The Faerie's Honeymoon (2 page)

“We’re booked at the Downtown Grande,” he said. “Please take us via the Fifth Avenue approach.”

“Will do, sir,” said Darius.

The partition slid back in place without anyone touching it.

Their privacy assured, Duvall fell back against the caramel-colored leather with an unmistakably sensual sigh. The limo was swank, with sterling silver fittings and an oriental carpet to add luxury to the floor. Duvall rubbed the seat they shared, then turned his head to her.

The expression in his eyes was hot enough to burn.

“God,” he said, intimate and intense. “I am so charged up I could burst.”

His voice wet her panties all by itself.

He was also starting to sparkle, tiny points of light jumping off of his perfect skin. Despite her arousal, the ramped-up display increased her tension.

“You mean your power reservoirs are filling,” she said as calmly as she was able.

“Yes.” His sultry gaze locked on hers. “Come here, Belle. I want to kiss my wife.”

She should have looked to see where the driver’s attention was, but her eyes refused to cooperate. Her gaze was drinking in her husband, like he was water and she was dying of thirst.

She wet her lips nervously. “How long until we reach the hotel?”

“Long enough, my beloved. Why don’t you sit on my lap and succor me?”

Him talking fancy usually meant his faerie nature was coming to the fore. Belle had trouble resisting that, especially when she wanted exactly what he did. He barely had to tug her sleeve to coax her closer. She swung over him, one trembling knee to either side of his narrow hips. In the blink of an eye, his elegant suit jacket disappeared. Belle caught her breath as sharply as if he’d stroked her. His long clever fingers came to her coat buttons.

“Sh,” he said when she tensed, gently undoing them. “I won’t magick away your coat. The first time I saw you in it is a fond memory.”

This was the coat she’d been wearing the night he came back into her life, the night he asked her to marry him. Sometimes he was so frakking sweet. When he had her free of the garment, she framed his face in her palms.

“Beloved,” she said, knowing he liked the formal endearment.

Duvall slid his hands up the front of her black turtleneck. Paired with jeans, this was her sensible traveling outfit. His touch made both feel like silk.

“Beloved,” he returned, “please rub yourself over me.”

She kissed him, the cozying up of their tongues instantly delicious. His chest was warm under his dress shirt, the resilience of his bone and muscle wonderful to writhe against. Her nipples tightened, and his did too, encouraging her to rasp them together. Duvall moaned, fingers tightening on her rear as she rolled her pelvis over his erection. He had a boner the size of Cleveland, and his scent was filling the car.

Faeries threw off a substance called ephor, which other races referred to as faerie dust. Ephor was responsible for their twinkle and acted as a mild aphrodisiac. At least, in her world it was mild. Here it drove her arousal to dramatic heights. Belle groaned as he dug the ridge of his erection harder between her legs. Damn clothing, anyway. They needed to be naked.

“God,” Duvall gasped, tearing free to suck the side of her neck. “I can’t breathe I want you so much.”

Good to know she wasn’t alone. Somehow her jeans had been opened, and her husband’s hand was shoving into them from the front, underneath her panties. That seemed like a brilliant idea. She knew she was very wet, and this would wind him up even more. Her desire was his aphrodisiac. His two longest fingers found the source of her heat. With a longing sound that caused her to shudder, Duvall slid them inside her sheath.

“Don’t,” she said, though she really wanted to say
don’t stop
. This was going to lead places that would embarrass them.

Ignoring her, Duvall’s fingers began to rub and massage her sex. His thumb hooked her front to increase the force he used.

“Don’t say ‘don’t,’” he pleaded as she groaned with pleasure. “There’s plenty of time.”

“You know how we get. We won’t want to stop.”

“Who wants to stop?” he countered, his teeth nipping her earlobe.

The little bite shocked a spark of pleasure straight to her clit. Fireworks went off inside it, causing it to throb wildly beneath the heel of his palm. Belle needed his hand to rub harder. Actually, she needed more pressure all over. Her hips worked up and down without her intending them to. At this added evidence of her lust, Duvall’s panting accelerated, until it sounded like he was running a marathon.

That was too hot for her.

“Damn it,” she snapped with the last of her resistance. “It’s our honeymoon. I want four walls and a fancy bed!”

