The Faerie's Honeymoon (5 page)

When she let go of him for a moment, he released a sound of dismay.

“I’m not stopping,” she said. With one hand, she pushed his balls out of her way up against his shaft. Ducking, she gave the smooth skin behind them a firm licking. Duvall must have liked that. His hips cocked up and forward, and he hummed.

She placed her fingertips on his now-wet perineum, smiled into his dazed dark eyes, and swallowed his prick again.

Her saliva allowed her fingertips to slide really hard over the stretch of flesh where his cock rooted. His prostate was under there and some other good nerves besides.

“Belle,” he gasped, one hand flying to cup the back of her head. The spicy-sweetness of his pre-cum leaked more richly across her tongue. Dizzy from it and wanting more, she went farther down on him.

His cock throbbed crazily in her mouth. She’d stopped jacking him, doing the work orally instead. He liked that fine. The fingers he’d tangled in her hair clenched tight. Belle gave his perineum more pressure, working her tongue across his knob as fast as she could.

She wasn’t as fast as him, but she was fast enough. Duvall cried out hoarsely and went over.

Sometimes he pulled out to shoot, but today he didn’t deny himself. Maybe what she did to him felt too good. Instead, he pumped his hips in abbreviated jerks, not gagging her but wringing every possible drop of enjoyment from her mouth’s tight clasp. Something about all of it - his moans, his motions - really got to her. An ache that was almost an orgasm clenched her pussy, rolling sweet and hot through her nerves.

She told herself she couldn’t be coming. He wasn’t touching her. She suckled him more passionately anyway. Duvall shuddered with pleasure at the sort of stimulation that might have been too much for another man. After a tremulous half a minute, the hand that guided her head unclamped.

“God,” he sighed throatily. “Belle.”

He slipped from her mouth, and she laid her cheek on his muscled thigh. His fingers petted down her hair as far as they’d reach, after which he flopped back onto the bed.

“I can’t move,” he groaned dramatically. “You’ll have to crawl up here to cuddle.”

Belle crawled, and he yanked the upper half of the coverlet over her. When she put her head on his chest, his heart was still thumping.

“Your scent makes me drunk,” she said.

Duvall grunted indecipherably in response, his muscles relaxing under her. She relaxed with him, deciding a nap would suit her as well. They had been tramping around the city for half the day.

“Tonight,” he mumbled a second before he yawned. “Dinner. Parade. Then I’ll make this up to you.”

Belle grinned against his pec. She didn’t tell him she wasn’t keeping score. She knew from experience she’d enjoy his
making up
.

Chapter Four

BELLE
woke with more energy than she knew what to do with - as if she were Wonder Woman and had just strapped on her bracelets. Still dozing, Duvall mumbled an endearing protest at her departure.

She decided to surprise him by dressing nicer than usual for the evening. With Susi’s encouragement, she’d bought a sapphire-colored gown covered in fishscale sequins. The dress had long tight sleeves, a snug slit skirt, and a neckline cut halfway to her navel. Even with her modest breasts, it required double-sided tape to prevent wardrobe malfunctions. Inspired by how nice it looked, she added mascara, lipstick and a pair of heels that brought her nearly to Duvall’s height. When her leg emerged from the slit, she felt like a movie star.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, Duvall was up and on the phone in the football field of a living room. To her amazement and delight, he dropped the receiver on seeing her.

“Wow,” he said, levitating the phone back into his hand. Belle had a feeling he wasn’t aware he’d used magic. “Sorry,” he said to whoever was on the line. “I’ll have to call you back.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you approve.”

“You certainly don’t.” Smiling, Duvall came to her and took one hand to twirl her around. As Belle rotated, showing off the plunge at her back, she noticed it was snowing on the terrace.

“How pretty!” she exclaimed, vanity forgotten. “We have to go out and see.”

The temperature was chilly. Luckily, Duvall’s hold on her kept her toasty while she admired the feathery snowfall. Resurrection’s skyline wasn’t as tall or crowded as Manhattan’s, but it was beautiful in the moody light. She snuggled closer to her husband to enjoy it. Yet another difference in the cities was that he didn’t feel the cold here. The magic he absorbed was sufficient to keep him warm.

“I can clear this up,” he said, then chuckled when Belle’s jaw dropped. “Not the whole weather system. Just the terrace. If my doing that makes you nervous, room service can set up a canopy.”

A canopy sounded pretty, but suddenly Belle heard music drifting up from below, plus a faint clatter like silverware being toted in plastic bins.

“Or,” Duvall added, noting her attention had wandered, “we
could
join the party the hotel is throwing on the broader terrace on the fifth floor.”

Belle was no party hound, but that sounded fun to her, especially with him for a date. Plus, they’d have an even better view of the parade if they were only five stories above the avenue.

“I
am
dressed for it,” she said, “if you wouldn’t mind us not having dinner alone.”

“It’d be a shame not to show you off in that gown. And maybe you’ll repay my sacrifice by letting me take you for a spin around the dance floor.”

