Fairest 02 - The Frog Prince (12 page)

“What happened?” Alex asked, voice strained.

“I don’t know.”

Rachel hadn’t known Sam for long, but she knew that the helplessness in his voice was unprecedented.

“He just…I couldn’t stop. I could have ended it without killing him, but for some reason I just didn’t want to,” he continued.

“Is it your heart again?” She asked thickly.

“It’s fine.”

“But-?” Alex sounded like she wanted to cry.

“Drop it, babe. It’ll be alright. I’ll just have to be more careful the next time I shift.”

“Or don’t shift at all.”

Silence fell between them and from the corner of her eye she saw Chris’s jaw tighten in worry. They filed into the apartment building one by one. Alex took the lead up to her front door with a solemn Sam trailing not far behind. When they got to her floor, Rachel was unsurprised to find Mrs. Pearson clutching her robe and shuffling down the hallway.

“Hey Mrs. P.” she and Alex chorused together.

Mrs. Pearson gasped in pleased surprise as her eyes met Rachel’s. No one seemed particularly surprised that Sam was standing there naked thanks to his recent shift. Considering what an old lecher Mrs. Pearson was, it made Rachel wonder just how many times the elderly woman had run into Sam without a stitch of clothing on.
Obviously often enough that she paid him only the slightest glance.

“Oh, hello dear,” Mrs. Pearson said happily. She came over and clutched Rachel’s hands. She was cool to the touch and her skin felt soft and thin. Mrs. Pearson always smelt faintly of baby powder and cherry cough syrup. It brought on a rush of memories and Rachel found herself smiling in return.

“It’s very nice to see you again,” the older woman said earnestly.

“You too, ma’am,” Rachel replied with a grin.

“Where on earth have you been?”

“Uh…
traveling.”

“Oh. Well that’s nice,” Mrs. Pearson patted her hand. “I’m glad you aren’t as dead as they all said you were.”

“I’m glad you aren’t dead either, Mrs. P.”

She leaned down obligingly as the old woman kissed her softly on the cheek.

“I have to go now dear,” she told her. “I need to go see what all that fuss is about.”

Alex shifted anxiously.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“If I don’t go, Helen Brewers will have all the bragging rights at our next Bridge Game and you know how I can’t stand Helen Brewers.”

She was right. Her hatred of Brewers was well known. Rachel and Alex gazed down at her anxiously enough that she chuckled as she stepped past them on her way to the elevators.

“You girls shouldn’t worry about me tonight,” she said over her shoulder. Getting into the elevator, she winked at the four of them.
“You should be worried about when I’ll be on my way to steal yo’ man.”

The elevator doors shut before either woman could respond. Rachel looked at Alex accusingly.

“Have you been letting her look at pics on Tumblr again?”

Alex shrugged. “Hey, she likes it.”

Sam threw an arm over Alex’s shoulders and smiled.

“She also likes updating her status on the
Facebook and reading twits.”

Chris scowled.

“What the hell is a Facebook and a twit?”

Rachel shook her head, but she couldn’t help but grin at his obvious confusion. She probably should have explained the difference between a ‘twit’ and a ‘tweet’ but honestly, what would have been the fun in that? 

Rachel shifted restlessly on the couch. She couldn’t seem to get comfortable, but she knew that it had more to do with how busy her thoughts were than the cushions. It was nice to be in the real world, back with people she knew, but not everything was back to normal yet. She and Chris’s curses were still in effect, but things were much better now than they had been.

On top of that, she still had to find a place to stay, call her mother and somehow convince her that she wasn’t a zombie (apparently they’d finally held a funeral for her a few months back), and get a job. Even with so much left to do to get her life back on track, these thoughts weren’t the ones that kept her head spinning late into the night.

Instead she found herself wondering, stupidly, about Chris and what he might feel for her. She knew what she felt for him. She wasn’t naïve when it came to things like love, and she knew the difference when simple attraction morphed into something deep and solid. She wanted him. It was a need that made her feel all achy and swollen. It didn’t help things that Chris had decided to sleep on the floor next to the couch. On one hand, Rachel couldn’t complain since she’d grown so used to his constant presence that having him sleep next to her was the only way she could feel safe. On the other hand…well, on the other hand, he was right there. Within touching distance. Though she was staring up at the ceiling as if she could burn a hole in it, she knew he was watching her. She could feel the weight of his gaze like a caress. Sitting up abruptly, Chris lifted the police issued sweatshirt he’d been given by the cops over his head and tossed it to one side.

“What are you doing?” she said, voice coming out more high-pitched squeak than the offended demand she had meant.

“It’s hot.” Despite his easy reply, he didn’t lay back down again. Instead, he bent his legs and rested his forearms on his knees and pressed his head into his hands with a groan.

“Chris?” she asked softly. “Does your head hurt again?”

He nodded silently, and Rachel sat up and placed her hand against the back of his neck. His sigh was shaky as the coolness of her skin soothed some of the agony in his head. Placing his hand over hers, he turned towards her until her legs were on either side of his body. He leaned his shoulders into her thigh and looked up at her through his lashes.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he said.

Her pulse began to race as his eyes dropped to her mouth. She licked her bottom lip by instinct.

“Don’t worry about it,” was her breathless reply. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

He wrapped an arm around her calf and buried his face against her thigh. Her womb flooded with heat, and excitement pulled between her legs. It was a rush to have him so close, to feel his breath so hot against her bare skin. She’d borrowed some clean clothes from Rachel after her shower and she was all too aware of the exposed skin of legs as her too small pajama shorts rode up to press against her sex. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and she rolled her hips so that the material slid across her clit.

