A small shove, but it jerks me back nonetheless. She wants space. Needs to breathe.
Okay. I’ll give her that.
She doesn’t speak, just watches me, observes the space now between us. When it’s clear I’m not going to rush her again, she gathers herself rather quickly, and crosses her arms.
“Not everyone has the same idea of nightmares.”
“Oh, come on. You know what they say about me. I’m the big, bad man. The villain of Rosewood tales.”
“Are you, really though?” She seems dubious, oddly chastising, too. “Or is that how you want people to see you?”
To say I’m impressed with her rebuttal is only putting it lightly, but I don’t tell her so. I want to press a little more, taunt the flame, watch it lick and billow under pressure. “The question is, how do you see me, Tinksley Bell?”
Her head rears back a fraction. “Does it matter?”
I nod.
“And why is that? I’m just a little pixie in your grand world of immortal majesty.” Sarcasm drips off every note of that retort, quirking the corners of my mouth.
She may not be immortal but…
“If I recall correctly, there’s royal blood coursing through your veins, as well, so this grand world is just as much yours as it is mine.”
“Yeah? But this forest was yours just five minutes ago? Please, Captain, you’re not fooling anyone with your silly little mind games. At least not me anyway. And for the record, there’s nothing magical about Faes,” she mutters, narrowing her stare in offense.
I am loving this.
The sass on her is enticing. Evidently, my cock agrees, kicking beneath my slacks at the thought of egging her on.
Riling her up.
Cornering her.
Feeling that tight little body against mine as I sink my teeth into her neck while giving her this dick.
Goddamn it.
“On the contrary,” I take a step toward her, “they’re quite magical indeed. Vicious and deadly.”
Tinksley steps back. “You forgot conniving, deceitful, and despicable.”
“Kind of like Pan?” I counter, advancing again.
Every inch closer urges her backward until her back meets a thick trunk. I knew my words would strike a nerve, but the scandalized expression that settles on her face as I snuff out the distance between us far exceeds what I expected.
“Peter isn’t any of those things!” Her small hands ball into fists.
Those golden Fae markings adorning her pale skin seem to shine brighter in her ire. They’re beautiful—branches with a filigree swirl, spanning the balls of her shoulders down to her elbows. What makes them all the more enchanting is that they show only when her wings are concealed, an attribute only halflings possess.
Caging her in, one hand pressed against the centuries-old trunk on either side of her, I note how, once again, she doesn’t recoil, even through my observation. My head tilts with amusement. “Are you sure about that? Your mother sure seems to think so.”
“My mother? How did you…” Confusion colors her tone. I see it swirling in her eyes. She ponders it for several moments before shaking her head as if to collect her thoughts. “My mother doesn’t know anything about him, just like you and everyone else. You’re all quick to judge him, but I can swear on my life that Peter is good and pure, kind. Honest.”
I can’t even quell the laugh that shoots free from throat. It’s impossible. She thinks that abomination is honest, pure.
Right.
“What’s so funny?” she grits.
“Nothing—nothing at all.”
“Obviously you find something humorous if—”
“Observant. Learn to be more observant, Tinksley. You’d be surprised how differently the world turns when you leave naivety behind,” I murmur, face looming so closely to her own, I can practically taste the sweetness of her lips. “Now, run along. Go see your precious Peter Pan. Wouldn’t want to keep you away from him any longer than necessary.”
Tinksley holds my stare one second, two seconds, three seconds longer, and then she’s shoving me away once more, breaths somewhat shallow. Elegant wings expel in a flash, sparkling beneath the sun’s golden rays. I’m left in awe as her markings dissolve right before my very eyes.
“Have a good day, Captain,” she breathes, and then she’s off.
Taking flight.
Leaving me rooted to the ground.
Mewls, moans, slurping, sucking—all distinct, sensual sounds that can be found in the parlor at least twice per day, if not more. Sometimes it’s a private affair, others it’s not.
Like now…
Kazimir and Malik indulge on the other side of the room, switching between two of the most willing blonde puppets. They’re always eager for feedings, practically racing out of their rooms when summoned. No doubt a result of their inner-harlot, hence why Kaz and Malik are so fond of them.
Kaz’s dirty blond locks drip with sweat as he pounds into his dinner from behind, a hand wrapped around her throat, fangs lodged deep in her neck. Malik isn’t far behind, either. His little blonde lays flat on the desk, bared in entirety, legs spread as wide as they’ll go with his dark head bobbing between them. He alternates between eating her cunt and ravishing her thighs, back and forth, over and over again.
They’ll switch again soon, too, release or not. Those two are known for sharing quite regularly.
Me, though? I don’t share well. Never have, never will. Main reason why I acquired Tigerlily upon her offering in the first place—to be my personal blood bag. Given her neck is still quite the mess—thanks to her undying snark and smart-assed remarks—and she refuses my blood to heal, I’ve had to resort to these rotatable mortal puppets until she’s made a recovery.
This one isn’t as eager as the other two, but she’s easy to persuade most of the time. Very easy, especially when there’s copious amounts of alcohol and a show.
Naked back pressed to my fully-clothed front, Aleisha takes in the erotic performance before us as I run a feather-light caress along her smooth skin. Her pulse gallops, but not fearfully.
She’s aroused. The way her ass rolls against my cock confirms it.
My lips quirk.
Wrapping her dark tresses around my fist, I yank her backward until her head meets my shoulder. I don’t so much as have to demand her neck; she offers it up to me, eyes trained on Kaz and Malik.
“That’s right, sweetheart.” My palm ghosts down her bare stomach. “Just relax.”
The closer I get to the apex of her thighs, the more she falls lax. Legs spreading, breaths quickening. Her hips buck slightly as the pad of my middle finger grazes her clit, and a few methodical circles later, I’m spreading her lips with gusto, dipping the same digit inside.
Warm.
Wet.
“Such a tight little cunt,” I whisper, tip of my nose skating along the slope. “Just begging to be fucked, isn’t it?
“Yes…” she pants it.
“Well, if you take care of me, I’ll take really good care of you. How does that sound?”
“Like a deal.”
Humming, I skim my lips along the same slope, scenting her, nearly tasting her. My mouth waters in anticipation. “A deal it is then. This is the part where you stay real still for me and keep those eyes on the boys. I promise you won’t feel a thing, love.”