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With an appreciative hum, he dips his hand into the front of my pants. Those hot, long fingers scroll through the patch of hair between my thighs—and a small gasp tears from my mouth. The satyr scrapes lightly, delicately across my slit. He hunts for that kernel of sensation, dragging out the sounds braced on the tip of my tongue, the sensations teetering at the fringes of my center.

Our foreheads land together, our mouths dangling open. Sable brown consumes my vision, the whiff of leather, cloves, and pine enveloping me. His digits circle my opening, coaxing a tide of wetness from the slot. Then he glides those drenched fingers to the place where I throb. He presses onto the delicate nub, sparks igniting from that protrusion of skin.

I quaver, dizzy with need. “I want you there, Puck.”

“Which part of me?” he inquires. “My finger?” He crooks a digit between my folds and slides it high. “My tongue?” He draws that tongue up my throat, urging my head to loll back until my hair brushes the countertop. At last, he whispers into my ear, “Or my cock?”

“All of you,” I implore. “Give me all of it. Give me your body.”

With a growl, Puck claims my profile with his free hand and hauls my mouth to his. The satyr’s tongue pries me apart. I moan, kissing him back, our lips fusing.

My hands dive into the back of his breeches, spanning his rear. He groans, licks the crease of my mouth and plunges in again. All the while, his fingers whisk into the soaked cleft of my body, pumping up to his knuckles and matching the pace of our kiss.

I’m going to faint. Either that, or I’m going to tear him to shreds.

If he doesn’t stop, I’ll climax right here. I peel my lips away, snare his waistband, and walk backward, leading him into the living room.

He gives me a fiendish grin and trails, his pants captured in my grip. We cross to the fur rug spread before the fireplace. As I let him go, he moves in tandem with me. I turn, giving him my back, and he prowls close behind. Those rugged hands seize my hips, making me shiver. His bare torso—as wide as a shield—presses into my spine, and I recline against him.

Puck’s lips descend first, hot and pliable against the crook of my neck. My eyelids shut at the contact, and my head rocks back to land on his shoulder, giving him better access. I reach behind, clamping his nape beneath the curtain of hair.

He drops open-mouthed kisses in that sensitive nook. My mouth unhinges, falling open on a silent moan. The satyr has barely started with me, yet he raises gooseflesh across my skin. My fingers dig into him, holding fast, requesting more.

Puck obliges. A smile lingers in his kiss—I can feel it—which yields to an appreciative growl. He sucks on me, drawing my flesh into the humid cavern of his mouth. A noise reminiscent of a cry leaps from me. I curl into his solid frame, my bottom fitting against the erect ridge of his groin.

This feels like a hunt. Every motion and gesture are in sync, each of us taking turns as hunter and prey.

He’s everything I never wanted, never thought I’d desire. He’s mischief and sensuality, viciousness and impulsiveness. He’s a taunting smirk and a chain reaction of unpredictable words. He’s my blush, my scowl, and my laughter. He’s cleverness and candidness. He means what he says. And once he loves you, he puts everything into it, and he doesn’t falter.

Once you’re his, he’s yours.

This impish Fae is lightness and darkness. So am I.

Puck’s tongue tracks along my shoulder, then licks up the side of my throat to my ear. He suckles the lobe until I’m a shambles, quivering and gasping and utterly out of control.

This is what it’s like to be seduced by him. This is what it’s like to steal his heart.

My roguish Fae returns to that crook in my neck, kissing it as he would my lips, lapping and tasting until I can’t take it any longer. I step away from him, tarry for a moment, and make a choice.

I’m nervous, my pulse accelerating. Although we’ve done this numerous times, in numerous ways, there’s one thing I’ve never done with him. But I will now.

The fire lashes from the grate. Facing that small inferno, I slip out of the pants he’d given me. Then I take a deep breath and peel the long vest over my head, kicking aside the garments. I stand before him, fully naked.

My tattoo sits on my lower back, exposed to his gaze. I can’t see the marking, but I feel it. The X of crossbow bolts. The ink I’ll never be able to remove. It’s my regret, yet for the first time, the guilt hurts a bit less. If I hadn’t gone through that era of my life, I wouldn’t have become who I am now.

So, I reveal this part of myself to him. I do so without shame, my nudity on display. I’ve never disrobed for anyone. Tonight, I do it not merely for him. I do it for myself.

Puck remains quiet. I sense his gaze, avid on the tattoo while the blaze sputters.

He breaches the distance. In the firelight, I watch his shadow kneel, his fingers sliding down my sides. Lowering himself on the floor, he sketches the marking with his thumbs.

Then his lips follow. When they do, tears spring to my eyes. I clamp my eyelids together, my chin stern but shaky. Puck maps out the tattoo, planting kisses atop every dab of ink, until he’s covered the whole rendering.

Suddenly, my features smooth out, solace easing my stance. I don’t set the tears free, not because I refuse to but because I feel like smiling instead.

Finished, he rises. As he does, his lips peck their way up my form, searing a path to my mouth.

I twist my head to find his lips, a second before he hisses, “Now kiss the shit out of me, luv.”