The Lightning-Struck Heart (Tales From Verania 1)

“Can you imagine? He’d have to be full-body hugging your penis just to jack you off.”

“I really wish you hadn’t said that. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Don’t marry Dimitri,” he said. “You’re not meant to be a fairy queen. Not in the literal sense, anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. I have a size kink too. Human size.”

“Ryan size,” he corrected.

“Remember when he would come within thirty feet of me and I would run away? Those were the good old days. Now I’m chasing dragons and getting blue balls.”

“Aww,” Gary said. “Do you need to go masturbate in the woods?”

“No.”

“I’ll cover for you. Go masturbate in the woods.”

“Gary.”

“Just a little. Just pull on it a little bit.”

“Gary.”

He sighed. “Chin up, kitten. We’ll get through this just like everyone else does. You’re not the first one to be stuck in a crapshoot. Pretty soon, you’ll look back on all this and wonder what all the fuss was about and say Ryan who? And then you’ll—holy mother of crap cakes in a shit storm, you will never get over him because of the sheer magnitude of all his perfections.”

I was feeling good about myself up until that last part. I turned to scowl at Gary, but his eyes were wide and staring over toward the river. I followed his gaze.

And.

Just.

Stopped.

There are moments in your life so profound, so extraordinarily crystal clear that even the remembrance of them is enough to feel like you’re being consumed by fire. Moments that might not mean much to anyone else, but mean the world to you.

I had these moments.

I was five and my mother was dancing to a song only she could hear.

I was seven and my father put his arm around my shoulders while we watched the sunset and waited for the stars to come out.

I was nine and I wished for something more.

I was eleven and Morgan held my hand for the first time.

I was fourteen when I stumbled upon a hornless unicorn and a crying half-giant.

I was fifteen when Pete whispered that his name was Ryan and he was to be a knight.

I was seventeen when I brought a bird back to life and I never told anyone about it.

I was eighteen when my mother cried and said I would always be her little boy.

I was twenty when Ryan stood at my side and my magic said finally.

And now. Now.

Now was Knight Commander Ryan Foxheart climbing slowly out of the river, water cascading down his body, dripping over miles and miles of muscle. He wore nothing but a thin, white undergarment that stuck and clung to his groin and thighs. He reached down, the muscles in his back flexing as he scooped up water in his hands and brought it up and over his head. His nipples were pebbled. His chest was covered in a smattering of wet hair. He was lines and corded muscle, definition and carved from stone. If I had let my eyes linger, I would have sworn I could see the outline of his cock through the wet fabric. My skin felt tight and flushed and I wanted. There was green and gold, and it was so fucking bright that I almost had to shut my eyes from the weight of it.