There’s always this moment of stillness before intimacy takes that next step.
That moment of mental silence. Like the eye of a storm as signals were sent and received. A moment right before that one person gathers the courage to step over that line. His overture was hesitant at first. He rubbed his chin back and forth across the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh and she began to tremble as the stubble along his cheeks brought about a rush of sensation. When she didn’t speak or move away from his touch, he took it a step further and pressed his lips against her. She sighed, an explosive sound of pleasure, and then his teeth were sinking into her. A quick bite that made the agony of his touch all the sweeter. She squeaked and he rose up, kissing her to swallow the sound.

She made a hungry sound in the back of her throat as he slipped his tongue inside of her mouth. Then his hands were on her hips, jerking her forward to the edge of the couch so that his abdomen pressed flush up against her hungry cunt. He rolled his body like a wave, driving closer and she raked her nails through his hair to drag him closer. Her legs lifted so that she could lock her ankles at the small of his back. When
she arched into him she could feel the material of her silk bottoms growing moist with the evidence of her excitement.

He growled into her, his fingers tangling in the waistband of her shorts. He pressed her back onto the couch, climbing on top of her as she fell back to welcome him. She didn’t want to release him. She couldn’t. But she needed to get her shorts off. She moved to do just that, but he surprised her by jerking the material down inch by inch. The shorts settled around her knees, unable to go any further with him between her legs. Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her legs straight up into the air so that he could duck his head between her thighs. She was trapped against him, unable to move or wriggle loose with the shorts tangled around her calves and ankles.

She helped him pull his sweats down past his hips, their lips still fused together. Her nipples tightened to painful points and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, lifting herself up so that she could feel the broad, bulbous head of his cock demanding entrance to her body. He pushed inside of her with a groan. Her thighs tightened around his hips and she worked to relax her inner muscles so that he could sink deeper, wanting to feel every delicious inch of him. She noticed the throbbing beat of his heart in the main vein along his length; she felt it as it fluttered against her hand when she reached down to grip the base of his sex to help guide him home. Her head fell back and her eyes grew wide in wonder. He felt so right, so good, his girth spreading the swollen flesh of her inner walls.

Tears gathered and fell when he finally sunk balls deep within her. She held him there, rolling her hips in hungry little bursts to fully appreciate how full he made her feel. How small and fragile in comparison to his size and strength.
Settling back on his knees, he wrapped an arm around the back of her waist, lifting her only the smallest amount before thrusting back home. With every rise and fall of her hips he thrust a little harder, a little faster. Her breasts bounced as she rode him, and raising her shirt up to her throat, he leaned forward to lave her nipple with his tongue. His teeth nipped at sensitive flesh and ecstasy was a knife in her gut. Twisting sharper and tighter as their dance continued.

When the needy little moans she made started to grow in volume, he pressed a hand against her mouth and pushed her down onto her back. His pace increased, his tempo grew erratic, and when she finally began to come, she bucked and arched her back, her body tightening around him like a
vise. She began to nip at him, her hands running over his body compulsively, her nails raking down his back and arching her own as she pulled him deeper and deeper. Rachel came with a whimper, the force of her orgasm traveling through every cell of her body until she lay shaking and breathless beneath him.

Her eyes drifted shut and he growled against her throat.

“Stay with me darlin’,” He chuckled darkly. “I’m not even close to being done with you yet.”

She sobbed with pleasure as he slipped a hand between her thighs and pressed firmly against her clit. The rest of the night was lost to bliss.

***

Sam was tired of pretending to be asleep and he looked over at Alex. He was glad to find her staring up at the ceiling, red-faced with embarrassment. Sensing his gaze, she sighed.

“How many years of therapy do you think I’ll need to scrub this from my brain?”

He laughed and moved to straddle her waist, his fingers trailing along the valley between her breasts as hunger darkened his gaze.

“We could just skip the therapy,” he said. “Go straight to some good ol’ degrading sex. I hear it does wonders for your self-esteem.”

“You’re sick,” she said with fake solemnity.

He pounced on her and her giggling died quickly beneath his searing kiss.

***

Daylight seemed to come all too soon.

Rachel noted with amusement that she and Chris weren’t the only ones going about their morning routine with heavy lidded eyes and barely stifled yawns. She was sitting at the kitchen table, talking to Alex, when there was a knock on front door. Sam hopped up from the living room floor to go answer it.
Rachel didn’t think much of the fact that there was a visitor until Sam opened the door and then slammed it back shut again almost immediately.

Alex frowned.

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

He looked at her and the expression on his face was reminiscent of a little boy who’d just been horribly betrayed.

“Who is it?” Chris asked curiously.

“Danielle.”

Both of the Greyson siblings stiffened at the same time while Rachel surged to her feet, her face a mask of rage.

“Well, let that bitch in,” she snarled, rolling up the sleeves of her borrowed blouse and striding from the
kitchen. “We have some unfinished business to take care of.”

Rachel pushed her way past Sam to pull open the door herself, but as soon as she saw the two women standing in the hallway, her mind went blank. Danielle
Greyson smiled, smug in the knowledge that she was untouchable for the moment as she squeezed the hand of the weeping woman at her side.

“Didn’t I tell you, Lillian? She’s alive. Rachel is alive.”

Rachel’s lips curved in a parody of a smile. She felt sick.

“Hey momma,” she said, for lack of anything better. As Lillian Dupree threw her arms around the neck of her “resurrected” daughter, Rachel glared at the woman who had brought her there and imagined all of
the ways she would kill Danielle, should she ever get the chance.