
Jolee was the reason. For the first time since Isabelle had died,
life seemed worth living.

Well, he decided, hanging his mended lines
in the shed and heading out, he didn’t have to decide anything
today, and he couldn’t hide out here forever. Besides, he was
getting hungry. The house was warm from the woodstove and the smell
of bacon made his stomach rumble. He could hear her in the kitchen,
singing to herself, and he smiled, stopping to listen. The words
weren’t in English—her father had been part Chippewa, she’d told
him, and had taught her some of the language, many of the
traditional songs—but they were lovely.

“Is that you, Silas?”

He heard the edge in her voice. Mostly she
felt safe, he figured, but there was still a part of her on guard,
waiting for Carlos to find her here—and there was always a part of
him waiting for that as well.

“It’s me,” he confirmed, taking off his
boots and coat, but leaving on his mask. The damnable thing was too
warm inside, but in spite of his lapse the night before—how had he
forgotten to lock the door?—he had no intention of taking it off in
the light of day. Of course, if he hadn’t forgotten, she wouldn’t
have come to his room, and he wouldn’t have had the glorious
opportunity to have her. Christ, just the memory of being inside
her made his cock jump.

He stopped when he came around the corner,
seeing her standing at the counter, plating up eggs and
bacon—mountains for him and little rolling hills for her—wearing
nothing but a pair of panties. She turned to look at him over her
shoulder, her hair a dark waterfall down her back, and smiled, a
new, shy smile he’d never seen before that made his heart lurch in
his chest.

“Morning.”

He’d seen her naked in the beginning, forced
to undress her when she was unconscious, but he had tried to block
it out, to not pay attention to her in that way. Not that it had
worked completely. But in all honesty, he had never imagined she
could be so beautiful. His imagination couldn’t have stretched to
those limits, even if he had, yes, okay he had fantasized and
thought about her. In the darkness she had been all softness and
heat. In the light she was long, tawny limbs and supple flesh and
he found himself far hungrier for her than he was for bacon and
eggs.

“Morning.” He cleared his throat, trying to
keep his eyes focused on hers. “Don’t you think that’s a little
dangerous?”

“Cooking breakfast?” she teased, moving past
him to the table. He followed both the scent of the food and the
sight of the goddess in her plain white cotton panties bending over
to put the plate down in front of him as he sat.