Aftermath (4 page)

He stalked off and this time she saw no point in following him.

The man was completely deaf to her pleas and utterly unfeeling. No wonder his brother and sister were frustrated. In a short period of time she knew how they felt. Could he not see how miserable she was?

Why did he not take her home to D’Naath? They would both be much happier.

Perhaps she had yet to convince him. She was very good at persuasion. She had yet to give it her best try. With a smug smile, she decided to begin doing just that.

Within a few days time, he would be anxious to take her back to D’Naath.

Braedon sighed in relief as he approached the hall. It had been a blissful day and evening. Not once had Trista hounded him. Perhaps she had finally listened to his decree and would now leave him alone.

The hall was filled with the inhabitants of the castle, all assembled for the evening meal. He spotted his aunt and headed toward her.

No sign of the faerie. Perhaps Nadine had her working in the kitchens. He chuckled at that, assuming she would not care for cooking duty.

He did not care. Running a keep meant overseeing every aspect of the daily chores and activities.

Sometimes she would be required to help. It was good that she learn this.

“Where is my betrothed?” he asked his aunt.

“I have no idea,” Nadine said, busying herself with directing the staff to put out the food onto the tables.

“Has she not been working with you?”

Nadine looked up and frowned. “No, I have not seen her all day. I assumed you had decided to spend some time with her.”

An irritated tic formed near his temple. “Now why would I want to spend time with her? She is as annoying as a petulant child who has not gotten her way.”

“She is very young and untrained, Braedon, in a strange land with people she does not know. A little kindness toward her would not be a bad thing.”

It would be to him. He had no intention of treating Trista any differently than the rest of the people in the castle.

So, if she was not with his aunt, then where was she? With his sister and brother perhaps? He searched the hall, spotting his siblings at the main table centering the room. No sign of Trista.

He ate dinner and brooded, expecting her to come sailing in, late. But she never showed up, even past the time the meal had been cleared and many of his people had retired for the evening.

“I am worried,” Nadine said, catching his attention before he stepped outside. “I had Erin check Trista’s room and she is not there.”

Surely she would not have left the castle without permission. How could she? The gates were closed and well guarded.

He would rather retire to his room but knew his aunt would badger him until Trista was found. With a resigned sigh he said, “I will search for her.”

She nodded and he left the hall, heading out to the gates. Neither of the guards posted there had seen her, although one mentioned he’d spotted her a short while ago walking along the stone wall near the forest.

The D’Naathian forest.

Alone.

Perhaps she
had
left, after all. Not the safe enclosure of the walls, but the portion of the forest that resided within the walls of Greenbriar. It was a forbidden area, sacred to the faerie people of D’Naath.

Until his marriage to the faerie princess, no one in Greenbriar was allowed entrance.

Yet something compelled him when he stood at the edge of the woodland, feeling the crisp, cool air emanate from the forest onto his face. The sweet smell of dolaberries enticed him to step forward.

He had a strong hunch that Trista could be found within the forest, confident no one would come after her. She did not know him well at all. He had warned her not to go in there. If he found her within the forest, there would be hell to pay.

Forbidden be damned. He was going in. He motioned to the guards at the gates, instructing them to allow no one to follow him inside the forest, but should Trista emerge from there to hold her, chain her if necessary. The guards both swallowed and went pale but nodded.

With careful steps he entered the woodland, his boots crunching on the fallen leaves and twigs. Sweet scents assailed his senses and he found himself breathing in the flowery smells. A calm came over him, a relaxation unlike anything he’d felt for years.

It had to be the cool relief of escaping the blistering temperature and humidity that persisted despite the darkness; the oppressive wall of heat that never seemed to dissipate. In here it was nonexistent.

He followed a narrow path that wound around a brook. ‘Twas as if the water beckoned him and he followed as it led to one of the legendary D’Naathian crystal pools. A dense circle of towering trees provided a canopy of privacy. The bright moon overhead shined directly onto the turquoise water and surrounding embankment.

Standing just at the bank of the pool was Trista. Instinct made him reach for his sword, intending to sweep the area to be sure she was safe. A brief moment of careful observation indicated she was completely alone. His senses picked up no sounds or scents of intruders, and this part of the forest would not likely be invaded by the wizards. Faerie magic was very strong in D’Naath. Even he, a human, felt its power in this place. Coupled with the warfare capabilities of Greenbriar, it would be suicide for wizards to venture this far into the forest.

Just like his faerie, who obviously had a death wish after defying his orders.

He started to step into the clearing to confront her but stopped when she lifted her arms to the sky. Her breasts pressed against her shift, a tantalizing bit of cleavage swelling over the tightly stretched material.

He held his breath, fully expecting the globes to pop over the top of her gown.

Easing the sword tip to the ground, he stayed hidden, watching to see what she would do. Of course he was merely surveying the area to be sure no marauders would take her by surprise. She was, after all, his betrothed, so it was his responsibility to see to her safety. He had no ulterior motive in keeping himself hidden from her.

Or did he?

Pushing denial firmly behind him, he focused on Trista. His breath caught when she began to untie the laces of her gown and slipped it off her shoulders. She bunched the fabric in front of her chest, closed her eyes, and her wings disappeared! When she turned away for a moment, he saw no sign of them.

Interesting. She obviously had the ability to retract them. He pondered the logistics of that for a moment, until she turned toward him again, this time dropping her gown to the waist.

Shocked, his gaze was riveted on full, high breasts and hard nipples. His mouth watered for a taste of the ripe berries, especially when she drew her hands over them and rubbed the buds with the pads of her thumbs.

Saints! She was beautiful, ethereal under the moonlight. The golden flecks of her skin shimmered and cast off light of their own.

If his mouth watered at the sight of her breasts, his throat went completely dry when she pushed the gown down to her ankles and stepped out of it.

