Page 29

twenty

A Meddler at Midnight

I n Skye’s heated embrace, Heather was whisked back to the miniature castle. He landed just beyond the balcony balustrade, keeping her in his arms. Ella must have lit the hearth in Heather’s bedchamber, for the warm glow shone through the glass entry to the exterior, giving the place a homey aura.

Evening under the faerie tree was enchanting. Faeries flitted about the boughs, glowing like tiny flames in pastel rainbow hues. Soft moonbeams filtered through the wet leaves of the branches, coating them silver in the light. Dew drops glistened off slick surfaces.

Skye was a sage green star, the moonlight making him even more brilliant than his natural glow.

Puddles on the veranda cast back his luminescence.

The gentle pitter patter of the falling rain blended with the swishing of ribbons hanging from nearby branches.

Skye’s wings flitted as he held her close.

His gaze lingered on her face, his own visage soft, beholden with a look of love and awe.

The words “I thee bind” echoed Heather’s mind on repeat. She thought back to his actions on the eve they met, how he wrapped and twined her wish ribbon, encircling their united hands… in the similar fashion of the two pixies joining their lives at the ceremony she witnessed.

“It’s the life goal of every Luna Moth to find their soulmate, their heart mate. Their bonded.” said Skye. “My soul recognized yours when our eyes first met.”

Heather’s breath caught. The truth of it clanged through her like a mighty bell in a tower, loud, clear and absolute. It was something she had never dared hope for. Wish for.

He spun Heather in a circle as if they were in a dance. Heather kicked her feet and laughed as he twirled faster and faster. The world became a blur. Wonder filled her. How was this the same male whose mother mentioned he had to be threatened to attend his dance lessons?

Skye released her legs. Her slippered feet slipped to the ground and his other arm remained at her back, pulling her flush against his chest. He captured her forearm and held it out before them.

The kiss mark he had placed on the inside of her wrist was now faded.

Barely perceptible. He brought the sensitive flesh to his lips and kissed it anew.

She shivered under the searing contact as a fresh shimmering mark remained upon her skin.

The near perfect imprint flashed silver, white, then green, which glowed in the dark.

This time it was Heather who hummed the song from the square. She looked up into his mesmerizing eyes and reached out, taking hold of his sharp jaw.

“Kiss me, Skye.” The breathless whisper rushed past her lips. His eyes darkened, focusing on the curvature of her mouth. He didn’t hesitate, leaning in until his warm lips enveloped hers.

His tongue slipped between the seam of her mouth as she ran her fingers through his silky hair. He pulled her closer, his hips pressing into hers, revealing what she was doing to him.

She widened her lips, and her tongue met his tantalizingly.

Her nipples ached as the peaked mounds brushed against his tunic.

He moaned low inside her mouth, the sound almost indiscernible to human ears.

It reminded her of humming. His chest rumbled.

She tightened her grip on his hair and tentatively rubbed against his aroused length.

The apex of her thighs heated, and she felt a familiar pulsing there.

He reached down and, with the expanse of his palm, slid from her lower back to cup the underside of her bottom, further pressing her against his growing hardness.

She wanted him so badly she trembled against him.

Skye bent and gathered her in a bridal carry, his lips locked to hers as he strode into the bedroom, where he lowered her gently on the bed, then he followed, his knees on either side of her middle.

His green wings spread wide, encompassing Heather’s view.

Glowing, the membranous sinewy appendages appeared as stained glass in a castle chapel.

The weight of his beautifully built body weighed pleasantly against her.

He ended the kiss and pressed his face into the nook of her head and shoulder, inhaling her jasmine perfume deeply, as if savoring it.

With haggard breaths, Heather hungrily admired his sculpted visage, his tousled hair, his sultry eyes holding her own captive.

He captured her breast as he took another draw of her scent, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck to the convergence of her chest. The heat of his tongue snapping her spine taut, and she arched against him.

The sensations all too much at once, and altogether not enough.

