Page 13 of Mischief Maker

Chapter Ten

Kireth

M y Faela. So tight and warm and wonderful.

Every one of her little mewls, her moans and her cries, has refilled a reservoir in me that I thought was empty.

I bring her as close to me as I can, reveling in her scent, in the soft clench of her body, in the way her eyelashes flutter closed as she basks in the warm glow of our pleasure.

I have lain with many mortals, and even other immortals, but nothing compares to this. I never want to leave her side again.

The force with which this desire hits me is catastrophic. Forty . That is all I have left with my sweet, perfect farm girl. I do not get to have her forever. Never before has the weight of my immortality, of my obligation, settled so heavy and claustrophobic on my shoulders.

I stay inside her as long as I can, simply reveling in our togetherness. What has this woman done to me? I want to be joined to her this way for eternity, sunk in her flawless depths.

“Kireth?” her tiny voice says, and I relish the way she says my name.

I stroke her hair, which is still wet from the river. “Yes, sweet girl?”

“That was amazing.” She nuzzles deeper into the hollow of my throat. “Whatever we just did, I won’t forget it as long as I live.”

I can hear the words she isn’t saying. She knows I will have to leave, too. Even then, she doesn’t regret it. I hope she will still feel the same way when I’m gone. Perhaps she will find a husband or wife of her own, and give them the impossible, heady pleasure she gave me.

My stomach roils with jealousy at the idea of anyone else having my sweet Faela, and it is a strange and unfamiliar feeling. I want to be the only creature to know her this way, to love her as she deserves.

I almost don’t notice it as I think it. Love.

Is that what this feeling is, to want so deeply for her happiness, to see in her all my needs and desires fulfilled?

I’ve heard of it, listened to songs and read poems about it, but never really understood it until now.

My past affairs have been merely that, sating a need, pursuing beauty, or simply enjoying the world and all the blessings in it.

Perhaps the curse the oracle put on me was not meant to kill the farm. Perhaps it was meant to hurt me in an even deeper way, by making me fall in love with a mortal—and then taking her from me.

“I will never forget you, either,” I tell her, my cock finally slipping free as I bring her closer to my body. Belatedly, I hope that I have not put a child in her. Then leaving her would be an even more tortuous fate.

We will have to do something about that in the future. I vow to keep a close eye on her the next two weeks and taste her often until I’m certain I haven’t planted a seed in her.

Twist my arm.

When the sun is fully down and Faela’s breaths have gone quiet and steady, I give myself over to sleep.

The next morning, she is up much earlier than I am, as is usual.

I wake up long enough to notice that she’s freeing herself from my embrace, tugging off my arm and unwinding my tail from around her thigh.

It thumps unhappily as she departs the bed, and I pull her quilt close to me instead because it smells like her.

When I’m finally up—my body had a lot of magic to recover after using up so much of it on my quest—the sun is shining and the world feels like a new and wondrous place.

Outside, Faela is laboring over the animals.

“Sweet girl?” I call out, and she shoots to her feet like a marionette on a string. She hikes up her dress and jogs over to me, then freely flings her arms around my waist as if she’s been waiting a long time to do that.

I knew she had this side to her. Underneath all that misery and death, there was an affectionate, passionate woman waiting to be let out.

“I’m glad you’re up,” she says. “Look.”

When we’ve finally disentangled, her pointed finger draws my eyes up to the fields. There are patches of green among all the dying plants. Some of them have recovered, as if time was rewound.

I gather her up close again and breathe in deeply. It looks like my mother did intend to help me, after all.

“What can I do today?” I ask.

Faela hesitates, clearly afraid of using more tasks—especially now that we have crossed this boundary between us.

“Can you water and tend the plants?” she asks hopefully.

I nod in agreement. I will happily do this for her.

My farm girl clasps my hands in hers and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you.”

I bound away to do my work, looking forward to when we’re finished and the sun is setting once more.

Faela

That afternoon, Kireth hunts down some ingredients to make another potion, one he asks me not so politely to drink.

