Inked Magic (12 page)

She was weaker than she’d been when he saw her last though the magic possessing her remained a sensuous weave of water and fire, earth and air and spirit, all in exquisite balance. All so old it was as if she survived only on tendrils slipping from Elfhome and into this world.

Her magic twined with the magic he’d gained control of in order to survive his changeling years. Tugged, as if it would use his strength to fortify her.

He drew her into the maze, stopping next to a small fishpond containing koi and illuminated by lanterns reminiscent of those found in Japanese gardens.

Taking her into his arms, he leaned in, teasing her with the lick of his tongue along the seam of her mouth, with small sucking bites to her lower lip.

She tangled her hands in his hair, clung to him, making a whimpered sound of need that he answered with the full press of his mouth to hers, with the hungry thrust and rub of his tongue against hers.

The leash he’d held himself on broke then as the old magic possessing her pulled at his own in primal demand, mingling in an elemental connection that had no focus other than like seeking like.

With a moan he guided Etaín down to the lush, velvet-soft grass. Covered her body with his.

He wouldn’t allow her to make him come, not here. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t grant her a release. Show her a small measure of what he could do for her.

He entwined his fingers with hers, their palms touching as he held her hands to the soft grass in a submissive’s pose, deepening the kiss, grinding his pelvis to hers.

Even separated by clothing, it felt exquisite to have her beneath him. To have her lithe body and supple curves pressed to him.

When small sounds of pleading came from her he lifted his mouth. Intense satisfaction surging through him at what he saw in her face and eyes, desire having a name, a single focus. Him.

“What do you want?” he asked, needing to hear her say the words.

She laughed, thwarting him, the low husky sound of her voice like a fist around his cock. “You have to ask?” she teased, challenging him.

She tempted him to drop some of the glamour he wore like a second skin to hide the iridescent glow of magic and the telltale tips to his ears. “I could make the gardens ring with the sound of my name, spoken by you in pleading tones.”

“Do it,” she said, her eyes holding carnal knowledge, a dare he couldn’t resist answering.

In a quick movement he rose to his knees, straddling her, kissing her again. Changing the focus of his assault by deftly opening her shirt and unclasping her bra, baring her breasts.

The nipples were pebbled by cold air and the heat of lust. They were the dark pink of fine roses and sweet, sweet wine.

He could no more stop himself from touching his lips to them than he could prevent himself from cupping the exquisite mounds they served as peaks to.

She arched her back at his touch, spearing her fingers through his hair as if she’d keep him forever at her breasts.

She needn’t have feared he would abandon them quickly, not when she was so very responsive, when the rasp of his tongue and tug of his lips drew cries from her.

His cock screamed at the continued confinement, ached as the tip grew wet with escaped arousal.

He ignored the building urgency, forcing himself to concentrate on demonstrating his power over her in a victory that would ultimately lead to physical satisfaction for the both of them.

Beneath him she writhed, thwarted him by commanding, “More. Harder. Touch me.” And he answered the call of lust and magic, the powerful attraction between them, unable to deny her entreaty.

With a final suck to her nipple he released it and kissed upward. His cock throbbing in time to the wild pulse of magic between them that marked each of her heartbeats. He pinned her wrists to the ground again as his fingers freed the button and zipper of her jeans.

“I want you,” she said, filling his mind with the roar of fire and causing his testicles to pull tight as her hips lifted off the ground, hurrying the descent of his hand as it pushed beneath the waistband of her panties.

Her shiver of pleasure was mirrored by his shudder of desire at encountering her stiffened clit and slick, swollen folds. “Are you wet for me, or for Cathal?” he asked, trying to find the shape of their future together.

“Maybe for both of you. I fantasized about you both earlier.”

He cupped her mound and slid his fingers into her slit. “Did you touch yourself like this when you did it?”

She tightened on his fingers. “Yes. I imagined your tongue. I imagined Cathal’s cock.”

