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I’m riled up, fed up. All I want is more, then more, and then even more.

I wiggle, squirm, and grind myself against the satyr. “Puck…”

He peels his mouth from my neck, veering back and jerking me into him. “Puck, what?”

We chuff against one another, stare at one another. The length of his body aligns with my own, my breasts mashing into that ample chest. Our height difference brings my stomach in contact with his pelvis. His length is erect and wedged between us, creating that friction I’d experienced when we’d first kissed, and even before that, when the fantasy of him had pried me open.

Air compresses in my lungs. My flesh sears where he’s kissed me—and where he’s yet to kiss me. I quiver from the need of it. I’ve never been this unsteady in my life, never this unbound.

Puck senses this disruption, the upheaval inside me. He cradles my face and cranes it to meet him halfway, then leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “You have a question for me?”

I do, before this goes any further. “Can you…can we…?”

He translates the rest. “Ah. Not to worry, luv. Like I said, my forest kin are born from seeds. And even if we fuck others from outside this weald, I’ve never heard of a woodland Fae conceiving. We’re safe there.”

I had suspected that. Still, I’d needed to be sure.

“What else?” he asks. “Tell me, luv.”

At present, I’m barely able to stand, let alone articulate myself. I shake my head, unsure what to appeal for. Thus, the admission falls from my tongue. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

Satyr or not, only he can manage a smile that’s simultaneously carnal and sweet. “You will.”

“How?” I ask.

Puck pecks my lips. “Trust yourself.”

I hesitate. He gathers me closer, his hands palming my rear, possessive, feverish. I was wrong earlier. Even as a huntress, I don’t know all the ways he moves. Not yet.

The very thought causes my eyelids to flutter. I might be a novice at this, but I have a flirtatious younger sister who’s lived a rather social existence. Thanks to her, I’m aware of the mechanics.

As for the rest, I’ll trust myself. I’ll trust the drum of my heart. I’ll trust the furious throb between my legs. I’ll trust the wetness building under my skirt.

Encased in Puck’s arms, my body takes over once more. I follow its lead, balance on my tiptoes, and angle my head. I speak privately against his mouth, so that not even the fruit trees can overhear. “I want you inside me.”

I want his body above mine, surging into mine. I want that stiffness lodged to the brink. I want all of him within all of me.

That’s it. That’s all I say.

Puck’s face darkens. His features contort, his pupils swell, and his nostrils flare.

And then he snaps. The satyr hauls me into him, sweeping me off the ground. His head swoops down, and his mouth seizes mine. On a moan, my mouth yields under him, welcoming the nimble flick of his tongue. It slips past my lips, flexing into me.

The kiss splays wide, our tongues lapping together. I open myself to every lick of heat, every stroke.

I snatch the caramel velvet cloth at his throat, divesting him of the fine material and casting it aside. After that, my shaky fingers plummet to the neckline of his vest. I fumble with the clasps, but the cursed things won’t release. An incoherent noise rattles from me, ending on a growl.

Puck chuckles, the masculine timbre pebbling my flesh. I muster a glower that doesn’t fit across my face. Despite the ravenous buzzing in my stomach, my expression inevitably slackens with humor.

Now I know the motivation behind this excessive amount of fastenings. It’s an enticement. The more difficult it is to access him, the more tempting. The harder one must work, the more eager one becomes.

Puck breaks the kiss and locates my digits. “Like this,” he says, placing my hands on the right spots.

We work the buckles loose. One by one, we burn a path down his torso, revealing plates of flesh, all creamy pectorals and tan nipples. From there, the long garment shivers apart, black leather splitting at his abdomen. The muscles bunch and stack there, foothills of skin intersected by fibers of dark red hair between the slopes of his hipbones.

He sheds himself of the attire, chucking it to the grass. My stomach swoops at the vision doused in lunar light and the golden shimmer of fruit. He’s a part of this magical place, where the world is recognizable and unrecognizable. This place, where teal shadows saturate the landscapes and candles accent the trees. This place, where the fauna roam on jewel-colored paws, their tusks inked and pelts resplendent, clovers perched on their antlers, and their metallic whiskers twitching.

And for once, I feel like I was meant to be here, too. I was meant for this moment. I was meant to find this dell with him.