Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection (9 page)

“Cooking breakfast…” he agreed, swallowing a
dry lump in his throat as he now found himself on eye level with
the fullness of her breasts, her nipples dark, the areolas lighter,
a stunning contrast against her skin. “Naked,” he finished faintly.
“Grease has a tendency to splatter…”

“It does,” she agreed, sliding a sleek thigh
across his and settling herself into his lap. Silas kept his hands
at his sides, knowing if he touched her, just for a moment, he was
lost. “But I thought you could kiss my boo boos and make them all
better.”

His cock throbbed against his zipper,
feeling the heat of her through her panties and he looked up into
her eyes, seeing the lust there. God, he wanted her, more now than
he had last night. Not touching her was killing him. She searched
his eyes with hers, the only part of his face, aside from his
mouth, that she could see, and he wondered what she was
thinking.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, touching a
finger to his lips.

“No,” he admitted hoarsely. She made him
tremble.

“Good.” She leaned in and kissed him and he
felt the rush of her breath through the knit mask, her tongue
licking at his lips. When she reached down and grabbed his hands,
putting them on her breasts, he groaned at the incredible weight of
them, the shape and shift in his hands as she wiggled, making his
cock swell. He couldn’t believe they were doing this, that she
wanted him, but everything told him that she did. He would never
have initiated this, would never have crossed that line—even if
he’d wanted to. And yes, he’d wanted to, but that was hardly the
point.

“I want you,” Jolee whispered, squeezing him
between her thighs in the chair, her breath hot through his mask,
her mouth next to his ear. “I touched myself this morning in the
shower, remembering last night.”

He made a small noise that, he had to admit,
would probably be classified as a whimper by any objective
observer.

“Do you want me?” she asked, leaning back in
the chair, pressing her hands over his, mashing her breasts flat
and then rubbing his palms over her nipples. They were hard little
pebbles and Jolee moaned and rolled her hips at the sensation.

“Yeah,” he croaked, watching her pull her
lower lip between her teeth, her eyes half-closing with pleasure.
“I’m just…afraid.”

She stopped, eyes widening at his admission.
He was glad the mask hid his flushed face.

“Afraid of what?”

“You.” His hands were moving on their own,
kneading her flesh, watching her reaction. He couldn’t help it.
“This.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Don’t let this come between us.” She
reached for the edge of his mask, starting to lift it.

He grabbed her wrist, shaking his head.
“Don’t.”

“What can I do to convince you that I want
this?” Jolee frowned and then her eyes brightened as she slithered
down between his legs, starting to work on his jeans. Silas groaned
in protest, but his hips lifted when she yanked them down, freeing
his cock for her mouth. He was scarred everywhere from the fire,
even there, but she didn’t seem to notice, her eyes never leaving
his. Just watching the hot pink trail of her tongue around the head
of his cock was a delight, but the sensation went beyond pleasure
and bordered on pain, making his thighs tense and quiver.

She lifted her head, kneeling up and rubbing
his wet cock-head against her nipples. “How do I convince you that
I want
you?”
she whispered, leaning in and kissing his mouth,
her belly deliciously soft, pressing his cock up against his own,
trapping him.

“That’s a good start.” He smiled.

“Wanna feel how wet I am for you?” she
offered, guiding his hand down between her legs. Oh Christ, Silas
thought as she nudged her panties aside and let him feel. The soft,
wiry hair, the swollen lips, the way they parted for his finger as
he delved inside, was enough to make him crazy, but after last
night, he wanted more. He wanted to see her.

Jolee squealed when he shoved the plate of
eggs and bacon aside, reaching down and grabbing her hips, pulling
her up and sitting her squarely on the table. It was solid and
could hold her weight—he was sure of it, he’d made it himself—and
it was going to have to hold a lot more than that in a minute. He
yanked her panties down and Jolee lifted willingly enough at his
insistence, spreading her thighs for him in the early morning light
spilling across the kitchen table.

