Faery Godlover: BBW Paranormal Romance (9 page)

“I think there’s more you’d like to have spilling out of my lips,” she said cockily. His grip tightened on her thighs before he ravished her with his tongue again.

The strokes started coming hard and fast, as if he meant to extract everything desired from her in those motions. He was insatiable, and every lick and nip and bite made Jasmine’s back arch up into him, pressing herself into his mouth as much as she could bear to endure his delicious torment.

The dexterity of his tongue was unimaginable. It seemed like he was in two places at once, the tip of his tongue darting up against her clit and sending shockwaves up her body.

She hadn’t realized how tense she was. She was pent up. She was nervous. This felt so otherworldly, yet it was so familiar, so
right
. God, how she needed him, she realized. She was coming so close to feeling the fullness of her pleasure, but she needed something more—she wanted it to be special. “Duada,” she whispered urgently as he tormented her poor clit, knotting up the muscles inside her with the merciless flickering of his tongue. “Duada, I-”

“I do love how my name sounds on your lips, darling,” he said, his voice a purr that nearly made her spill over the edge.

“Duada,” she half-laughed, but his grip on her thighs was too strong to resist. “I want you inside me!”

She thought he was going to torment her more, but the prince stood up, obliging her wish. He removed his pants with fluid motion. Jasmine watched in awe at the sight of his cock. It, like the rest of his skin, was a beautiful golden tan with its dark crown bulging with need.

And no, he didn’t scare her.

She almost laughed if it weren’t for her ache for him. Silently, she cursed her traitorous body for giving into such lusts. But God, she couldn’t resist him. He might be capricious and impish, but he was the one man she really wanted.

“Jasmine,” he said, his voice husky as he leaned over her, and she gasped as his crown touched the surface of her pussy, its girth taunting her. “I want to show you how I could let you
live
.”

Jasmine let out a sharp cry as his cock penetrated her to the hilt, sheathing that hot, slick, throbbing flesh deep inside of her and filling her with a warmth that was unlike anything she’d ever felt in her life. Instinctively, she tightened her muscles around his shaft.

The sensation was too good for words.

She closed her eyes, her heart dancing a tribal beat, skin flushing, almost feverish as their bodies became one. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, the lingering scent of his cologne drifted to her nose, giving her unimaginable comfort. She could feel his heartbeat pound as fast as hers was, and could hear the deep rumble in his chest and a groan escaped his masculine throat.

“Jasmine,” he whispered, voice was rough, dripping with lust. “You feel so goddamn good.”

She opened her eyes to meet the hauntingly gorgeous amethyst gaze that seeming to give off their own light as he looked down on her. He slipped his hand on her back and he pulled her closer into him. Heart to heart. Skin to skin. “I’m not dreaming, am I? You’re real, right?”

He laughed, a deep sound that reverberated through her whole frame. “Jasmine,” he murmured, “I’m the realest thing in this whole garden.”

Duada gently eased her onto her back on the grass. The sweet smell of fresh cut grass and rich earth wafted into her nostrils. Dew glistened on the tip of the green grass blades, cooling her heated skin. But inside her, a fire continued blazing. Being intimate with Duada was different. He filled her so deep she felt him in places she didn’t think existed before. If he moved… just one stroke, she was sure, she was a goner.

Her pussy clenched hard around his shaft. She creamed in excitement, making her slicker and wetter. “Duada…”

He straddled her, adjusting his position.

The friction caused new fire to burst. The wanton aches intensified. Having him like this as if the whole purpose of existence was to be with him. “Duada, take me…”

“Hmm? I didn’t hear the magic word?” he teased.

“Please?”

“That’s not the magic word.”

Jasmine swallowed hard. What was the magic word for mischievous being like him? Sometimes fae could be quite literal. “Fuck me, Duada. Fuck me hard.”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “Just what I have in mind.” He grabbed her hips and plunged down until his cock sheathed completely.

And just like that, an orgasm hit her hard.

She cried out and threw her head back, baring her throat to him. Duada grunted hard at the sign of her submission. He seized a handful of her hair in his fist as he fucked her with a series of battering thrusts. A different shade of pleasure burst out. She gasped. This was too fucking good, it left her speechless. New fire, hot and pure, seared her nerve endings with manic need. He wasn’t just delivering what she wanted, but he also possessed her entire body and soul, branding her with his lust.

He pounded her harder and faster and deeper until she thought she would faint from too much pleasure. Together, they rode toward the ultimate completion.

“More…” she begged, her voice was raw.

She dug her nails into his flesh. “More…” The pleasure quickly gathered to promise the storm of the century. Her body tensed, getting closer. “Duada!”

