Page 30 of The Fae’s Treasure

But not alone. “Wait, what about Rory?” I whisper.

Dairmuid looks at the bassinet, and suddenly, it’s wrapped in a beautiful bubble the color of an autumn sunset, lavenders, reds, and yellows, a bubble that’s translucent and smells like warmth and wet leaves. “He’s with us, but that will dampen the sound.”

“S-sound?”

“If I please you.” His eyebrows arch.

If, he says. I’m already so pleased that I’m afraid I’m dripping.

“Oh.” New fear suddenly unlocked. He’s literally had sex with a succubus. The sexperts or the supernatural world.

I don’t know any “moves.” I don’t even own any sexy lingerie. Aaron was the sweetest, nicest guy, but he wasn’t demanding or flashy. As long as we had sex every couple of weeks, he seemed content. “I’m... I’m not like a fae. Or succubus,” I murmur.

“I know. You are like you. A human. A beautiful, amazing woman.” Dairmuid’s hands still on my shoulders. “Are you afraid I could injure you?”

“No.” Okay, well, now I am. A little.

“Why don’t... Why don’t I do something less strenuous that will still delight you, my Deanna?” he whispers.

His Deanna.

I hadn’t realized how empty I’d felt, how desperately I’ve been clinging to my newfound baby until he said those words and they hit home so hard that I can’t speak.

I want to be someone’s again.

Dad is gone. Mom was never warm, and she’s only growing more distant without Dad to bind us together, with every disappointment I bring her. Aaron... Well, let’s not lie. Aaron is a friend, and that’s not something that’s exclusive.

“All right,” I agree, breath barely squeaking past my lips. I’m still trying to work out why he would want to. Parts of me are finding it hard to believe he meant what he said—all the sweet, beautiful things he’s said.

“You do not sound enthused. I understand. We are new to one another, and you don’t wish to—”

“I wish to do a hell of a lot, Dairmuid. I just don’t fully believe that you want to. There are a lot of reasons why I doubt, okay? Humans like me have to live in a world of practicality, and flings with fae aren’t usually on the menu.”

Dairmuid studies me, then nods. For a moment, I think he’s about to explain how this is normal for fae, or to try to sweet-talk me into dropping my guard that’s already rising and falling like the end of a teeter-totter.

“Well... Would you like me to show you that you’ve no need to doubt, Deanna?”

“Doubt your attraction, or that this is the right thing to do?” I half-laugh, worried I might suddenly start crying again.

“Both. I want to prove that you are safe with me. That I am someone you need never fear in any way. Let me show you.”

I breathe out, still leaning on him, looking up into his eyes, those eyes that are endless, eternal, and focused on me. In the last few months, my life changed as fast and as drastically as I thought it could—and then fate dropped a baby and a fae at my door. In another week, I might lose them both, or lose my soul and my life with it, I guess.

“Seeing is believing,” I whisper, kissing him gently. “I want to believe that it’ll all be okay.”

I have never wanted someone to believe in me so desperately. I have never wanted to prove myself as a lover or a being, never, not even to my parents, who I know are exasperated with me much of the time. I live the way I want, and I do my duties to the Autumn Court as well as any fae, and so they are silent.

Deanna is not silent. She is outspoken even when she is speaking softly, and her heart is loud. Her expectations are high. It isn’t enough to be handsome and powerful.

For the first time in my ageless life of ease and pleasure, I am terrified of failure—even when the woman before me is the very definition of sensual success.

Deanna and I fall back, her mouth warm and open against mine, her towel dropping free.

She is long and lithe, with a long waist, small, soft breasts, and legs that feel like silk against mine, wrapping around me. Every bit of me is burning to claim her, to slip inside her heat. I can already feel how hot and ready she is when her legs wrap around me, and her hand digs into my back.

And that would be selfish.

A father doesn’t just care that he receives his fair share of anything. He has to put another first. A lover should do the same. Not a selfish lover, not even a romantic lover. A lover who means to remain steadfast and not leave, and to truly practice the definition of love.