Fairyville (Fairyville #1)(17)
Author: Emma Holly

She chuckled at the memory now, because he’d let her do it again—grudgingly at first, and then with all the groaning, gasping, curse-laden enthusiasm she could have wished. Going once had barely made a dent in his need. She’d felt like a goddess when he exploded that second time, an honest-to-goodness woman coming into her power.

He’d dragged her panties down her legs not thirty seconds later, ignoring her embarrassed protests to sink sweet, tonguey kisses into her sex.

"I can do this now," he explained, his mouth wet and hot against her. "It’s safe for me to do it until I get hard again."

He hadn’t taken long to figure out what she liked, or to demonstrate just how spine-wrenchingly good an orgasm could be. He’d also known not to leave it at just one, sucking her clitoris even harder between his lips and tongue for the second peak.

"Where did you learn that?" she remembered asking once she’d caught her breath. She should have been jealous, but was too stupefied that an eighteen-year-old boy could be so uninhibited.

"I learned it from you," he’d said, seeming surprised that she had to ask. "Your body told me what I needed to know."

Her amusement faded as she remembered what had happened two short weeks later. Yes, indeed, Alex had wanted her. She simply hadn’t been the only one he was on fire for.

She sighed, and as if on cue, one of Rajel’s junior fairies popped into existence on the edge of the hot tub. It was a boy fairy, dressed like Robin Hood in forest green. He wasn’t really a boy, of course. Fairies only looked like children. For all she knew, this one was hundreds of years old.

"Whatcha doin’?" he asked, his little tighted legs swinging in the steam. "Trying to make Zoe stew?"

Zoe laughed, which was probably what he’d intended. "Better be nice, or I might decide to make fairy stew instead."

"I’m too quick," bragged the fairy, fluttering off his perch before she could pretend to nudge him. "I’m Samuel the Swift, fastest fairy in Arizona!"

He whizzed around her to prove it, a jet trail of green fairy dust twinkling in his wake.

"Why did the chicken walk across the road?" Samuel demanded, moving so rapidly the question sounded like it came from both sides of her head at once. "Because he was too slow to fly!"

Zoe was about to tell him this was the lamest chicken joke she’d ever heard, when Samuel came to a hovering, midair halt. His tiny body quivered with attention as he peered down the quiet road that led to her house, his wings beating so quickly they were nearly invisible.

Zoe saw nothing but the shapes and shadows of the night.

"Oh, no!" he gasped, both hands pressed to his mouth in horror. "Anything but a k-k-kitten!"

Zoe assumed this was another joke, but Samuel let out a tiny shriek, disappearing so abruptly that his fairy dust was left hanging in the air. Zoe could only wonder what had set him off.

But the fairy’s eyes and ears were sharper than hers. It wasn’t long before two bright headlights appeared over the gentle rise of her street. The distinctive throaty purr of the engine told her whose car it was.

The arrival of Magnus’s red 4Runner felt like a sorrier joke than the chicken one. Her manager would drop by tonight while she still pulsed with thoughts of all she’d never gotten to do with Alex, while she was—conveniently enough—undressed for a seduction she hadn’t yet decided she should attempt.

What was it the women of Fairyville said? Better to have loved and lost Magnus than to have never had him in your bed.

She scowled to herself as Magnus parked his vehicle in her driveway. Magnus used it for his weekend adventures—white river rafting on the Colorado, hang gliding in the Grand Canyon—trips he took alone and came back glowing from. Zoe was no daredevil, but she wouldn’t have minded camping out with him if he’d asked. He hadn’t, though, and now the car’s door opened and shut. She heard him whistling a passage from The Magic Flute. Magnus loved music almost as much as he enjoyed exploring Mother Nature’s more dangerous corners. He was a man who grabbed life with both hands, and his incessant happiness was an undeniable aphrodisiac. Against her will, Zoe’s body tightened on itself.

He must have heard the bubble of the hot tub, because he didn’t try her front door, but came around the walk to her deck in long, sure strides.

Every footfall made her sex tense more.

"It’s an Irishman bearing gifts," he called, holding up a bottle and two glasses in his right hand. His left was cradling something dark against his chest.

Whatever Zoe was going to decide, she knew she’d better do it soon. His eyes went a little wider, his smile and his footstep faltering when he noticed her bare shoulders. Tonight, there were no bathing suits in this tub.

"Oh," he said, suddenly sounding dazed. "Maybe I should have called."

An extra flush of color rose in his cheeks, making his already sensual face look as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He’d stopped at the edge of her cedar deck, and he was staring at the place where her br**sts would be beneath the water. When his tongue came out to wet the inner curve of his upper lip, Zoe’s inner rebel gave her a shove.

So what if Magnus thought she wouldn’t be any different from his other partners? The least she could do was show him what he’d be missing. As to that, the least she could do was show herself.

If he was going to grab life with both hands, he might as well be grabbing her.

"Is that chilled?" she asked, nodding at the bottle.

"What?" He dragged his eyes to her face.

"The wine. Is it chilled?"

"Oh." He licked his upper lip again. "Yes. It’s your favorite Chardonnay. The one you order sometimes at lunch." He stepped onto the wooden platform, the movement cautious. "I… brought some company, in case you’re not in the mood for mine."

He held up the object he’d been cuddling in his second arm. It wriggled and let out a mew. It was exactly what Samuel had predicted: a yellow-eyed, black-furred kitten with white feet. It’s tiny pointed tail, also tipped in white, stuck straight down as it dangled from Magnus’s large, tanned hand—utter cuteness held by a big, strong man.

"Aww," Zoe said, helpless to keep the croon inside. "How did you know I’ve been wanting a cat?"

"Lucky guess." He cleared his throat. "I meant it as a peace offering."

Zoe smiled in spite of herself. "How could you need one? I don’t think any woman could stay mad at you. There’s a box near the sliding doors that ought to hold him. Set him in it and hand me my robe. I want to say hello without parboiling him."

"Right," said Magnus, fumbling slightly with the wine glasses. "I’ll just set all of this down."