“
Can
you dance?” she asked, struck by the fact that she had no idea. She and Duvall truly had courted in a whirlwind.

“I’m a prince,” he responded, his eyes twinkling. “And a faerie. Trust me when I say I could dance that sexy dress right off you.”

Belle had the feeling he meant this literally.

~

Taking her to the hotel party had seemed like a good idea. Belle looked amazing in her sparkly blue gown and heels, even more amazing than he was used to. She must have absorbed some of his energy while they slept, because - to his eyes - every inch of her skin radiated vitality. He didn’t know whether to throw a wrap around her naked shoulders or crow to the entire city that she was his. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Darius the demon was very studiously not staring at her ass.

But Duvall had settled that. No matter if the demon did admire her, Belle deserved his trust and then some.

He certainly enjoyed the way she clung to his arm. Her teetery heels might be the reason for that - and the mixed nature of the crowd. Apparently, this was
the
vantage point from which to watch the tigers’ nightly parade. The upper ranks of a dozen races were bumping elbows here - elves, faeries, weres of more varieties than he could immediately name. Belle was sightseeing here as much as anywhere.

Hopefully, he’d earn enough good will by foregoing their private romantic dinner that he’d find the nerve to bare his wings to her. Continuing to hide them was starting to seem cowardly. Come what may, they were part of him. Duvall had to know if she could accept them.

It also occurred to him that it might make matters easier if one or both of them were drunk. With that in mind, he snagged a flute of champagne for her and one of fresh squeezed OJ for him.

Belle chinged her glass against his and smiled so beautifully the rest of the world faded. “Thank you for bringing me here. If you weren’t a prince already, you’d still be the prince of my heart.”

Usually Duvall was the sappy one. “If I’d known this was what champagne did to you ...” he began.

“Excuse me, sir,” Darius interrupted from a few feet above them, his deep voice conveying politeness well. “The tables appear to be filling up. Should I grab one for you and the princess? Perhaps near the balustrade?”

“Oh yes!” Belle agreed excitedly. “I’ll go with him to find one with a good view. Stay,” she added, shooing him back when he would have come. “We’ll only be a sec.”

Taken aback by her readiness to leave him, Duvall blinked but did as she asked. He told himself she wasn’t jumping at the chance to be alone with Darius. That idea was simply the remnant of his jealousy talking. In any case, no one would bother her while she was with a demon the size of a barn door. As long as she was safe, her wandering off was fine.

An instant later, he was glad she’d left. A prickling at the back of his neck announced another faerie was joining him.

“So it’s true,” said a voice he knew and usually liked. “You did marry your mundane.”

Duvall turned to find his cousin Thorfynn gazing steadily at him. Though dressed like Duvall in a classic black and white tuxedo, he was from a blonder branch of the family, with eyes as brightly blue as a summer sky. Like all his Resurrection cousins, Thorfynn lived in the Pocket most of the time, rarely if ever venturing to Faerie. His family group considered Faerie prehistoric and themselves modern. In this instance, however, he was as hidebound as any Old Country denizen.

“I married Belle,” Duvall said coolly, not wanting a fight but also not about to shy from one. “She is my beloved and you will not call her a mundane - in my presence or out - no matter what I owe you for sheltering me from Mor.”

“Easy,” Thorfynn said, lifting his palms and smiling. “It’s nothing to me. Anyone can see she’s pretty.”

“She is my beloved,” Duvall repeated. “She is brave and clever and beautiful of heart. You will show her the respect she’s due if I have to magick it out of you.”

“Well, you could try,” Thorfynn said, his eyebrows shooting up a second before he broke into an unexpected laugh. “And I guess you’d succeed, mucky-muck Old Country prince that you are.”

“Right,” Duvall said, trying to relax into the same humor. “Thanks for not making me enchant my own relative.”

Still tense, he tossed back the rest of his OJ flute. Obviously hoping to make amends, Thorfynn took the empty from him, set it on a little table, and magically wafted over two fresh tumblers from a passing waiter’s tray. Because the drinks were decorated with tiger-striped umbrellas, they probably weren’t all juice. Just as Belle had so recently, Thorfynn clinked rims with him.

“To love,” he said, his eyes gleaming with the warmth faeries tended to reveal only to each other, “wherever we’re fortunate enough to find it.”

Duvall could drink to that, though he choked on his first swallow. By accident or design, Thorfynn had nabbed them two faerie sours, which were comprised of OJ, concentrated lime juice, a dash of whiskey, and considerably more than a dash of straight bar sugar.

“Jesus,” Duvall said, his eyes tearing at the strength of the concoction. “Remind me not to have more than one of these.”

Thorfynn guffawed and punched his arm. “You’ll need more than one when you introduce your brave and clever wife to your parents. When are their royal highnesses due to meet you here?”

“What?” Duvall said, nearly choking again.

“My mother’s been on the horn with yours all morning, on account of the stories that made the media. She said the queen acted like she knew you were here. Maybe she did it to spare her pride. Your mother claimed you were honeymooning in Resurrection so the four of you could meet in greater safety than in Faerie.”