A second shudder went through him. A moan escaped at envisioning her naked, touching herself, pleasuring herself as she thought about sharing herself with him, and with Cathal.

“Maybe you’ll get both,” he said, her fantasies and magic creating a desperate ache to be inside her. “But for now, I’m all you need.”

He pulled arousal-slick fingers from her channel, reveling in her whimper of protest and the lift of her hips. Needing to make good on his threat, to torment her until the garden rang with the sound of his name.

He grasped her clit, manipulating it. Stroking and tugging and pinching until finally she began repeating his name over and over, begging him to fuck her.

Everything inside him bridled at her use of the word, rebelled at the casual, meaningless implication of it. He covered her mouth with his. She’d soon label what was between them lovemaking, but for now
it had to be enough she’d come to him. That he would have her before Cathal did.

Using fingers instead of his cock, he thrust into her channel, the wet heat and tightness surrounding them, making him fight to keep his hips from jerking in time to the press and retreat of each stroke. In desperation he blocked the image of taking her, concentrated instead on the rub of his palm over her stiffened clit.

She came and he took her cry of release, swallowing it down as if in capturing it, he could anchor her soul and her magic to his. Silently promising as he did it that this was only the beginning of what they would one day be to each other.

The edginess that had ridden Etaín for days left in a rush of ecstasy, a searing release that had her sliding into languidness. He stood, pulling her to her feet and taking a moment to do up the front of her shirt.

The trip to his bedroom was made through a house navigated by moonlight. “Shower with me,” he said, the look in his eyes holding the promise of so much more.

“It’ll be my third today.”

“I think I can make it stand out in your mind from the others.”

She stepped away from him, her gaze traveling downward, stopping where his cock was clearly visible against the front of his pants. “We’ll see.”

“A challenge?” The silkiness of his voice sent a shiver of heat through her.

“You could look at it that way.”

She bent down and removed her socks and boots. Straightened and shed the jacket and shirt and bra, tossing them onto a nearby chair and leaving her standing in as little clothing as he wore. “Just so we start out even.”

“Hardly.” His attention was locked on her breasts. “The advantage is yours.”

Desire coursed through her, a small thrill of power. Her hands went to the waistband of her jeans. “Are you sure you want a shower?”

She hadn’t thought it possible his eyes could darken any further with lust but they did. She undid the top button, the zipper. Revealing blue panties designed to make a man rip them off a woman’s body.

In less than a heartbeat he did just that. Jerking jeans and panties to her ankles, shifting the advantage with the press of his mouth to her cunt as his hands caressed her buttocks, holding her in place.

A flick of his tongue over her clit and she shivered at the pleasure his mouth delivered. “Please,” she whispered, and he stood, pulling her bare lower body against his clothed one, his hands settling possessively on her naked back.

“You’ll please me first.”

His voice held a hint of danger that turned her on. Confidence adding to his allure. She liked the edge that came with knowing he wasn’t one of her pretty boys.

She ground against his erection, spikes of hot sensation shooting through her at the contact of clit to cock. He lowered his head and thrust his tongue into her mouth, delivering a decadent taste of herself and a hot rush of lust.

Eamon knew he was playing with a dangerous fire. He couldn’t take much more of the torment. Already he felt enthralled by her.

“Shower,” he said, forcing his mouth from hers though he conceded a measure of defeat by leaving his hand on her as he guided her to the bathroom suite.

He braided his hair, tying it with a cord left on the counter for that purpose. Then reached around and gathered up the silky strands of hers, quickly plaiting it.

The muscles in his stomach went taut with the feel of her fingers curling around the waistband of his pants. He shuddered in pleasure when her thumbs stroked the length of his cloth-covered erection.

Moisture beaded on the tip of his cock head. He knew he needed
to be careful about dropping his guard with her. Already she wielded far too much power over him.

“Do it,” he ordered. Daring her. Commanding her. Testing them both.

She unbuttoned his pants. Opened them, freeing him, her expression appreciative, her lips parted, a tropical tempest about to descend and he knew he wouldn’t survive it.

