A Risky Proposition (30 page)

“Everyone pretty much makes their home in the faerie realm, except for my friend Doyle.  He’s always been fascinated with the human realm.”  Sparrow grinned.  “When he turned eighteen, he surprised everyone by taking a job as a bartender in Dublin and enrolling in a human university.  Now he’s leading snorkeling tours for a company in the Keys.  He said he got sick of the cold and the rain and needed some sun and sand for a while.”

“Is he full sidhe?  And is that unusual—for a sidhe to choose to live in the human realm?”

“Yes, Doyle is full sidhe—and it’s not unheard of, but I think his parents are still getting over the shock.”  Sparrow’s eyes crinkled in laughter as he shook his head and downed a long draught of his beer.

“Are sidhe immortal?”

“Yes, they are,” Sparrow nodded, giving me an appraising look.  “They can be killed if the physical trauma is severe enough, but barring that, they can live forever.”

“So do they just stop aging at a certain point, or what?” I asked slowly.

“Like many immortals, the sidhe age at the same rate as humans until about their twentieth birthday, at which point the aging process slows significantly.  After that, it can take decades for them to age as much as humans do in a single year.”

“Wow,” I breathed.  “Are half-sidhe immortal?” I asked, my stomach sinking in disappointment at the thought. 

I frowned inwardly.  So what if Sparrow was immortal and I wasn’t?  Forever should be the last thing on my mind.  I had yet to deal with the fact that Jeremy and I weren’t going to be together ‘til death did us part.

“Children born to one immortal and one mortal parent will inherit different traits from both,” Sparrow answered.  “Some are immortal, some mortal, and others fall somewhere in between.  As for me, let’s just say I’ll age better than the average human, but no, I am not immortal.” 

I pursed my lips at him, “So when I start to get wrinkles, you’ll probably still be young, hot and muscle-bound.  That hardly seems fair.” 

He grinned and reached over to twirl a thick strand of my hair between two long fingers.  “So you think I’m young, hot and muscle-bound,” he stated, his expression dripping with satisfaction. 

I snorted.  “Don’t get cocky—just because you were born with the fountain of youth, and we mere mortals can only aspire to it through hard work and surgery.” 

“I can’t help it if I’m genetically superior.”

I scoffed.

Sparrow gave me a mischievous smile as his fingers traced my jaw and his thumb brushed over my bottom lip.  “By the time you’re old and wrinkly, you probably won’t want me around anyway.  You’ll most likely be sick of me in another week.”

“Keep it up and I might,” I said, trying to hide my laughter.  “It’s probably for the best.”

“You’re likely right, Sydney.  After all, I can be extremely annoying,” his voice dropped to a husky whisper as he slid forward and pulled me toward him.  “Overbearing,” he breathed against my mouth, briefly claiming it with his own before trailing his lips across my cheek.  My eyelids fell shut and I stifled a moan.  He kissed my earlobe and my neck, his tongue a soft promise of pleasure.  “Demanding, even,” he murmured.

I breathed a groaning laugh.  “Sparrow, I’ll give in to whatever demands you have—just don’t stop.”

“Stop?  Why would I do that?  I’ve barely begun,” he intoned wickedly.  He raised his head and waited for me to open my eyes before unhurriedly leaning forward to take my lips in an excruciatingly slow kiss that sent a thick, molten wave of desire rolling through me.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing mine in a leisurely dance that coaxed and teased, until I was trembling with hunger for him.  I grasped at the tails of his shirt, too needy to bother with the minutia of buttons, and pushed it up his sides, his flesh warm and firm beneath my palms. 

              I ran into the obstacle of his arms and groaned the word, “Off!” into his mouth.  He chuckled and pulled away to lift his shirt over his head, the break in contact eliciting another groan of protest from me.

His shirt hit the carpet and my eyes drank him in.  His skin was lightly tanned and covered with tattoos—from his flat stomach, to his well-defined chest, to the muscles of his shoulders and arms.  When he turned, I saw that they covered the broad expanse of his back as well.  They were all Celtic knots and symbols, mostly in black, but with some traces of color.  It could have looked messy and chaotic, but it didn’t.  It looked sexy and masculine, shaped by cunning intention.