The second climax tore through her. It was so powerful it bordered on agony. She thought she’d died for a moment and had been resurrected in the wickedest, most wanton way. She floated through red-hot ecstasy as Duada slammed his cock into her three more times and then came with a grunt.

He jerked as he emptied his seed into her.

Their bodies were slicked with perspiration and the smell of sex, grass and flowers hung thickly around them. The glorying moment consumed her whole. Her pussy fluttered around his shaft, milking him to the last drop. Duada disengaged from her and crashed to the grass next to her.

He found her hand and gripped it hard as they basked in the afterglow.

Then, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing together there in the moonlight, and as Jasmine opened her eyes again, she saw that the glamour around them—the silver trees and violet skies—had all faded. Everything was mundane again. Everything but Duada, his face serene as his chest rose and fell, breathing heavily.

Their gazes clashed.

“Won’t you be mine?” he asked, “I want to take you home with me and make you my princess.”

“Me? Princess?” Jasmine laughed. “That sounds like a fairytale.”

“Do you forget who I am?” Duada stroked her cheek. “I want to take you on adventures. There are beautiful places to visit. Grand parties to attend.” He played with a strand of her hair and curled it around his finger. “We’ll have many more dates. There are so many things I want to show you.”

Jasmine studied him. Duada looked and sounded sincere. “Adventure. I like the sound of that.”

Duada kissed her passionately.

“Has this ever worked before? A relationship between a fae and human?”

“It is known that some fae take a human spouse. The Halfling is usually fostered in faeland.”

“But you people are immortal, is it right? Would you still like me when I’m old and saggy?”

Duada laughed. “My dear, you forget who am I. My magic will keep you young forever. No sickness. No old age if that is what you wish.”

“Oh. But what about your Queen? Is she going to be okay with you taking a human lover?”

“Bride. Wife. My Princess,” Duada corrected. He stroked her hair lovingly. “My aunt is wiser than everyone gave her credit for. Perhaps this was her will when she gave me this task. I can’t wait to bring you home with me. We’re going to send the Court of Summerland in a tizzy.”

Jasmine sighed dreamily. “Just like a fairytale.”

The End

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Lizzie Lynn Lee is a gutter-minded hopeless romantic who doesn’t live in this world most of the time. In her perfect utopia, her heroes never take their women for granted, love at first sight exists and soul mates always find a way to be together. She invites you to visit her world, where she spins her tales because the men are sizzling hot, master the art of sex and they are really into their ladies—be that a slim girl, or curvy, interracial, interspecies, sassy or shy—their adventures redefine erotica. Are you ready to be thrilled?

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Shunga Chronicles: Flight of the Heron

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Eve Aizawa: Eve of Seduction

Busted

Eve Aizawa: Deus Eve Machina

Sexopalooza

Switched

Cyber Lover

Jumping Bones

The Wolf She Married

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Hot-Blooded

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Gilded Cage

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Night of the Lions

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Kidnapped and Claimed

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Naughty Librarian

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Scorched

Tamed

The Man with the Dragon Wings

Tiger In Her Bed

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My Boss is a Lion

Just as she was backing out of the cafe, Rose tripped over the doorstep and had to scramble to find her balance— she failed, and landed with a splash in a puddle of what she hoped was just water.
Jesus H. Christ.
She looked up to see the manager of the café watching her with a bemused expression.
Fantastic
, she thought, so much for that great interview.
If I can’t even walk without tripping, I doubt they’re going to trust me with a tray full of food and drinks.

She shot the manager a sheepish smile as she got up off the pavement and shrugged as she turned to hurry away down the street, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She was beginning to think that Cleveland was cursed, or that maybe it was just her. Rose sighed and looked down dolefully at the mud drying on her taupe kitten heels. They were the last hold-outs from her former life as a high-powered information technology specialist in Silicon Valley. Now there was nothing left to remind her of what she used to be, of how successful she had once been. This was turning out to be just the cherry on top of a terrible, terrible year.

“Damn it,” she swore under her breath, biting her lip to hold back the tears that had been fighting to break free ever since the big move. But Rose wasn’t someone who cried easily, and even though everything else in her life had changed recently, she wasn’t about to give in to her emotions now. So she stood there for a moment with her eyes tightly closed, taking a long, slow, deep breath and trying to remember why she had come here in the first place.

It wasn’t her fault that she’d been toppled from her position of power and comfort. It was his—her cheating, lying, thieving ex-husband Brent. Anyone should have seen the divorce coming from a mile away; they had gotten married too young to begin with... high-school sweethearts. Meant to be. But as they grew older, the stress of becoming parents and balancing between work and home life drove them apart.

