Page 4 of Fairy’s Forbidden Touch (Wings & Whispers #2)

Something vulnerable flickered across his perfect features. “I have never… that is to say, I have knowledge but no practical experience with physical intimacy.”

Oh. OH.

“We can go as slow as you want,” I assured him. “Or not at all. Just talking is fine too.”

He shook his head. “I have been unable to experience touch my entire adult life. Now that I can… I don’t want to waste the opportunity.”

There was loneliness in those words that hit me harder than I expected. Whatever was happening between us, it wasn’t just curiosity or attraction for him—it was the first chance he’d had to experience something most people take for granted.

“May I remove your jacket?” he asked formally.

I nodded, standing still as he carefully pushed the leather off my shoulders. His movements were deliberate, almost reverent, as if undressing me was some kind of sacred ritual.

“The texture is interesting,” he commented, running his fingers over the worn leather.

“It’s old,” I said. “Had it for years.”

He set the jacket aside and turned back to me, eyes roaming over my t-shirt-clad torso. “May I continue?”

Is he going to ask permission for every step? I wondered, then realized—of course he would. Every touch was new territory for him.

“You can touch me however you want,” I said softly. “I’ll tell you if something doesn’t feel good.”

He nodded, then reached for the hem of my shirt, carefully lifting it. His cool fingers brushed against my stomach, causing the muscles there to jump.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked immediately.

“No, just ticklish. Sensitive.”

His expression turned curious, and he deliberately traced his fingers over the same spot, watching my reaction. I tried not to squirm.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

With careful movements, he lifted my shirt higher, and I raised my arms to help him remove it completely. His eyes widened as he took in my bare chest.

“You are… very different from me,” he observed, reaching out to touch the light dusting of hair between my pectorals.

“How so?”

Instead of answering, he began unfastening the elaborate closures on his own clothing. Layer by layer, he removed the midnight blue jacket and silver-embroidered vest, then started on the tiny buttons of his silk shirt.

I watched, mesmerized, as he revealed himself. His chest was smooth and hairless, with the same opalescent sheen I’d noticed on his face and hands. Subtle patterns seemed to shift just beneath his skin, like swirls of iridescence in an opal.

“Beautiful,” I breathed without thinking.

He looked startled at the compliment. “It is the wild magic,” he explained. “It manifests physically.”

“Can I touch you?” I asked, suddenly unsure if the permission went both ways.

He nodded, a flash of nervousness crossing his features. “Please.”

I stepped closer, placing my palm flat against the center of his chest. His skin was cool and impossibly smooth, like touching living marble. Beneath my hand, I felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, faster than I would have expected.

“What does it feel like?” he asked quietly.

“You’re cooler than a human would be,” I told him honestly. “And your skin is smoother. But it’s nice. Really nice.”

His own hands came up to mirror my position, pressing against my chest. “You’re so warm,” he marveled. “And I can feel your heartbeat.”

We stood like that for a moment, just feeling each other’s heartbeats. Then, growing bolder, I slid my hand up to his shoulder, then his neck, finally threading my fingers into his silver hair. It was as silky as it looked, the intricate braids creating interesting textures.

“May I undo these?” I asked, touching one of the braids gently.

He hesitated, then nodded. “No one has touched my hair since I was a child. My attendants use tools to avoid contact.”

The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on me as I carefully unraveled the first braid, letting the silver strands slip through my fingers. Thalen’s eyes drifted closed, his breathing becoming deeper as I worked.

“Does that feel good?” I asked, my voice dropping lower.

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than I expected.”

I continued unbraiding his hair, watching as it fell in waves around his shoulders. When I gently scratched my nails against his scalp, he made a soft sound that went straight to my groin.

“Humans enjoy having their hair touched,” I told him, continuing the gentle massage. “Especially here.” I demonstrated by lightly tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.

His lips parted on a silent gasp. “I… see the appeal.”

Emboldened by his response, I leaned in to kiss him again. This time, there was no hesitation on his part. His lips moved against mine with newfound confidence, and when I deepened the kiss, his tongue met mine eagerly.

His hands, which had been relatively static on my chest, began to explore—tracing my collarbones, sliding over my shoulders, mapping the contours of my back. Each touch was deliberate, as if he was memorizing me by feel.

I walked us backward until his legs hit what appeared to be a sofa, then gently pressed him to sit. He looked up at me with wide, curious eyes as I knelt between his legs.

“There are many ways humans touch each other,” I said, resting my hands on his thighs. “I’d like to show you one that feels particularly good. If you want.”

Understanding dawned in his expression. “You wish to… with your mouth?”

I nodded. “Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

His hands clenched against the sofa cushions. “I have… imagined such things. But never thought I would experience them.”

“Is that a yes?” I pressed, needing clear consent.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Please, Jesse.”

It was the first time he’d used my name, and hearing it in his musical voice sent a shiver down my spine.

I reached for the fastenings of his pants, which were more complicated than human clothing—involving small silver hooks rather than buttons or zippers. With careful movements, I undid them, then looked up for permission before drawing the fabric down his hips.

He lifted slightly to help, his expression a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. Beneath his pants, he wore something like undergarments, though the material was unlike any fabric I’d seen—almost liquid in appearance, shifting with subtle iridescence like his skin.

“These are beautiful,” I commented, running a finger along the waistband.

“They’re woven moonlight,” he said, as if that explained everything. “They adapt to the wearer.”

I gently tugged them down, revealing him inch by inch.

His cock was similar to a human’s in basic structure but with the same opalescent quality as the rest of his skin, and with subtle patterns that seemed to pulse beneath the surface.