He stepped out of his pants and opened the shower stall, turning the water on as he guided her to stand beneath the heated spray. Her smile was as devastating as everything else about her, sending molten lust surging through his cock and testicles.

He wrapped his fingers around her braid, unable to stop himself from slamming his mouth down onto hers. Taking. Giving. His hunger intensifying as water struck their bodies in a sultry caress.

“You’re like a drug,” she whispered against his lips. “I can’t get enough of you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

She laughed and his cock jerked against her belly, drawing her attention to it. He could barely breathe as she kissed downward, pausing at his nipples, sucking one while her fingers captured the other. Tugging, squeezing, delivering pain and pleasure that blended into something sublime.

“Etaín,” he said, hand tightening on her braid, urging her downward, his buttocks clenching.

She went.

Done with tormenting him.

Done with foreplay.

Or perhaps only intent on discovering the extent of her power over him.

He didn’t care as she took him in her mouth, a hand fisted around his cock so she could control the depth despite his thrusts.

White noise filled his head, the raging of a hurricane swirling
faster and faster. Gaining strength with each lash of her tongue and pull of her mouth. Building with each of her swallows until it could no longer be sustained, until it dispersed in an explosion of pleasure, a shearing apart that left him fighting for breath, his hands against the shower wall to keep him standing.

She rose from her crouch, wildness glittering in her eyes, and his hands fell away from the wall in favor of pulling her against him, preventing her from speaking by covering her mouth with his.

It was decadent, carnal. Empowering to taste himself on her lips, salt-water and magic.

He stroked her back. Caressing her buttocks and holding her mound against his cock, the water and her presence in his arms reviving him, hardening him again.

He was afraid to allow words. Afraid if he parted from her long enough to leave the shower and make it to the bed, she’d demand he use a condom and deny him the full intimacy of being inside her without protection.

He was impervious to human disease. And she was a changeling, infertile until the magic filled her completely.

Desire pooled in his testicles as she touched him, her hands gliding over his wet skin, the hungry noises she made a hot stroke to his ego, an urging for him to do the very thing he’d fantasized about since first looking down and seeing her on the terrace at Aesirs.

He crowded her against the wall, lifted her. Soul-deep satisfaction filled him when she wrapped her legs around his waist, his kisses and touches destroying her inhibitions and eradicating rational thought.

He found her opening and pressed into her, the heat of her channel and the tight clamping of it on his cock a ravenous welcome that had him thrusting, rushing toward a climax that left them both shaking with fatigue.

Long moments passed before they managed to leave the shower. As he handed her a towel, she said, “I’m on the pill, in case you start to freak out when morning shows up.”

He laughed, suspecting she’d always be able to startle one out of him. “And I’ve got an extremely clean bill of health, in case panic sets in at dawn.”

“Then we’re good.”

Her eyes grew slumberous, fatigue and profound weariness returning to her, as he watched her towel herself dry, making him wonder where she’d been and what she’d been doing since riding away from him at the tattoo shop. Within minutes of lying down on his bed she was asleep.

He settled next to her, fully relaxing for the first time since the bells sounded at Aesirs when she passed through the wards. Even in sleep she looked neither harmless nor defenseless, though there was an open quality to her that accentuated her beauty, drawing him deeper into the maelstrom of emotions her existence and her presence had brought into his life.

He traced a fingertip down the length of her nose, touched it to her lips. He had more questions now than before.

At first glance the colorful vines and hidden sigils inked into her forearms were exactly like those he’d seen in an ancient text that was part of a Dragon’s hoard. But looking at them closely, he could see additions, modifications.

Tracing them, he could feel the hum of magic, elemental power mixed in with the ink. He wanted to know how she’d come by the tattoos. Who had made the ink and put the designs on her skin.

She was mystery and puzzle and obsession. She needed him. And he, in turn, needed her, not for himself alone, but for those who called him Lord.