Rose shook her head in annoyance as she trudged off towards the bus stop, remembering how angry Brent was that his little wife was more successful than he was. He couldn’t stand the fact that she made more money than he did, that she received repeated commendations while he toiled at a dead-end job. She tried to be the dutiful wife, assuring him that she didn’t mind being the main breadwinner and that his big break would definitely come sooner than later. She tried to be encouraging and supportive; playing down her successes to spare his pride, but he just couldn’t bear the idea that he was playing second fiddle to a woman. Brent complained that she was emasculating him, making him look bad in front of all his peers. Rose would nod silently, and began to resent him more and more.

It was a fight that raged on for years and ended disastrously. She counted her lucky stars that she had gotten sole custody of her two young daughters.

Rose slumped down onto a bench at the bus stop, looking up at the dark clouds knitting together overhead.
Aww crap.
“Please don’t rain, please don’t rain,” she murmured fervently.

Just then, a rumble of distant thunder rolled, and a soft mist of rain began to fall.

“Wonderful,” Rose groaned, fumbling in her purse for an umbrella. She opened it and held it above her head, watching the potholes in the road slowly fill with water.

She took out her cell phone and stared at the lock screen background. It was a candid photo of her daughters, laughing as they built a sandcastle at the beach. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the girls looked so blissfully happy. Rose wanted to dive into the photo and live there instead, forever carefree in paradise with her little girls. But instead, she tucked her phone back into her purse and looked around sadly at the gray, dreary surroundings of Cleveland, Ohio. Her wealthy friends back in San Francisco had begged her to stay with them and just crash at one of their massive houses until she could find her footing again. She had lost the house in the divorce settlement, along with most of her savings. Brent had bled her for as much money as he could, seeking revenge on her for years of being better than him, always a step ahead.

Therefore, she had settled on an incredibly difficult, but necessary decision: to move to Cleveland. This city was a far cry from the San Francisco bay area, and Rose knew it would be an immense lifestyle change for all three of them.

They’d packed up what little they had left and jumped on a flight to Cleveland to move in with her retired parents. Luckily, Rose’s parents were more than happy to share their home, and were delighted to finally get some quality time with their granddaughters. And Rose had just enough of her savings left to sustain them for the time being.

But time was quickly running out. And so was the money.

“Where’s that damn bus?” Rose wondered aloud, peering up and down the street.

She checked the time on her phone, annoyed. It was already four in the afternoon. The rain was starting to pick up a little, and Rose finally got tired of waiting. So she got up to start walking. She couldn’t stand to wait for the bus any longer. Besides, a brisk walk through the rain just might clear her head a bit. Or at least let her burn off some of her nervous energy.

After walking a few blocks, the bus drove right by her on its way to the bus stop where she’d just been waiting, dousing her legs with a splash of dirty street water in the process. She swiveled around and stared open-mouthed after it, unable to believe how bad her luck had soured as of late.

“Seriously?” she shouted, waving her arm. But of course the bus didn’t stop, and Rose was left standing on the sidewalk, soaked from the knees down. She groaned in frustration and continued walking, fuming to herself.

But suddenly, she was distracted from her fury by a strange sight out of the corner of her eye. She stopped short and squinted quizzically at a strange, large heap of tattered clothing poking out from behind a dumpster in a nearby alley. Rose’s heart raced, but she couldn’t stop herself from walking over to check it out.

“What the hell,” she mumbled as she approached, realizing it was a human body.

A man.

Whose clothes were rumpled and torn in places.

Whose face had a streak of what had to be blood down one cheek.

Rose stumbled back at first, covering her mouth in horror. What if he was dead? Shaking, she reached for her phone to call 911, but then the man groaned.

He was alive!

Before she could think better of it, Rose crouched down beside him and looked him over, reaching out for his arm to search for a pulse. Pressing two fingers to the inside of his wrist, she closed her eyes and counted.
One-two. One-two.
It was there, but terribly, dangerously faint.

Just then, the man’s hand grasped hold of
her
wrist and she cried out, trying to jerk her arm away. But his grip was tight, almost desperate, and he wouldn’t let go. His lips parted, trying to speak, but no sound came out. He was simply too weak. She wondered what the hell had happened to him, who had left him in such a wretched state, alone and unconscious in a filthy alleyway. Rose felt a surge of sympathy for him.

But she couldn’t turn him away, even if he had let go of her hand. Not now. She had to save him somehow. Rose dropped her umbrella, pulled out her cell phone with her free hand, and began dialing 911.

“Hello, 911 operator. What is your emergency?” asked the voice on the other end of the line.

Rose was so unsettled by the whole affair that at first she struggled to speak. She was finally able to focus her eyes on the man’s face, and he was startlingly, unexpectedly handsome. Rose blinked down at him in shock.

The 911 dispatcher sighed and repeated, “Hello? What is your emergency?”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m here,” Rose stammered into the phone.