It was already hard, rising from a nest of silver hair so fine it was almost invisible.

“Perfect,” I murmured, wrapping my hand around him experimentally.

Thalen’s reaction was immediate and intense—his head fell back, a gasp tearing from his throat. His hands flew to my shoulders, gripping tightly.

“Too much?” I asked, holding still.

“No,” he breathed. “Just… overwhelming. In the best way.”

I began to stroke him slowly, learning what he liked. His cock was cooler than a human’s would be, but warmed gradually under my touch. The subtle patterns beneath the skin seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, becoming more pronounced as his arousal increased.

When I leaned forward and took him into my mouth, the sound he made was unlike anything I’d heard before—something between a gasp and a musical note. His fingers tangled in my hair, not guiding but just holding on.

“Jesse,” he breathed, his accent making my name sound exotic.

I worked him slowly, using everything I’d learned over the years about what felt good.

The taste of him was different too—something almost sweet, like honeyed wine.

When I glanced up, the sight nearly undid me—his head thrown back, silver hair cascading over his shoulders, lips parted, the perfect composure completely shattered.

God, he’s beautiful when he lets go.

His thighs trembled beneath my hands as I took him deeper, establishing a rhythm. Each time I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock, those subtle patterns beneath his skin would pulse brighter.

“I can’t—” he gasped. “Something is happening—”

I pulled back just enough to say, “Let it happen. It’s okay.”

When I took him back into my mouth, his entire body went taut. He came with a cry that sounded almost like singing, his release tasting of that same honeyed sweetness. The patterns beneath his skin flared brightly, illuminating the room for a brief moment.

I stayed with him through the aftershocks, gently releasing him only when he tugged at my hair. When I looked up, his expression was one of absolute wonder.

“That was…” he began, then shook his head, apparently beyond words.

I moved to sit beside him on the sofa, giving him a moment to recover. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and the patterns beneath his skin were still pulsing, though more softly now.

“Are you okay?” I asked when he remained silent.

He turned to me, violet eyes wide. “I had no idea,” he whispered. “The intensity… is it always like that?”

I smiled. “First times are pretty intense. But yeah, it’s always good when it’s with someone you’re attracted to.”

His hand found mine, fingers intertwining with a newfound familiarity. “And you? You haven’t…” He gestured vaguely toward my obvious arousal, still confined in my jeans.

“We don’t have to do everything at once,” I told him. “This was about you.”

He frowned slightly. “But I wish to learn. To reciprocate.”

The idea of those perfect lips wrapped around me was almost too much to contemplate. “Another time,” I suggested. “Maybe we start with something simpler?”

His expression turned curious. “Such as?”

I guided his hand to the bulge in my jeans. “Just touching. Over clothes first, if that’s more comfortable.”

He nodded seriously, then began to explore the shape of me through the denim. His touch was hesitant at first, then more confident as he gauged my reactions. When I couldn’t suppress a groan, a look of satisfaction crossed his features.

“May I see you?” he asked, fingers hovering over my button.

I nodded, helping him undo my jeans and push them down along with my boxers. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of me, fully hard and already leaking pre-cum.

“You’re different,” he observed, reaching out to touch me tentatively. “Warmer. And the coloration…”

“Is that okay?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s fascinating,” he assured me, wrapping his hand around me experimentally. “Show me how to please you.”

I placed my hand over his, guiding him to the right pressure and rhythm. “Like this,” I demonstrated. “Everyone’s a little different in what they like. This is what works for me.”

He was a quick study, matching the movements I showed him and watching my face intently for reactions. When he discovered a particularly sensitive spot just beneath the head, he focused his attention there, clearly pleased by my response.

“You’re a natural,” I gasped as he picked up the pace.

“I am merely following your guidance,” he replied modestly, though there was a hint of pride in his voice.

It had been so long since anyone had touched me, and the surreal nature of the situation—getting a handjob from a fairy prince in his magical apartment—added an extra edge to my arousal. It wasn’t going to take long.

“I’m close,” I warned him.

Instead of pulling away, he leaned closer, fascination evident in his expression. “I want to see.”

That was all it took to push me over the edge. I came hard, spilling over his hand and my stomach, pleasure washing through me in waves. Through half-closed eyes, I saw him watching intently, cataloging every reaction.

As I caught my breath, he lifted his hand, examining the fluid on his fingers with scientific curiosity.

“Interesting consistency,” he commented, and I couldn’t help laughing.

“Such a romantic observation,” I teased.

His lips quirked in that almost-smile. “I have much to learn about romance, it seems.”

I reached for my t-shirt to clean up, but he stopped me, producing a soft cloth that seemed to materialize from nowhere. With gentle movements, he cleaned first me, then himself.

“Thank you,” he said formally when he’d finished. “For sharing this experience with me.”

The formality made me smile. “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

He frowned slightly. “I would prefer you use my name when we are… like this.”

“Thalen,” I said, testing the name on my tongue. It felt intimate, somehow more significant than what we’d just done.

We dressed in comfortable silence. I noticed him watching as I pulled my clothes back on, still studying me with that intense curiosity.

“Will you come back?” he asked as I prepared to leave, an unexpected vulnerability in his voice. “Perhaps tomorrow, after your work?”

The responsible thing would be to take this slowly, to really think about what I was getting myself into. But I’d never been particularly good at responsible.

“I’d like that,” I said, and was rewarded with his first genuine smile—a sight so breathtaking it made my heart stutter.

As I left his strange, beautiful home and made my way back to Maya’s couch, I knew I was probably making another in my long line of bad decisions. But somehow, this one felt different. This one felt right.