I stared at him, riveted, my fingers splaying out to play over his body in fascination, touching firmly here, grazing lightly there.  “You are so much hotter than any man has a right to be, Sparrow,” I breathed, my hands continuing their mindless journey across his feverish, ink-imprinted skin.  

He shuddered and exhaled in a rush at my words and my touch, visibly struggling to remain still beneath my fingers.  

“Your Aegish-thingy tattoo—it’s glowing red again,” I mumbled, enthralled by the warmth and the tingle of electricity that teased my fingertips as they traced the design.

“Aegishjalmur.  It does that around you,” he said, his voice a husky brogue.  “It’s your turn, Sydney.”

He reached for the hem of my top, his hands gentle but insistent as they pulled it higher.  His fingers grazed my breasts in a lingering caress as he pushed the silk over the thin cotton of my bra, transforming my world into an edgy torrent of sensation.  He palmed my nipples and then slowly pushed my arms above my head, the silk becoming a soft torment against my skin.

The cool air whispered over my heated flesh as my shirt hit the floor atop Sparrow’s.  Then he lowered my arms, moving in slow motion, his muscular forearms encircling me as he reached behind me to deftly unhook my bra.  He kissed me again, his mouth demanding my response, and I melted into him, answering with my own insistent need. 

He slid the straps down my shoulders, never breaking our kiss as he discarded the scrap of fabric, and then his lips were at my breast, his tongue laving, his mouth suckling, as he pushed me back into the yielding cushions of the couch.  His fingers caressed my belly and sides as they moved downward to find the button of my jeans, slowly undoing the little metal tab and sliding my zipper down as his mouth followed the path of his fingers.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his tongue swirling around my belly button in a warm, languid spiral.  The ache in my core was becoming painful and I whimpered a pleading objection to the sweet torture of his unhurried pace.  He tugged my jeans over my hips and sucked in a breath.

“Sydney, you’re not wearing panties,” he groaned.

“More comfortable without them,” I said breathlessly, wriggling to help him work my jeans down my legs.

“That’s…that’s just…” he began in a strangled voice as my jeans finally came free.

“Does it bother you?”

“I’ve never been so turned on in my life,” he growled, forcing my knees apart with his.  He lowered himself atop me to take my mouth in a scorching kiss, his hand questing down my body to find the triangle of aching flesh at my center.

My hips arched helplessly upward at his first soft touch, and I moaned as he pushed my knees further apart, his finger stroking a slow path between my swollen labia.  His mouth left mine, his lips trailing over my collarbone, and down to my breast.  His tongue gently flicked my nipple before drawing it into his mouth, and my back bowed, my body wound wire tight.

“You’re so wet, Sydney,” he whispered thickly.

“Please, Sparrow.”  As the words spilled from my throat in a husky plea, he slid one finger deep inside me.  I gasped a cry of assent, my head falling backward as my hips raised to meet his stroke. 

I was already mindless with the pleasure of his finger moving inside me, when his lips began trailing down my stomach.  He continued, lower and lower, until he reached my clitoris, his tongue swirling gently around it as he slipped a second finger into me, filling and stretching me with his slow stroking.

My fists clenched in his soft, dark hair, my body straining, winding ever tighter as his fingers and his tongue moved faster.  A tidal wave of ecstasy began to build and roll, sweeping through me, and I was suddenly opening wider to take him within me, and clenching rhythmically to pull him deeper, as I cried out in pleasure. 

His hand stilled and he murmured soothing words in Gaelic, fluttering lazy kisses over my belly as he waited for me to come back from the oblivion into which he’d sent me.  When I finally opened my eyes, I smoothed my palm through his hair.

He smiled up at me, his eyes bright pools of blue, as he gently released his fingers from me, his tongue toying with my belly button.  “I love making you come, Sydney.  I think it’s my new favorite pastime.”

I swallowed and stared at him.  “Then I must be the luckiest woman in all the realms,” I chuckled, my voice cracking.

