The Faerie's Honeymoon by Emma Holly Page B

past his navel as suggestive as an arrow. Though small, his nipples were as tight as hers.
    Seeing them, it was Belle’s turn to swallow.
    “I’m stepping closer,” he said, dark and low. “Please don’t stop what you’re doing.”
    How could she stop? Every seductive inch of him got her hot, making her clit itch for more rubbing. He stepped close enough for their legs to touch: hers in the nice silk stockings, his in the smooth tuxedo pants. He’d magicked away his shoes, and his feet were bare. Until now she hadn’t noticed how elegantly shaped they were.
    “Spread your legs apart,” he said raspily.
    She gasped, because those four words were all it took for the cream gathering in her pussy to spill out of her copiously. When she parted her feet, it trickled down her inner thigh.
    “God,” her husband bit out through clenched teeth. Her arousal always did it for him. A slow motion shudder rolled up his spine. When he dragged his eyes from the rivulet running down her flesh, his irises glowed gold with faerie fire. “Don’t let go of anything. I’m going to kiss you now.”
    If she’d had his strength, her grip would have snapped the bedpost in two. She held it and her clitoris as he placed his lips lightly over hers. His tongue slid between, tickling the soft inner surfaces of her lips as both their breathing began to saw.
    Duvall licked deeper and then retreated. “My shoulder blades are tingling,” he whispered against her mouth, “where my wings will come out.”
    “I want to touch you there,” she whispered back.
    He tilted his head, kissing her so deeply she couldn’t hold in her moan. Again, he pulled back an inch from her. “Do it lightly,” he said.
    “I want you to turn around.”
    “Belle ...”
    “I want it all. I want to see the whole process.”
    Her body seemed to tingle from the bones out when he slowly complied for her. “I’d rather be sucking you off,” he threw over his shoulder.
    She shivered - he was skilled with his mouth - but she stuck to her guns. “Once we get past this, you can choose whatever you want to do next.”
    “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.
    Though he put this out as a joke, his voice had grown tense again. She laid her hands on the balls of his shoulders, the muscles there warm but tight. His back was simply a back: beautiful, strong, the skin that wrapped his shoulder blades as smooth as cream. She kissed the vertebrae between them. Duvall let out a little groan.
    “Beloved,” she murmured, brushing her lips across the hollow. “Let out your wings for me.”
    She stroked from his shoulders and down his sides, his ribs a pleasure for her palms to skate over. She noted the faintest glimmer around his scapula. Encouraged, she stroked the phantom fire, not on his skin but an inch above. Possibly he felt this more than an actual touch.
    “Belle,” he gasped, and suddenly his wings were there.
    They were folded up like living origami, attached by glowing muscles to his shoulder blades. Layered and transparent, the two pulsing notebook-size packs fit so compactly against his skin she doubted they’d be seen even under tailored clothes. This must be how his people kept them private.
    Intrigued, she touched them gently with her fingertips. The effect her stroking had was dramatic. Colors streamed wildly across his wings’ surface. Though intricately veined, they were smooth in texture. They didn’t feel like skin, but they didn’t feel like anything artificial either. When she pressed, lightly, they were pliable and warm. As she traced one of the larger veins with the pad of her thumb, miniscule golden stars followed in its wake.
    The stars twinkled the same as his faerie dust. Magic must be the blood that ran through these veins. No wonder he called them the essence of his power.
    She was so fascinated by her explorations that it took a while to notice Duvall was shivering.
    “Are you cold?” she cried, instantly repentant. She stepped closer,