“You’re beautiful.” He couldn’t help telling
her as he took a seat in the chair again. The truth was, his knees
didn’t want to hold him upright. And besides, this way he could
lean in and feather kisses up the slender, silky expanse of her
thighs, moving slowly toward the thing he wanted most. He made
himself go slow and Jolee squirmed on the table, her pussy visibly
swollen already in anticipation.

By the time her pubic hair was tickling his
lips, she was begging him, pleading, the sound of her cries only
making him go slower, savoring it more. He snaked his tongue up the
groove of thigh, skipping across to the top of her cleft, hearing
her moan, her head thrown back and thrashing on the table. Her
hands kneaded her own breasts, her palms rubbing her nipples, her
thighs thrown wide. Silas let himself taste her, sticky and wet,
moving his tongue back and forth against the raised flesh of her
clit. Jolee moaned and lifted her hips in encouragement.

“Please,” she whispered, reaching down to
spread herself with her fingers, showing him, and he drank in the
sight of her open for him like that. His cock throbbed at the
thought of being inside of her and he grabbed it and squeezed as if
he could send it a message—
easy, slow down, would you wolf down
a gourmet meal in two minutes?
—but his cock didn’t want to hear
it. It had been starving for too long.

His tongue slipped lower between her lips,
trailing down to really taste her, musky and hot. He remembered how
she’d rocked on him the night before, mashing her whole pussy
against his face. Glancing up, he saw her eyes were closed, head
back, and he decided to chance it, pulling his mask up—not off,
just up enough so he could open his whole mouth over her pussy.

“Oh god!” Jolee rewarded him with a
trembling arch, writhing on the table as Silas sucked at her little
clit, swallowing the hot, tangy taste of her juices, letting them
coat his throat and then going back for more. He couldn’t get
enough of her, exploring her wet, swollen mound with his tongue and
mouth and fingers, caught in a slick, pink labyrinth of flesh.

“Silas!” she gasped, rocking her hips, her
toes beginning to curl. Just her saying his name that way, with the
low, growly catch in it, filled his whole body with a blinding
lust, but the words she followed it with sent him into overdrive.
“Oh baby! Oh please, please, make me come all over your face!”

He fastened his mouth to her clit, working
his tongue furiously, as eager for her orgasm as she was, holding
desperately to his cock and trying to mentally reason with it.
Not yet, not yet. Soon, I promise.
Jolee was coming, her
breasts heaving, belly quivering, her pussy spasming against the
wet lap of his tongue.

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god,” she moaned,
rolling her hips from side to side. He couldn’t tell if she wanted
more of his tongue or was trying to get away from it. “Silas,
please, I want you. I have to have you.”

Struggling to sit, she reached for him but
he was already half-out of his chair, cock in hand. He’d forgotten
his mask was pulled up and she looked at him in wonder, seeing his
jaw, his mouth still wet. He reached to pull it down but she
protested, grabbing his hand, shaking her head, sliding her little
hand behind his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Silas moaned into her mouth. She sucked at
his tongue as if drawing the taste of herself from him, her hand
moving to take hold of his cock and guide him inside. She was
over-wet, slick and hot as melting butter, and he slid in easily,
his balls resting against the hard edge of the table, burying
himself deep. Jolee held onto him, wrapping her legs around his
waist, her arms around his neck, her mouth never leaving his.

He fucked her. He fucked her without thought
or reason, thrusting deep and hard and fast, his cock feeling every
delicious ridge and twist and turn of her body as they rocked
together, the table shaking under their weight. Jolee wouldn’t let
him pull his mask down, keeping her mouth locked on his, their kiss
hard and fierce and deeply probing, not unlike their fuck. Silas
was past the point of caring, would probably have let her pull the
whole damned thing off altogether in that moment, but thankfully
she didn’t.

Instead she climaxed, her heels digging into
the small of his back, her nails raking his shoulders—he was
grateful then he’d never taken off his shirt—and he felt every
sweet flutter of her pussy around his length as he ground his hips
and sent her flying. Jolee gasped out his name, begging him for
more, begging him to stop, but he couldn’t hear her, not really. He
grabbed her hips, her ass, driving in as deep as he could,
bottoming out with every thrust, making her squeak delightfully in
his ear.

