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It’s too much to handle, an ecstasy so keen I can hardly bear it. I think I’m crying. Every bit of me is trembling, turned to jelly by that magical tongue.
He’s kissing my pussy now. No more vibration, just warm lips and an occasional soothing lick while I come down.
“Delicious,” he says, with another long lick over my slit. “So sweet, but there’s a spice to your flavor, too. I can’t get enough. Can you bake me a pie that tastes like your cunt?”
“That,” I gasp, “is the weirdest thing anyone has ever asked me.”
“I’ll take a cookie instead. Or a muffin. Anything with this flavor.”
“How about you just enjoy it from the source whenever you like?” I breathe.
“I could be satisfied with that.” He’s rising on hands and knees, prowling over me, his eyes gleaming. His mouth sinks to mine. “Taste yourself.”
The flavor is strange—sweet and sharp, like he said. It doesn’t have the same effect on me that it obviously does on him, but behind my own flavor I can taste him. He tastes like blueberries and black tea and autumn wind, the kind of breeze that refreshes your whole body and makes you feel alive.
When he ends the kiss, I lace my fingers behind his head. “Kiss me again.”
“We can’t be discovered like this,” he whispers. “You, with that succulent pussy splayed open to me… it would cause questions.”
“It might,” I admit.
He reaches down and pets my pussy, letting a finger or two dip inside me.
“That feels so good,” I murmur. “No one has ever made me feel this good.”
“And no one else can have this little pussy.” His expression darkens, and he cups me protectively between the legs. “I swear you will not suffer this violence. I will kill the King myself before I let it happen.”
“Could you? Kill him, I mean?”
His features tighten. “Not unless I was under immediate physical threat from him and it was self-defense. There is a law among the Elves—that we do not interfere directly in the politics of humans. Boldly assassinating a human King would certainly draw the attention of the Elders, and they would probably sentence me to death. I will risk that fate if I have to, but I’d rather find another way. Let me speak with a few people and try my plan first. If it doesn’t work—”
“If it doesn’t work, I’ll take the King to bed while thinking of you,” I tell him firmly. “I won’t let you risk your life over something I can endure. I’ll let him fuck me, and then we’ll secure the poison and get it into him somehow. Will your people still come after you if you help with obtaining and spelling the fennisley?”
“Not if I can’t be connected to the crime.” With a final fond sweep of his hand over my pussy, he moves off the bed. “They’ll only know it’s me if I stride into the King’s chamber and start throwing spells around. If we do this quietly, and I keep my assumed identity intact, I should be safe.”
“Good.” I stand up as well, pulling on my panties first, then the loose, comfortable clothing I’d planned to wear. “I want you safe.”
When he doesn’t reply, I cast a glance at his face—so handsome, with that dark scruff along his jaw, those brilliant blue eyes, and the pointed ears he keeps hidden from everyone but me. There’s a liquid shine to his eyes, a quiver around his mouth that belies his smirk. What I said affected him, I can tell. It’s so cute… it warms my heart right to the core. He’s lonely, and he likes me. He wants someone to care about him. Judging by what he told me of the Elves, he hasn’t had much in the way of family comfort or support. At least I had that once, before my parents passed on. I was too young to fully appreciate it, but I remember it. Unconditional, unselfish love. Comfort and stability. Rupert may not have received those things, but he knows how to give them. He’s given them to me.
“Go,” I tell him, with a smile. “Take care of yourself. And let me know the next step in this plan of yours.”
“I will.” He eases the bedroom door open a crack and checks the hallway before darting out.
I plop back onto the bed, resigned to waiting again. But I vow to myself that if I get out of this, I will do less waiting on others. I will give myself power over my own life, as much as possible. Never again will I yield to the selfish choices of a man like my brother, or the King. I will be the goddess of my own destiny, and mistress of my fate.
13
It takes me hours to get everything arranged, but with my clever tongue, natural charm, and a little help from the real Rupert’s memories, it all falls into place. Rupert barely stirs when I dip into his mind—he’s been thoroughly immersed in the charmed sleep again. As long as I don’t fiddle around too much in his head, he should stay that way.
Shortly before midnight, I show the permission note I’ve obtained to the guard monitoring Juliette’s hallway, and he lets me into her room.
“Juliette Wetheris,” I say stiffly, loudly enough for the guard to hear. “You requested kitchen access to prepare a special treat for your tryst with His Majesty tomorrow night. I’m happy to inform you that your request has been granted. You have two hours. I’m to escort you to the kitchen and supervise you during that time.”
Juliette’s eyes betray only the faintest flicker of surprise. “I’ve been longing to bake for His Majesty,” she says, with theatrical enthusiasm. “I’m so grateful that my request has been granted.”
“Come on, then.”
She’s still wearing the loose pants and silky shirt she put on earlier, and she doesn’t bother to change. I nod to the guard, and he returns the gesture before going back to his post.