Duvall swallowed. They were honeymooning in Resurrection to permit Duvall to share deeper parts of himself with his wife. Introducing her to his royal parents was a hurdle he’d thought best kept for another time.

Thorfynn snorted in amusement at his expression. “Guess Mom put her foot in it this time.”

“I ordered the paparazzi off,” was all Duvall could think to say. “I laid a Do Not Return spell all around the hotel.”

“There weren’t any photographs, if that makes you feel better. Hard to stop people from talking to reporters, though.”

“Crap.” Duvall had wanted to protect Belle from this sort of nonsense. He’d wanted to protect her from his parents, if it came to that. The king and queen of Talfryn were good people. When all was said and done, they’d support whatever made their youngest son happy. For Belle’s sake, he’d simply hoped to handle the “when all was said” part outside her company.

Instinctively, he turned to find her in the festive crowd. She and Darius had found a table next to the balustrade. They both sat there chatting, the tusked gray demon perched awkwardly on the folding chair, managing to dwarf both the furniture and her. Despite the differences in their species, despite the fact that until recently Belle hadn’t known such creatures existed, she talked to him as easily as she would to a fellow human. Indeed, she might have been more relaxed with Darius than she was around most people.

Maybe Belle saw past their differences to the ways she and Darius were the same.

Pride rose inside Duvall in a wave of warmth. Belle was as gifted as if she had magic, her heart as beautiful as he’d claimed.

“Want to break that up?” Thorfynn suggested, having followed his gaze.

“She’s fine,” Duvall said. “My beloved has a way of charming all sorts of beings.”

~

Perhaps Belle shouldn’t have been so impulsive, but when she saw an opportunity to speak to Darius alone, she grabbed it. She was pretty sure Duvall wouldn’t mind what she planned to tell the demon, only that he wouldn’t think of doing so himself. To speak in front of him might suggest she judged her husband for that - which she didn’t want to do. Duvall’s experience of life was simply different from other folks.

Finding a table was easy, what with Darius’s eight-foot presence scaring off anyone who looked at one. Belle was pleased with their selection: right by the balustrade with a good long view of the avenue. The Grande Hotel was built in three successively narrowing sections, where they were being the broadest. Up here, the night’s light flurries had been magically stopped. Down below, police were setting up barricades to block cross traffic. As if this was a cue, the hotel’s orchestra fell silent.

“Sit,” she said to Darius as he hovered. “Unless that folding chair isn’t suitable.”

“It will hold,” he said, taking it. “All the chairs and tables have bolstering spells on them.”

“You can tell?” she asked, curious and a little jealous.

“My race, the Spinks, are sensitive to such things.”

More questions than could be polite bubbled up in her. Because she didn’t like being questioned too much herself, she squelched them. “If you’re sensitive, I suppose you already know what I’m going to say.”

“I don’t read minds, ma’am,” he said gravely.

Belle rolled her lips together against a smile. “It’s about the money my husband gave you earlier. I thought perhaps you’d appreciate being told they weren’t regular bills.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding his great tusked head. “That I did know. I didn’t want to say, but your husband put me in a quandary. It’s a violation of my parole to be in possession of faerie dust, which is what magical money is made of.”

Your parole
? Belle thought, working very hard to control her eyebrows.

“Your husband is aware of my past,” Darius said, clearly able to read some things. “It ... came up in our conversation in the stairwell.”

“So,” Belle said, wondering even more about that conversation. Then again, if she was keeping this one private, she supposed he had a right. “I guess you can’t cash in the bills and buy your own limo the way I thought.”

“No,” Darius said. “Though it’s kind of you to consider I might want that choice.”

He seemed uncomfortable expressing his gratitude. Was this a cultural thing, or the fact that she was talking to him at all? Stymied as to what to say next, Belle placed both palms on the round table. “I really don’t have a clue how things work here,” she blurted.

Darius nodded. “The Pocket can be a complicated place.” He hesitated a moment before going on. “Perhaps you’d like to know I gave the magic bills to a charity that helps people from other dimensions adjust to life here. The person who runs the place will make sure the dust is only sold for proper medical uses.”

“That’s nice,” Belle said as her mind spun in new directions. Duvall’s twinkle stuff had medical uses? “I suppose it helps everyone if newcomers acclimate.”

“In most cases,” Darius agreed.

The candles on their table flickered, causing the demon’s tusks to gleam like ivory. His eyes held the same alien wildness as before, but somehow it was softened. She’d forgotten how different they were when they talked, that they weren’t simply two fishes out of water. People liked to say travel was broadening, but for a second Belle thought her brain would broaden so much her skull would explode.

All in all, she was inclined to believe that was a good thing. By bringing her here to this strange new place, Duvall had given her a gift neither could place a value on.

“Wait a second,” she said as something else occurred to her. “If you gave the magic money to charity, how are you paying our tips? You shouldn’t have to do that yourself.”