“Would you like for me to make love to you properly now, or would you rather relax and have another pint first?” he inquired with a devilish grin.

I smiled and crooked a finger at him, urging him up my body to my lips. 

“Make love to me, Sparrow,” I whispered heatedly, leaning forward to take possession of his mouth.

His erection pulsed in response, pressing into me through the fabric of his clothing, and I moved to unfasten the bothersome material and free him.  I pushed his pants down his hips, running my hands over firm buttocks and thighs above close-fitting briefs.  When I couldn’t reach to push them any lower, he sat up to assist me, and they quickly joined the clothing heap on the floor.

His legs, also heavily inked with tattoos, were thick with lean muscle, his thighs taut and solid beneath my roving fingers.  I rose and climbed between them, pushing him into the back of the couch and leaning forward to part his lips with my tongue, my hands braced against his shoulders. 

His arms came up to band around me, pulling me deeper into his mouth, and I lost myself in sensation, forgetting my intent to finish undressing him.  His hard length pressing against the tops of my thighs reminded me, and my hands began a slow slide down his chest.

His muscles tightened as my fingertips grazed over his nipples, before moving down the flat plane of his stomach.  I teased his tongue with mine as my fingers found the elastic waistband of his briefs and slipped inside.  He drew my breath into his mouth when I cupped his restrained length with one hand beneath the clinging fabric.

I brushed my lips against his, and then pulled away, lowering myself to the carpet to kneel before him.  I smiled up into the luminous depths of his eyes as I pulled at the last scrap of clothing that remained between us.  “Off,” I demanded softly.  Sparrow reached out to cradle my chin in his palm and complied by tightening the muscles of his thighs to lift himself off the couch.

I eased his briefs down his hips and he sprang forward, fully erect—and beautiful, just as Angelica had predicted.  Sparrow brushed his thumb against my lips, parting them, and I nibbled at the pad, drawing it into the heat of my mouth in an erotic promise. 

He tasted of salt and spice. 

When the briefs lay discarded by his feet, I took him gently in my hands to stroke him, suckling at his thumb as my own brushed a bead of liquid across the head of his penis.  He groaned and his eyes fell shut as his head dropped back into the couch cushion.

His shaft was long and smooth, and so thick that I couldn’t quite close my fingers around it.  I watched in fascination as he jerked with pleasure against my touch.  I drew my mouth away from his thumb and leaned forward to slowly slide my tongue up the bottom of his hardened length, taking the head between my lips when I reached the top.

Sparrow shuddered and breathed my name, followed by something in Gaelic that sent desire pooling low inside me as I took him further into my mouth.  My fingernails grazed his scrotum as my hand rose to stroke him in time with my lips, my tongue swirling around his swollen head on each slow pass.  I realized that my hips were moving helplessly to the same rhythm and a haze of exquisite sensation filled my brain as I went a little faster, sensing the pace that would drive him over the edge.

I heard a distant ringing sound, but was too caught up to care as I felt Sparrow tensing beneath me.  I could feel the rush of pleasure that was about to overtake him—it seemed to move through me a split second before it rolled into him, and he grasped at my shoulders, pulling my mouth toward his as he exploded into climax. 

He claimed my lips in a long, lingering kiss, as we both floated in a dazed after-glow.

Sparrow finally rose and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a towel and a warm washcloth.  He set about gently bathing my sensitized skin, pausing to kiss me again and again as he dried me.  Then he pulled me close and cradled me to his chest, his fingers playing through the length of my hair, igniting shivers of pleasure across my nerve endings.

“That was incredible, Sydney.”

“Ditto,” I murmured against his chest, my tongue flicking out to sweep across his nearby nipple.  He sucked in a breath and chuckled.

I lifted my face to look at him, a question in my eyes.  “It was the strangest thing, Sparrow, but it was almost like I could feel what you were feeling while I was touching you.”

He reached out to brush a strand of hair back from my cheek.  “I know, Sydney.  I felt it too.  There’s obviously a connection between us…”