The Fae's Fire (BBW, Paranormal Erotic Short Story) (2 page)

Now this is Wonderland. Screw Dublin!
I’ve never been much of a nature girl, always was more suited to the click of asphalt beneath my new heels. But this place was different. It was like in middle school when I asked my best friend who had just cemented her relationship with her first
real
boyfriend what love was like. She did her best to explain, falling back on the “butterflies” line repeatedly but I was left more puzzled and confused about love than before; it was just one of those things that had to be experienced. The English language was a poor thing in comparison to truly heart pounding and emotional moments. The only word that comes close to describing how I felt lying there beneath the bone white moon on the silver grass is “peace.” But it was more than just peace. There was an erotic undercurrent that I imagined I could feel hum through my bones and rumble in my chest. My nipples were achingly hard again and the sound of my thighs rubbing together as I rolled on the grass left me wet and hot between them. I needed to find a quiet, private area and release this tension. Apparently a public indecency charge might still be in the cards tonight.  

Cool it girl. A little flirtation and a little moonlight and you’re ready for the loony bin.
I shook my head to clear it and noticed the small silver flask I had strapped to my thigh earlier for the funeral exposed by how outrageously I had yanked up my skirt. It was still at least half full of bourbon, the good kind, and a few knocks of that might settle my head. I rose slowly to my feet and began strolling away from the exposed field at the end of the alley. As I crested the first hill I found a small stand of birch trees and beyond them the rocky shore of a large lake. Of course, this was the lake or lough the town was named after. No leprechauns lurked in the shadows beneath the birches so that seemed like the perfect place to relax and crack open my flask.

You could always say this for Ireland, the scenery is top notch and it’s easy to understand why its earliest inhabitants worshiped nature spirits. The lake was so still that night it looked like
a mirror, shimmering and pewter. Maybe some ancient moon goddess would look down into it tonight and comb her flowing white hair. My thoughts drifted more and more as I sat quietly and sipped. I may have even dozed with my eyes open because I never heard him approach until his shadow crossed my vision.

“Hello,” he said. It’s amazing how such experiences can
sprout from such humble beginnings. To answer him back would have taken more power than I have ever possessed in my life. To start with I was totally and utterly entranced by his eyes. They seemed to capture the light, two perfect orbs of the moon glowed in them even here in the shadows. I don’t think I had ever seen true gray eyes before, soft as a dove’s back. The colors of him shifted in the chancy light. His hair was blond, but oh so pale, almost white and hung to his shoulders in fine hanks that flowed like silk. His face was beautiful. It’s not a term I would usually use for a man but there were no other words except maybe “otherworldly.” His jaw was strong and clean shaven, his nose aquiline and delicate. His mouth was a perfect little rosebud, almost too feminine but balanced by his more masculine features. High cheekbones curved up to those slightly slanted entrancing eyes. He wore a simple green t-shirt and jeans. His feet, like mine, were bare in the warm grass.

He slid into the grass next to me, each movement fluid. My eyes dropped to his exposed forearms, the muscles rippling slightly beneath his pale and flawless skin.
My God, who knew Ireland had boys like this. If I had known this I would have petitioned for Nana to have custody of me ages ago.

“You’re not from here.” There was no question in his
voice; his accent was prominent but slightly different from the cheerful cadence of the locals. “And yet I see your father in your face and I have known him.”

I giggled like a schoolgirl
; I felt like a moron. I’ve always prided myself on my smarts and the confident way I was able to negotiate sexual politics but this man reverted me back to my awkward high school self, the Moira who would turn bright red and inspect her shoes if a boy were ever brave enough to offer her a compliment or even a hello.

“I’m not from here, no. But you’ve never met my father unless you’ve ever been over to Millville, NJ, possibly for a
bingo night at the VA hall. He grew up in Staten Island. But I
am
from here, kind of. I mean I’ve never actually been here, you know. To Ireland once before but this is my first time to Loughsidhe. My mom was born in Dublin. My grandmother though, oh my Nana Moira, she was born here, ages ago though. You’re too young to have known her. Moira Dwyer. That’s my name too. Moira. She’s dead.” 

