The Magic Between Us (Faerie 3)

“Do what?” He had no idea what he’d done.

She reached her fingers into her wet curls and touched the swollen spot at the top of her cleft. “Here,” she said. “Touch me here.”

So he did. He pressed his thumb against the rigid little bump and she groaned. So he did it again. She began to thrust against his questing finger and he pushed a little harder and worked his thumb in small circles.

“Yes,” she cried. She was so wet that his hand glistened with the essence of her, but he’d never seen anything so beautiful, never felt anything so right as being inside her. “Don’t stop.”

There was no way he would stop. But he did climb back up her body so he could look into her face as she squeezed his finger and he strummed across that place that made her so happy. Though happy really wasn’t the right word. Hot. Molten. Spilling. And then she broke. With a keening cry, she arched her hips, and her body began to quaver. She spilled very similar to the way he had, and he watched her face as he worked her, as she shook in his arms, as she came for him, as he took the essence of her inside himself in the most elemental of ways.

She stilled in his arms and blew a lock of hair from her eyes. Her face grew rosy and she tried to roll into herself for modesty’s sake, but he’d seen everything now. “No,” he warned as he settled back between her thighs and pressed against her heat.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, somewhat chagrined.

“Now you know how I felt,” he said with a laugh.

“What’s good for the goose and all that,” she warned.

But then he pressed into her softness and she stilled, but she parted her thighs more, allowing him to settle more firmly. He slid inside her heat, watching her face as she took him into her body. He pushed in slowly, afraid he would hurt her. But she didn’t complain. His arms shook under his weight as he impaled her, and she just pushed him on, lifting her hips to take him inside. Good God, this woman was his. She stilled suddenly when he hit a barrier.

But then he pushed past it with one quick thrust. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned her head into his arm. He moved to pull back, but she wrapped her legs around his hips to keep him there. “Don’t go,” she said. “The pain has passed.”

“Are you certain?”

She nodded. Her blue eyes met his, and he couldn’t have retreated if he wanted to.

He pushed until he was seated fully inside her, and it felt like a piece of his heart broke apart and it was hers. He moved inside her, tilting her hips by grabbing her bottom so he could go deeper. She cried out, but this time she was clutching his forearms and kissed the side of his wrist where it rested by her head. They were wicked little nips of teeth and tongue, and he felt the need building within him again.

“Yes,” she cried.

And this time, when he topped that peak, he took her with him. They crashed together like waves upon the seashore. They moved together like one, and he poured himself into her, taking part of her in return. It was a part he would never give back. Never. Ever. He stilled, softening inside her, and then he withdrew and rolled to the side, taking her with him to lie on his chest.

***

Cecelia settled the side of her face on the springy hair that matted his chest. But part of her was broken. Where she’d been whole, she now was in pieces. Tears formed in her eyes, and she tried to blink them back, but she couldn’t. And then suddenly, a sob erupted from her throat, and she buried her face in Marcus’s chest, trying to take his strength inside her. He would give it to her, she was sure, if he knew how much she needed it. And she dearly needed it. She needed it so badly.

“Please tell me I didn’t hurt you,” he said, his voice rough and abraded as she sobbed into his chest.

“You didn’t,” she gasped out. But the sobs hadn’t stopped. He pulled her to lie on his chest, and she straddled his hips like she would her favorite horse. She settled into him, letting him support her weight. She let him do this for this one day, this one hour, and this one minute. She let him hold her. She let him carry her. She let him have her as no one else ever had. And no one else ever would.

He held her until the tears subsided, stroking her naked back as he crooned to her. Until finally she stopped. Then he pulled the counterpane over them both, and she fell asleep on top of him. And he let her. She burrowed into the space where his neck met his shoulder and put her hand above his heart, and to the rhythm of his heartbeat, she fell asleep.

Fourteen

Marcus rolled to the side, lowering Cecelia gently to the bed, and she burrowed into him, even in her sleep. God, he loved this woman. She’d cried until she’d exhausted herself, great sobs heaving from her tiny frame until she’d finally stilled on top of him and rested.

She rolled toward him, looking for the heat of his body like it had always been hers to claim. And he supposed it had. He was hers. She was his. He’d been an idiot for the space of six months, but things were well now. Things were as they should be. Now she just needed to marry him and everything would be perfect.

He placed his lips tenderly against her forehead and pulled back, sliding from beneath the counterpane. He pulled on a robe that hung on the edge of the bed and walked out to the kitchen. He hoped he could find something in the kitchen to eat. It had been a while since anyone had been in the cabin, but surely there were some supplies. He stopped in the threshold of the kitchen when he heard whistling.

“You’re at the wrong place at the wrong time, Ronald,” Marcus warned. Ronald stepped from behind the counter, an apple clenched between his teeth.

“Never a wrong place. Not when you need help.” The gnome winked. “Who do you think left the fresh water for you?”

The sorry little sot.

Ronald brushed a hand through the air, dismissing Marcus with a simple gesture. “There are always consequences for your actions,” the gnome warned, talking around a bite of apple. He nodded toward a basket on the table. “I brought sustenance for you.”

“Thank you,” Marcus grunted, not yet willing to be as appreciative as he should.