“Okay, ma’am. What is your name?”

“R-Rose Meyers. There’s a man in an alley. He looks bad—I, uh, found a pulse but it’s weak. Oh god, I hope he’s not dying,” she replied, her voice trembling.

“Stay on the line, ma’am. What is your location?”

Rose scrambled to describe where they were, being new to the city. She hastily gave the closest cross-street she could recall and explained, “We’re in an alley off the street. A few blocks down from the bus stop. Please hurry. There’s blood on his face…”

“Yes, ma’am. An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Please remain on the scene until they arrive if at all possible. Are you injured or in danger, as well?”

“N-no, I’m alright,” Rose answered, shaking her head.

The man on the ground breathed shallowly, the blood smear glistening on his cheek. His fingers were still curled tightly around Rose’s hand, like something in his unconscious mind had forced him to hold onto her. She knew what it felt like to be abandoned and left out in the rain, at least metaphorically, and she was determined to stay with him until he was safe.

A few minutes later, Rose heard the welcome wail of an approaching ambulance. The white emergency vehicle pulled over and a team of paramedics jumped out of the back, bolting down the alley toward Rose and the mystery man.

“Oh, thank God!” she shouted, relieved. The guy on the ground certainly did not look good, and she had been terrified that he might die holding her hand.

“Is he your husband, ma’am?” asked one of the EMT personnel.

“What? No. I found him like this.”

“So you don’t know this man?”

“No. Not at all. Sorry.”

The team carefully lifted the unconscious man onto a wheeled stretcher, his hand never releasing Rose’s.

“Uh, he’s still got my hand,” she remarked awkwardly, still unable to pull her hand from his grasp. He wasn’t letting go, no matter what. The paramedics tried to pry his fingers off of her, but to no avail and their great surprise.

“Damn. Well, he might be knocked out but he’s still got one hell of a vice grip,” commented one of the paramedics, staring with bewildered eyes.

“Do you mind riding along?” asked another one.

“Oh! Um, I guess that’s okay,” Rose replied, still flabbergasted. She picked up her purse and ran alongside the stretcher, following the team into the back of the ambulance. When the doors shut behind them, the sirens screamed and the vehicle took off down the street, hurtling toward the nearest hospital.

“Is he going to be alright?” Rose asked nervously, still gazing down at the man’s face under the dim light of the ambulance. He was remarkably attractive, with smooth tanned skin and full lips. His hair was rather short and very dark, tousled in a way that suggested its dishevelment was not just a symptom of his attack, but a regular part of his appearance. There was a shadow of dark stubble along his jaw, and he wore all black. He looked like a renegade priest, or perhaps had ties with some dangerous people. Rose shook away her increasingly dramatic imagination. He might be just a victim of a robbery gone wrong.

“His vitals are good,” replied one of the paramedics.

“What about the—the blood on his face?” she pressed, gesturing gingerly to his cheek.

The paramedic put some gloves on and took a sanitary towel and cleaned the man’s cheek, clearing away the scarlet streak to reveal the solid, unmarked skin underneath. There was no laceration there at all. He then checked him for head wound.

“The doctor will be able to tell you after a thorough examination,” the EMT said, shrugging.

“Yeah,” Rose murmured softly, peering at the man’s gorgeous face. “I’m sure.”

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, they managed to find a gurney wide enough for Rose to wedge herself in and sit beside the man as he lay there. She felt more than a little awkward, being wheeled around a hospital, attached to this unconscious stranger like they were conjoined twins or something. But the main paramedic insisted that his vitals had improved drastically in the time they’d all spent riding along in the ambulance, and that clearly Rose’s presence had a calming effect on the patient.

Twenty-minutes later, Rose found herself perched on the bedside of an incapacitated man in a Cleveland hospital, waiting anxiously for him to wake up. The nurses had cut his shirt and jacket off of him, so that he lay there shirtless, his muscular chest heaving. They found his wallet and pulled out his identification and registered him into the system.

A resident doctor came and examined him briefly. The nurses grilled Rose again about her relationship with the man. They also tried to pry his hand off of Rose’s, but were unsuccessful. The nurses and the doctor decided to wait until he was conscious.

So Rose sat there for almost an hour, waiting. The man still held on to her and her hand was starting to cramp. She hoped her parents weren’t worried about her taking so long to get back home. With her free hand, she sent her mother a text message:

Something came up. Please don’t worry. Tell the girls I’ll be home for a late dinner. Love you.

Rose received a barrage of concerned text messages back from both her mother and father, who had a thousand questions. She sighed. No matter how old she got, her parents would always worry about her. Rapidly firing off replies, she tried to assuage their fears and assure them that all was well.