“I saw what went in there!” It was altogether foul. I cover my mouth with one hand to prevent it from even getting near me. “I will not!”

He puts a hand on his hip, annoyed at my rebelliousness.

“This is important. We must make sure I don’t plant a half-immortal in you.” Then he unties the string of his loincloth, letting it fall down and revealing all of him, every last delectable inch of him.

“That’s the price,” he says, staring at me as his blood starts to flow down, causing his cock to slowly thicken and rise. The moment I see it, I want it, so I reach in his direction—but Kireth shakes the bowl in front of me again. “Nuh-uh. Not until you drink it.”

Finally I give in, and try to guzzle it all down before my stomach can revolt.

I gag a few times, working my hardest to keep the terrible liquid in my belly.

My god pats my back to comfort me, but I know he’s a little amused, too.

When I’m finished and I don’t think I’ll throw it all up, he hefts me into his arms and carries me upstairs.

The droplets of rejuvenating potion are indeed working. It’s slow, but the black mold has begun to drain out of the soil, as if the filthy film covering everything is now being pried away. For the crops that have recovered, Kireth uses his magic to foster their growth.

“The good soil helps,” he says, flexing his arm for me as if to show off just how powerful he is. “And my well refills much more rapidly now.”

Apparently, having the world’s most incredible sex does wonders for his reserve of magic. He is always keen to use it, ready to show off how wielding his cock like a weapon of bliss has made him stronger.

Kireth likes to torture me. After plundering me with his tongue and fingering me until I come all over him, his favorite thing is to lay me face down on the bed, fully supine, and then hold himself up on top of me so his cock is nudging between the cheeks of my rear.

I widen my legs just enough that he can taste me, and instantly all that delicious heat is surging downward, readying me for him.

That’s the worst part—how eager my body will be while he simply continues to tease, the head of his cock rubbing urgently against my clit and just barely dipping inside me. He likes to repeat this until I’m begging, my pussy weeping with need, and then he slides himself in where he belongs.

My immortal is creative, I will give him that. When we are bathing in the river, he brings me into his lap like the first time we kissed and guides his cock easily inside me. He lifts my hips and lowers them again, showing me how I can decide our speed and depth.

Now it is my turn to torture him.

I relish this new power, and when I focus hard on the places our bodies connect, I can pinpoint what makes both of us moan.

“Use me,” Kireth growls as I sink deep and then rise quickly, and the next time, I only take in half of him. “I want you to come over and over on my cock. I want you to drench me.”

And oh, how my body listens when he talks to me that way. When I find just what it wants, just what it needs, I seek out my gratification single-mindedly. Kireth groans in my arms, his claws squeezing my ass because he knows I like it when he handles me roughly.

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth. “Find it, sweet girl. I want to hear your pretty voice.”

At his request, I chase after that blistering wonder, that powerful shock of sensation that comes whenever I take him halfway deep and his cockhead rubs against the inside of me.

I soon learn where it feels best, and then I ride him, the contortions of his face mimicking my own as we both run headlong for our finishes.

When I come around him, I’m crying out his name, and he buries himself deep as he shoots his hot seed inside me.

It is the most exquisite feeling I’ve ever experienced to be so completely sated, collapsing against Kireth while the river flows around us.

There is one terrible side to all of this: knowing that he will, eventually, leave me.

Yet we easily fall into a pattern. He cares for the plants and I care for the livestock, and in the evening—before we retire for our nightly activities—we repair what’s fallen apart and broken over the years.

I’ve sold off the wool for a new window and a big pile of good wood for replacing fences, with enough left over to buy us fruit and bread and even some treats.

People in the village are surprised to see me selling cheese at the little stall Kireth built for me, which Rye pulls into town each week.

I’m the girl with the cursed farm, and at first, they are reluctant to buy from me. Perhaps my cheese is cursed, too, they whisper. But Kireth has imbued it with some of his delicious magic, and soon they are buying me out of stock whenever I come to the village to sell.

It seems that perhaps my luck has turned around.