Duvall cursed in his own language and pulled his touch from her.

Belle was big enough to admit she wasn’t completely glad. She climbed off him shakily.

“Thank you,” she said - with only a hint of huff. She re-did her jeans almost without fumbling.

Seeing she’d closed up shop, Duvall shot her a beautiful sulky glower. What this did to his lower lip should have been against the law.

“I’m sorry,” she said defensively. “I’m not pulling up to a nice hotel while we’re going at it like rabbits in the back.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen. I wouldn’t!” he added at her raised eyebrows. He rubbed the center of his forehead, sure sign he’d told a slight untruth. “Okay, probably I wouldn’t have let it happen.” He frowned as the headache still didn’t ease. “You know, you don’t have to smirk when I catch myself out like that.”

Because he was right about the smirking, Belle leaned to kiss the tip of his nose. “Be glad you’re not Pinocchio.”

His sparkle abated, his mojo temporarily queered by his fib. His hard-on, by contrast, remained sturdy. Duvall grimaced at its continued shove on the placket of his trousers.

“Go ahead,” Belle said, silently laughing. “You know I like watching you adjust yourself.”

“It’s uncomfortable to be this hard,” he complained, gripping his crotch to tug the swelling into a better position. “I dislike stopping in the middle.” He gave a wriggle as he let his weight back down, then decided his balls needed shifting too. Belle found this all very erotic. “You know faeries have stronger needs than the humans you used to date.”

She did know that - and more besides. “
I
have stronger needs now that I’m with you.”

He twisted toward her at her confession, his eyes kindling with dark fire. “Belle ...”

“Sh,” she said, stroking his knee before he could do more. “We’ll have plenty of time later to make up for stopping now.”

“Promises like that won’t help me calm down.”

She laughed and saw his sparkle recover at the sound.

“God, I love you,” he said, his cheek resting on the seat. “Even when you drive me nuts.”

His words warmed her all over, her toes curling secretly in her stack heel boots. She leaned her cheek on the glove leather like he was, wondering how she’d gotten so lucky. Probably she’d borrowed his luck. Faeries seemed to have a lot to spare.

They made google eyes at each other for a pleasurable while, knees nudging and fingers twining as if they were brand new sweethearts. The limo bumped down an exit from a beltway she hadn’t noticed them driving on. A sign that said “Downtown, Fifth Avenue” flashed by.

“You could point out the sights,” she suggested, suspecting her smile was sappy. “Since this is my first visit.”

“Hm,” Duvall purred. “I could show you some sights, all right.”

“Come on,” she scolded laughingly.

“
Here
,” he said in his special faerie tone of command.

Belle floated across the seat and into his lap.

He chuckled at her squeak of surprise. “Have to expend some energy, sweetheart. Otherwise I really might explode.”

She squirmed on his very solid erection, unable to help herself. Duvall hugged her closer. “Be still, please,” he said in a sexy rasp, “or something else will go off.”

Smiling, Belle let him direct her to the sights outside the window.

The street they were driving down looked surprisingly like Fifth Avenue in New York. The buildings were a similar vintage, the people who strode beneath them a mix of suits and tourists and joggers out with their dogs. If some of the people were a little different, that was only apparent when she looked closely.

“That’s the Macy’s where I fought Mor,” Duvall said, pointing to an imposing facade up ahead. “I might not have gotten away if it weren’t for the men’s department having very strong clothing racks.”

Belle shivered. Mor was an evil faerie who’d wanted to steal Duvall’s parents’ lands. “It’s safe to be here now, isn’t it? He can’t come after you again?”

Duvall squeezed her knee. “It wouldn’t matter if he did. Since you gave me my new truename, he lost his magical advantage over me.”

“But -”

“No worries, Belle. My faerie cousins who live here are keeping an eye out. We’d have plenty of advance notice if he tried anything. Your only job while we’re here is to enjoy.”

Belle felt a frown tugging at her lips. Was this his way of telling her not to worry her pretty head? Rather than start a fight, she returned her attention back outside the limo. “Why are so many people dressed in tiger stripes?”

The pattern was everywhere: neckties, hoodies, trousers for both sexes.