I’m sure my cheeks had turned an alarming shade of red as I finished my rambling monologue because I could feel them burning in my face. The young man only continued to look at me, his head cocked slightly to the side and a kindly expression in his eyes. My eyes were fixed on the ground where my hands were nervously plucking and tearing the grass stems. Every once in a while I caught a glimpse of him through my lashes and wondered how old he was exactly. Certainly no older than thirty, but he carried himself with the assurance of an older man. Those eyes, those silver pools were ageless.

“I knew a girl named Moira Dwyer but it has been many years since she has visited my shores. She came one year with her schoolmates after the Belfires had gone out and May Day was upon us. It’s a tradition here,” he added offhandedly. “Girls who sleep by my lough on the night before May Day will dream of their future loves.”

“That’s nice.”
God, I am such an idiot. Think of something to say. Anything to keep the conversation going. I could spend all night looking at this man and it would fuel my fantasies for the rest of my life.
“You said your lough, your lake. Does your family own this place?” I felt slightly more confident as I noted the way he was inspecting my exposed legs.

“No, not own. We look after it in a way. Protect it. Guard it from harm, Moira. And guard those who find their way to its shores.” His eyes locked with mine and while I wasn’t
strong enough yet to maintain that gaze, I managed to smile more confidently than before as I ran a hand over the generous swell of my hip. His eyes shifted to follow its course.

Seeing that such a beautiful man was taken by my body was a heady aphrodisiac. All of my self-doubt and shyness melted away. I lay back against the grass and arched my back invitingly.
My breasts pressed revealingly forward.

“Protection, huh?
I could use some protection tonight. I was warned in town about randy leprechauns that may take advantage of a girl like me.”

He
laughed, the sound was silvery like everything else that night. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear. The sidhe would never take something they were not invited to take.”

In another of those eerie, liquid movements, he was lying beside me, over top of me supported on his arms.

“I do see the Dwyer blood in you. The curve of your jaw, here.” His elegant long finger traced a line from the bottom of my ear along the bone. Even barely making contact with my skin his touch was electric. Goosebumps broke out along my arms and thighs. “The shape of your lips.” The same feather light touch pulled my bottom lip downwards, parting them ever so slightly. I closed my eyes and sighed lightly. “But most of all in that beautiful red hair, the fires of Ireland.” At this his hand moved up to my tousled hair and sunk into its crimson waves. He pulled, not gently, until I gasped with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

At that moment I knew there was no turning back. I would make love to this man on the dewy grass here under the watching moon. He would take me, please God, again and again in any way he wanted while I panted and begged for me. I was his. Like an ancestral curse or blessing, his pull was tidal and there was no escape.

Without breaking eye contact, his hand moved to my thighs. Delicately but with an undercurrent of hunger he traced the line of them upwards until he reached the hem of my skirt. “Do you desire me, Moira?”

“Yes.” My voice came out in a desperate little puff.

He smiled slightly and I saw through half lidded eyes that his eyes, so clear and wide only moments before seemed almost animalistic,
hungry
. His head lowered and he traced the line of my jaw again, this time with the soft touch of his lips. When he reached the pale skin of my neck he nipped gently. At the same time, his hand on my thigh continued its progress upwards under my skirt and around the line of my new lace panties. I gasped again when it reached between my legs. He applied pressure that waxed and waned with his kisses. The sensation of the rough lace of my panties and his touch made me ache with desire. His touch was teasing and seductive.