A slender waist flared out into hips made for a man’s hands. Lush thighs led to long legs. Between her thighs were sable curls flecked with gold that shimmered in the light. His cock lurched against his breeches, straining for release as his balls tightened into a painful knot.

Guilt assailed him. It was inappropriate for him to spy on Trista this way, especially since she had no inkling she was being watched. But by all that was holy she tempted him! And besides, now that she was naked, he could not allow her to remain unescorted here in the forest. What if someone came upon her and ravaged her?

Like him, for example. Muttering a curse under his breath, he reached down and palmed his straining shaft as if the very act would assuage the lust building up inside him.

He had not felt a rush of desire like this in…actually, never. Sex was usually quick, something to offer release from ever-building tension. He never took time to let his gaze roam over the tender female flesh underneath him, nor did he ever watch a woman stand naked before him. In Greenbriar there were always females more than willing to lift their skirts and let him slake his lust inside their soft bodies without expecting anything in return except a few coins.

Those were the women he wanted. Those were the kind of women he desired. Not the faerie before him who despite her womanly curves still wore a blush of innocence about her that warned not to touch, not to take, not to even think about doing the things he thought of doing to her, with her, for her.

But if he were true to himself he would realize that just watching her tiptoe into the crystal pool, her ripe nipples puckering under the cold of the water, made him want her more than he’d ever wanted another female.

Trista was dangerous to his very soul. She tempted him like no other woman had, awakening desires that had lain dormant since the day he’d taken over as king.

Nevertheless, he stayed and watched as she dipped down in the water and leisurely swam from one end to the other. She floated on her back, her breasts rising above the undulating waves to further entice him.

As if he could be enticed any further.

In a few moments she stepped out of the pond, crystal droplets raining down her back and buttocks, the flecks on her body appearing like a river of molten gold raining over her skin. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she squeezed the excess water out as she walked toward the thick line of trees at the top of a hill. She reached into the dense brush and pulled something from one of the branches, running her fingers over the dark, slender object’s smooth surface. It seemed to glow for a few seconds, then the shimmer subsided. Her lips curled in a sensual smile, she lay down upon a soft hill of grass near the trees and placed the object on the grass. Once again she reached for her breasts, squeezing them together and lazily strumming her nipples with her fingers.

Braedon leaned forward as if he could get a closer glimpse at the golden-hued nymph. His cock pounded, the ache unbearable as his shaft strained against his breeches. Sweat beaded on his brow as he stood like a statue, afraid to move at all lest the vision in front of him disappear.

Trista tilted her head back and closed her eyes, then moved both hands over her ribs and lower, lifting her hips as if in greeting to her questing fingers. His breath caught at the same moment her fingers dipped along the glistening curls at the apex of her thighs. She stroked and moaned, driving her hips upward again.

Braedon’s knees buckled and he leaned his palm against the trunk of a tree for support. He’d never watched a woman pleasure herself before, had no idea the visual could be so arousing. Palming his pulsing cock, he realized he wanted the same pleasure she experienced, needed a release more than he needed breath.

He released his cock from his too-tight breeches and fisted his hand around it, slowly stroking from base to tip. Silence was paramount because he wanted nothing to break this magical spell. He bit back the groan of pure pleasure as he watched Trista move her fingers along the folds of her moist cunt. He imagined driving his length deep inside her heated channel, pleasuring himself and her at the same time.

Strange that he’d never thought of a woman’s pleasure before, had just assumed the women he bedded were pleasured more by the coins he paid them than anything resulting from the act of sex. Then again most just did the minimum necessary, lying still while he pumped and released the tension tightening inside him. He never wanted to linger or savor his time with them anymore than they wished it.

But it was clear that Trista enjoyed touching herself. She moved slowly, seemingly in no hurry to finish.

Immersed in the movements of her hand, she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth and let out a soft whimper that nearly drove him to his knees. His cock lurched against his hand and he gripped it tight, forcing back the seed that threatened to spill all too soon.

Braedon was mesmerized by the movements of her fingers along her slit. Slow, back-and-forth motions were replaced by a circular travel around the protruding bud of her clit. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips as two fingers disappeared between her plump pussy lips, especially when she lifted her hips and let out a mewling cry.

She fucked herself with her fingers, then opened her eyes and searched the grass around her. She picked up the long stick she had taken from the trees earlier, caressing it with her moistened hand before sliding it between her legs, lubricating the end of it with the cream from her cunt. With a quick thrust, she shoved the stick inside her.

By all that was holy! Sweat poured from him as he increased the motions of his hand along his rigid shaft, mimicking the movements of the stick she fucked herself with. That must be the legendary
tubara
stick he’d heard of from his men who had experience with faeries. A soft stick found only in the faerie forest, it was said that faerie females frequently used the
tubara
to pleasure themselves, especially those without a mate.

Trista was obviously no stranger to the
tubara
. She wielded it like she was familiar with its magical powers of pleasure, squeezing her buttocks tight while raising them up and lowering them to the ground again. All the while she pumped the stick deep inside her cunt then slowly pulled it back out again.

Braedon grit his teeth, his cock lurching against his hand as he imagined the sweet grip of her walls, how it would feel to be buried inside all that wet heat, driving and withdrawing against the pull of her pussy.

When she withdrew, the stick was covered in glistening moisture. Braedon wanted nothing more at that moment than to crash through the brush and drop between the faerie’s legs to lick up the essence that spilled from her. Once he’d given her the release she craved, he’d power his cock deep inside her magical cavern until he too found release.

Her cries grew louder, her movements fast and hard as she rode the stick, using her other hand to flick the tender pearl of her clit. Braedon followed suit, every muscle of his body taut with building tension as he drew his hand back and forth over his shaft. His balls quivered and drew tight and ready.