His cock swelled to bursting and then it
did, boiling up from base to tip, erupting into the slick, hot
sheath of her pussy. Jolee made a low noise in her throat as he
exploded, almost a purr, sending shivers down his spine as her
muscles consciously milked him. He continued to thrust, lost in the
frenzied furor of his climax, as if he could empty himself
completely into her and be utterly spent.

“Silas,” she whispered, kissing his throat,
the air blessedly cool on his neck and chin and jaw. Her lips
caressed him, little feathered kisses, moving back from his jaw to
his ear, murmuring words he was sure were in English, but he
couldn’t understand them at all. His mind was blank, his body
verging on the edge of collapse, weak and helpless in her arms. She
tugged gently at his mask and he would have let her then without a
second thought. He was hers completely.

They both startled when someone knocked on
the front door.

“Carlos,” Jolee hissed, looking around for
something to cover up with, and of course there were only her
panties.

As senseless as he had been a minute before,
Silas snapped into action, zipping his pants with one hand and
reaching behind him with the other, grabbing the shotgun off the
wall. He didn’t think it was his brother, but you could never be
too careful. Very few people knew about this cabin or its hidden
location. The three knocks he’d had on his door in as many years
had all been lost strangers looking for a way home.

“Bedroom,” Silas whispered, nodding, but
Jolee was already scrambling down the hallway. He didn’t like her
out of his sight, but he couldn’t keep her behind him unclothed
either.

His heart sank when he opened the door.

“There’s trouble.”

Silas looked at the old man, eyes dark and
sunk into his leathered face, mouth downturned, and nodded. At
least it wasn’t his brother.

“Let me get my boots on. I’ll meet you out
back.”

The old native gave him a nod and Silas shut
the door, wondering just how he was going to explain this to
Jolee.

* * * *

Everything melted, and Jolee melted with it.
She tried to stay mad at Silas, for refusing to tell her anything,
for leaving her alone in the cabin for stretches of time, but she
couldn’t stay mad at him long once he was home. She would melt and
creep down the hall to his room, her breath held like a secret, and
he would open up to her, the two of them free in the darkness to
wallow in the blissful heat of one another.

And it went on like that, Silas masked in
the daytime, quiet, often gone, but both of them unmasked and
unclothed at night. It went on until the snow ran in rivers down
the hillside and the leaves began to bud on the trees and then open
and the forest around them teemed with life again. She knew it was
fully spring when she saw a female deer and her fawn at the edge of
the clearing while she was on her way to milk Anna in the hazy,
early light of morning.

That, and the roses began to bloom.

She watched them open outside her bedroom
window, growing up the trellis against the side of the house, a red
carpet of flowers. Silas smiled when she exclaimed over them and
started leaving one for her on occasion—on her pillow, or in a
vase, or put across her latest knitting project, a budding
reminder. She pressed them between thick books—heavy tomes about
tracking and wildlife and growing mushrooms in the wild—and saved
them in a dresser drawer, wanting to keep every part of Silas that
he gave to her.

Yes, the world had melted and she with it,
but it was the conversation she overheard outside her window that
froze her again, breaking the spell, raising her hackles and making
her curious once more. She had left the window wide open, letting
the breeze blow in, and she was supposed to be napping—Silas still
insisted and lately she’d actually been tired enough to sleep—when
she heard their voices, low but clear enough.

“It’s not your decision, Abe." Silas was
angry—she knew what he sounded like when he was angry.

“There are other ways.”

The old Indian had come around several more
times and Silas had gone off with him. He wouldn’t tell her, of
course, what any of it was about. Jolee crept to the window to
listen, ducking low so they wouldn’t see her.

“You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for
this cause.” Abe sounded sad, not angry or pleading.

“I’ll decide what I need and what I don’t
need.”

The old man sighed. “You can’t wake someone
pretending to be asleep.”

“What does that mean?” Now Silas sounded
really mad.