She felt him lift the hem of her skirts, the cold air on her legs producing a shiver.

His warm hand trailed up the back of her calf, following the path of her silk stocking, the tender caress tickling the delicate skin there, eventually meeting the ribbon garter of her upper thigh.

His gentle fingertips teasingly traced the outline of the satin.

The flimsy fabric of her shift, the only thing between them.

She heard him murmur, “These blasted ribbons will be the death of me.” With a tug, the garter fell away, and swiftly his fingers were grinding against her most sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs.

She arched against the pressure of his palm, enticing a breathy moan.

She convulsed in over stimulation. He gripped an upper thigh in each hand and spread them wide, settling betwixt them on his knees.

His lips left her tender chest, trailing down the length of her.

Silky lips kissed her delicate upper thigh, leaving behind another green pixie mark there, the perfect outline of his mouth.

Marking her as his in her most private of places.

He paused, taking the sight of her in. She blushed pink.

She had never been this vulnerable with someone.

His wings flapped slowly. His nostrils flaring at her arousal.

He moved from the spot and pressed his nose to the bud at the center of her.

Her breath caught audibly. His warm tongue met flesh.

She jerked in surprise, her lean thighs clamping down on his head.

Skye released a low growl. Heather ate up the view of him, on his knees, his wings lit from within and the warm glow of the fireplace.

The image forever seared into her memory.

She relaxed her legs, laying limp and bare for him from her waist down, her voluminous skirts crumpled at her chest. She gripped the hem between her fingers, needing something to hold as his tongue swirled around her center.

Her molten core pulsated under his ministrations. Her hips writhed against his tongue.

His bergamot pheromones flooded the room, mixing with the musky scent of her sex. Heather’s body thrummed, the waves of pleasure crashing into her over and over. Her inner muscles grasped at the emptiness of her core. She needed him, needed him inside her.

His name broke from her lips as if it were a prayer.

She became nothing but deep need. His fingertip traced the opening of her slit, his tongue adding more pressure to her bud.

The pleasure washed over her, all her nerve endings alight, peaking as she came.

Heather shook uncontrollably as her release worked its way through her body.

She couldn’t hold back the low keening that formed from her throat.

She moved to cover her mouth with her palm, but Skye pulled her hand away.

“I want to hear ye. Don’t hide from me.”

Heather turned a darker shade of pink, successfully nodding as she failed to catch her breath to utter a single syllable.

But she had a moment of clarity, seeing a haze of his dust circling around the bed.

As heartbeats passed, it was solidifying before her very eyes, resembling the chrysalis encasing at the treetop.

Skye stood and reached for the ties of his tunic on either side of his ribs.

With the left loose, he went after the one on the right with deft hands.

But a shrill knocking on Heather’s chamber door interrupted her hazy view, shattering the intimacy between them.

She jolted up into a sitting position, attempting to adjust her skirts hastily with trembling fingers.

“I beg your pardon… but your father is here, demanding to see ye, Mr. Ashwoode,” called Ella from beyond the wooden slab.

Heather’s eyes went wide. She jumped from the bed.

His timing was worse than the butcher back in Mae’s kitchen!

Her cheeks were now flaming red as a torch.

She pressed the backside of her palm to the conclave of her face, attempting to cool it.

Skye snarled, ran his large hand through his tousled locks, and then readjusted the ties of his shirt.

“Tell him I’ll be right down,” he growled to the handmaiden. His own breath heavy.

“Thank ye, sir.” Ella’s footsteps were audible as she retreated down the hallway.

Heather attempted to straighten her wrinkled skirts, the scope of fae hearing troubling.

To think that Ella had heard what was taking place within the room.

She covered her face. If she hadn’t been overheated before, Heather was now.

Could Skye’s father hear them from wherever he was in the castle? She rubbed her brow.

The cocoon, in the process of forming around the bed, lost its luster, and the dust dissolved slowly, before disappearing altogether. She watched on quizzically, her head bent at an angle.