Page 38 of The Fae’s Treasure

“Both?”

“No, no. I like riding this feeling. I like seeing you writhe so prettily. And I want you to come, again and again, not just once, but a whole cornucopia of times. Of squeezes, of noises, and juices. Mmm, my Deanna. My feast. My harvest. Every peak is another fruit for my table.”

Prettiest way of saying “I’m going to make you come a dozen times” I’ve ever heard.

But a lot of guys talk a big game and don’t deliver.

That’s the only coherent thought I have before Dairmuid pushes my wrists into the bed with both of his hands, throws his head back, and not only gives me enough eye candy to create a cavity, but also ruts in me like he’s got batteries. Hard, fast, just enough movement in that super tight, super sweet spot that presses my clit and makes me feel so full that I—

“Arhhh!” I let out a yell that would absolutely have woken the baby. Thank goodness for our double-bubble fortress. “Dairmuid, oh, Dair, yessss.” Praise escapes me in a long hiss as I wriggle deeper into the mattress.

“Mmm, one sweet, delectable bite,” Dairmuid purrs—and rolls me to my side, and scoots up behind me. He pulls my leg back, slides in deep, and bites my shoulder, sucking on the skin as he buries his face in my hair. “I do like my favorite fruits to be absolutely bursting with juice,” he hints.

“Then fill me up,” I challenge.

“Oh, no, love. That’s my offering. The juice is yours.” His hand glides over my hip and through my curls, parting my lips to find my puffy, oversensitive clit.

With the perfect pressure, he rubs it, slowly at first. He builds until a strange, delicious new feeling starts to creep over me. A feeling of fullness that’s more than just the thickness of his cock pushing into me in this new angle. “Wait,” I pant, even though I want to stay in that blissful “almost there” moment for longer.

“Must I? It feels like my lady is about to christen me. Offer me her wine.”

Does he mean... Does he mean he’s going to make me squirt? Like gush?

“I’ve never— I can’t do that,” I whisper. “I leak, not christen.”

“My little human love. I’m positive you can. I can feel how full you are already.” He pressed down on my mound and my pussy throbs, jumping and twitching. “You just need to relax, my love.”

Relaxing hasn’t happened lately, except for the moments when I’m with Dairmuid, when I feel our circle of new community members protecting us.

Threats surround us. My life is in turmoil.

And Dairmuid is the answer. To relaxing. To the future. To safety, and family, and love. “I love you, Dairmuid,” I whisper.

His whole body freezes, but I’m already there, arching and shaking in his arms as a second orgasm takes me, and this one comes with a blast of my essence across my thighs and down his cock as it stays buried in me.

“I love you, my lady. My Lady Deanna. Deanna... Will you truly be my lady, and the mother of my children?”

Children, not child.

And I remember what he said—about humans offering things, and faes, and bargains that can’t be broken. “Dairmuid.”

“You can answer later.”

“Be my soulmate, and take my soul in exchange for yours—and give me your son as my son, and all of your children as my children, as long as both we do live—and even after, when only our souls go on,” I offer, pressing back into him, flushed face looking up into his pale one, praying I haven’t made a horrible mistake.

My Deanna.

I feel something unwinding, unraveling inside of me, and something rushing in as I hold her tight, body pumping out my essence, bathed in hers. Claiming her.

“My Deanna, I give you my soul, and claim you as my soul’s own true love and mate, and take your soul in exchange. I give you my son, and name you as his true and only mother, and thus shall it be for any and all children I ever bear.”

As soon as I finish speaking, I burst inside of her, holding her so tight I fear I’ll break her, but my Deanna is so strong, so fierce. She wraps her arms around my neck, sinking back into me. We are one wet curve of life, and love, and promises.

I gave away the part of myself I vowed I wouldn’t ever be able to. No fear fills me, only a soaring, swooping sense of peace and contentment, the same feelings that I find when my work for the autumn season ends each year. Rest. Safety. Something massive that takes everything from me has been done well.

“You and Rory are the greatest things in my life, the best things I have ever done—and I did nothing, truly nothing, to win you, to be blessed with you,” I murmur, so inexplicably tired, but so elated.

“You did more than you know—and you’re going to keep doing it,” Deanna says, voice firm.