“That’s in honor of the weretiger holiday,” Duvall explained. “Like New Yorkers wearing green on Saint Patrick’s day, whether or not they’re Irish.” He stroked her hair around her head and then down her back, a caress that couldn’t help but soothe her even without the extra tingle he put in it. “Fifth Avenue is part of the parade route. We’ll be able to watch tonight from our balcony.”

Belle nodded and looked at him.

Duvall stroked her left eyebrow smoother with his thumb. “I’d never have brought you here if I thought you’d be in danger.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

He smiled and drew one finger down the soft center of her lips. “You’re my lucky charm, Belle. As long as you’re all right, so am I.”

She guessed he believed this. His forehead wasn’t furrowing with pain.

“Coming up on the hotel, sir,” Darius the demon said through the intercom. “Looks like there might be a demonstration outside the front entrance.”

Duvall leaned forward a moment before his face turned to stone. “That’s not a demonstration. That’s the fucking paparazzi.”

~

Duvall would have given quite a lot to be wrong. The flurry of camera flashes as they pulled up beneath the Grande’s awning dashed the scrap of hope. Because Darius’s window was slightly gaped, they heard the inevitable calls.

“Is it true you’re hooking up with a mundane?” an eager-faced troll shouted.

“Turn this way, Prince Duvall!” called a blue elf with a small vidcam. “We’d love some footage of your lover.”

The crowd was increasing by the second, threatening to swamp the limo as more and more paparazzi pressed their cameras against the tinted glass. Cab horns began to honk as they blocked traffic.

“Vultures,” Darius said with a disgust Duvall seconded. The demon raised his window emphatically.

“What’s going on?” Belle asked.

“Faeries are Resurrection’s biggest celebrities,” Darius answered. “There’s nothing the gutter press eats up better than a scandal surrounding one.”

“And
I’m
a scandal?”

Belle’s jaw was already hanging. Duvall didn’t want to tell her she’d be even more of one if those bloodsuckers discovered they were more than
hooking up
. Angrier than he could remember being in a long while, he let out a growl a weretiger wouldn’t have been ashamed of.

“I doubt the station crew tipped them off,” Darius said. “They’re tight-lipped, from what I’ve seen.”

Duvall unlocked his grinding teeth. “It could have been one of the passengers. My face was on the news after that fight with Mor.”

“I can clear out the lot of them,” Darius offered. “All you have to do is say the word.”

Duvall expected this was true. Spink demons often worked as bouncers. Unfortunately, what he’d have to do to clear out creatures as stubborn as paparazzi would probably violate his visa’s terms, especially if the demon lost his temper in the midst of it.

“Go out and
speak
to them,” Duvall said, very firm with his emphasis. “Remind them I’m more than a faerie, I’m a prince. I can screw their expensive cameras six ways till Sunday no matter what sort of anti-hex charms they bought. What’s worse, I can queer their luck. Ask them how they’ll make a living if I decide to do that.”

Darius’s tusks lent an extra fearsomeness to his grin. “My pleasure, sir,” he said, punching one giant fist into a giant palm.

Bodies flew as the demon swung the limo door not-so-carefully open. Duvall watched a vampire lose his anti-burn charm and start to smoke under the sunlight. Darius spoke right over that bit of chaos, his deep demon voice probably audible for blocks.

“Holy cow,” Belle murmured as the windows buzzed from the bass tones.

Though the well built and well charmed limo muffled the demon’s words, they could follow the argument that ensued by the paparazzi’s gesticulations of protest. Darius stood firm, holding onto his temper, while at the same time creating the impression he was a hair’s breadth from losing it. Between that and their very wise fear of Duvall’s power, the “independent reporters” dispersed within five minutes.

“Got ’em, boss,” Darius said, ducking happily back into the driver’s seat. “Told ’em you’d lay a spell around the entire hotel if they even thought about coming back.”

That was a good idea, one Duvall would have to put into action. “Thank you,” Duvall said, meaning it.

“Want to go around the back way?” the demon offered. “It’s no trouble to drive in the garage.”

“I don’t think so,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “The Grande has a lovely lobby. Belle will enjoy it.”

The demon’s gaze cut to her through the glass partition. Duvall’s wife was sitting very straight and wide-eyed, both hands wrapped around but not clutching Duvall’s arm. For just an instant, admiration burned in the demon’s eyes. Demons valued bravery highly, but the expression was more than that.