I almost cried out in despair when his hand moved away from my lips and
went to my back. He lifted me into a sitting position as if I were weightless. His searching hand found the zipper of my dress effortlessly and it dropped beneath his touch. I felt as though he could blow my clothing off with the lightest breath. The silky bodice of my dress pooled at my waist exposing my new black lace bra, an expensive indulgence for my trip. He lowered me into the grass again, its dewy coolness shocking on my exposed skin.

In a moment he was straddling my hips, the weight of his body pressing me further into the ground, pinning me beneath him. He ripped off his own shirt, his own rising desire giving urgency to our movements. The skin beneath his shirt was the same glowing marble as his face and arms. At first I had thought him quite thin but now I could see that while he was slender, he was heavily muscled. Wrapping my hands around his waist was like encircling the carved marble of Michelangelo’s
David
warmed by the heat of living flesh.

These thoughts rose on the tidal wave of my desire and disappeared just as quickly when my bra disappeared, cast off into the shadows and his questing mouth found my rock hard nipples. His tongue circled each expertly before teasingly flicking across
the surface. Pleasure and pain mingled in a white hot moment of delirium. Desperately I reached for the button of his jeans. I needed this strange, other worldly man inside of me.

The rough denim slid achingly slow down his angular hips exposing his silky blond public hair and his long, thick erection bobbed with his movement
s. My mouth went dry as all the wetness in my body seemed to pool between my legs. I had never been as slick before in my entire life. His mouth again was on my swollen breasts, showering them with gentle kisses and desperate nips.

He slid my dress down over my hips, his fingers sliding into the waistband of my pantie
s and tearing them roughly off. I spread my legs wide, wanting and needing him inside me right away. Instead, his hand once again found my slick lips and delicately traced their outline, every once in a while making a nerve tingling pass over my throbbing clit. I reached out and felt him rock hard between my fingers. Tentatively I began to stroke the silky skin of his shaft and he gasped quietly in my ear. His warm breathing rough with desire buffeted my neck, tickling and tingling the sensitive skin.

His lips moved downward, trailing kisses
in the cleft between my breasts, down my stomach pausing to dip his tongue into the cup of my navel and finally stopping with his parted lips just millimeters above my mons venus.

“I need to hear you say it again,” he growled, his fingers had not stopped their agonizingly slow revolution over my clit. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” I replied, my voice coming out in ragged breathless puffs. “I want you. I
need
you now. Everywhere. Oh God, fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

He growled in satisfaction as his tongue dipped between my engorged lips sending an electric pulse through my body. I almost c
ame right there and then, my back arched into his touch involuntarily and I let out a wordless shriek of pleasure.

His tongue continued the circuitous route his fingers had started leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Slowly, round and round making me wetter and wetter with his teasing light touch until finally he ran his tongue over my clit and undulated it gently, increasing and decreasing the pressure until I thought I would explode. Those long, elegant fingers found their way inside me stroking and pressing against my g-spot. My climax came furiously. My legs shuddered and throbbed, my full thighs pulled his face deeper into me until the last waves of it left me.

Instantly, his face was pressed to mine and the throbbing head of his penis was pressing urgently against my soaking sex. I spread my legs wider and he thrust into me, his hands on my hips lifting me towards him.
He buried himself completely growling again in desire. He thrust again and again, slow and long, keeping his own climax at bay though I could see the heat in his eyes. Each thrust filled me completely, warming me and raising my desire.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. My climax was building, uncoiling in my belly. I raised my own hips and returned his thrusts faster and more roughly. One hand wrapped beneath my knee and he clamped his teeth on my shoulder matching my thrusts with his urgency.

“Oh God, yes,” I screamed before I lost the ability to speak. He was pounding into me now, grabbing my hair and pulling my head back. My nipples rubbed against the smooth skin of his chest, spiraling my desire higher and higher with each touch. In one final stroke, the length of his shaft slid against my swollen clit and I came bucking and screaming, the fluid of my desire running between my legs. Everything around me disappeared in a moment of blackness and heat, very distantly I could feel him bucking and voicing a harsh cry with his own orgasm.