Fairytale Come Alive (22 page)

She couldn’t force that. That wasn’t a game.

That was all Elle.

His
Elle.

He
made her that wet.

Yes, she fucking wanted him.

The feel of her arousal nearly made him come.

Then she pressed herself into his hand and he was done.

Hooking her underwear with his thumbs, he tore it down her legs. She stepped out of it while he held her to the wall with a hand in her belly and his other hand went to his zip. He freed his swollen, aching cock and then he grasped her hips.

She helped, giving a soft hop, she jumped up, opening her legs for him as he positioned between them, her sweet, soft ass and the weight of her settling into his hands.

Fucking magnificent.

He drove into her.

Wet, slick and tight.

And unbelievably beautiful.

She cried out, her legs wrapping around his hips and her arms holding tight around his shoulders as he thrust into her, hard, deep, violent and not in his control.

She tilted her hips and met his thrusts, her mouth back to seeking his, one of her hands in his hair trying to guide his head to hers.

He resisted, watching her efforts, getting off on her need for that connection, the pleasure he could see, even in the moonlight, making her beautiful face stunning.

He was going to come, he was ready, and they’d barely started.

He was never going to last until she climaxed.

“It’s never… not ever,” she moaned, her voice rough but it still sounded like silk. “Pren, it’s never been this good.”

Then her neck arched and her body bucked uncontrollably in his hands so forcefully he nearly lost hold. Prentice watched her come, her sex clenching and releasing, rippling wildly against his driving cock.

The glorious sight and incredible feel of it sent him over the edge; he slammed into her one last time and joined her.

She was right.

It had never been this good.

Not ever.

Phenomenal.

When he finished, his face buried in her neck, his breath heavy against her skin, he flexed his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass and ground his hips into hers.

In response, her arm around his shoulders tensed, the fingers in his hair drifted and she trembled.

The feel of her body wrapped around him, her ass in his hands, her still gently convulsing wetness tight around his cock, the scent of her, her lips against his neck, Prentice regretted the fact that the kids were only gone for one night. He disliked the fact he was best man to Dougal and she was maid of honor to Annie at a wedding to be held the next day.

Instead, he wanted what they just had, again and again, until he’d had his fill.

Which would take weeks.

Maybe months.

Probably a lifetime.

He felt her body grow tight against his and her mouth came away from his neck.

“Prentice, put me down,” she demanded, her voice suddenly cold.

At the sound, his head came up and he looked at her. Her face was as cold as her voice.

Oh fuck. What could possibly be going through that head of hers now?

“Put me down,” she repeated.

“Elle –” he began.

Her hands shoved at his shoulders angrily.

“Don’t call me that,” she hissed. “Put me down. Now.”

He was confused. He was also on guard.

What on earth could make her upset after
that?

“Are you angry?” he asked.

She opened her mouth, closed it then opened it again to speak. “Are you
serious?
”

“Elle –”

“I said,
don’t call me that!
” She shoved again.

His guard came down and his temper started rising. “What the fuck’s the matter?”

“What the… what… what’s the matter?” she stuttered, giving him another shove.

“Aye, what’s the matter?” he repeated, pressing her into the wall and not letting go.

Her eyes leveled on his and she said in a voice that dripped icicles, “You just fucked me against the wall like a common whore.”

No, his temper wasn’t rising.

It had exploded.

Even so, his voice was low, even and rumbling when he asked, “How in
the
fuck do you figure that?”

Her body jerked, she glared at him then he watched something dawn on her, her face going slack before she winced.

“This is punishment,” she whispered.

He was back to confused.

But he was also still furious.

“Punishment?”

“I don’t deserve this,” she said softly.

He was losing patience, not that there was much to lose.

“Elle,” he clipped, “explain.”

She went back to her earlier theme. “Put me down.”

“No.”

“Put me down!” she cried.

“No!” he shouted.

“I can’t believe this of you. Not you,” she snapped then her voice dipped quiet, even hoarse, as if she was fighting tears. “Not you.”

Something was happening and the situation, out of his control and degenerating quickly (as… fucking… usual with Elle), was hitting the danger zone.

“Explain Elle.”

She shook her head and pressed against his shoulders.

He pressed her deeper into the wall, so much deeper, he heard the breath escape her lungs.

“Now, Elle. Explain how the fuck you can twist what just happened into something bad.”

She stared at him and he could swear he saw wetness trembling at the bottoms of her eyes.

“You treated me like a whore, to punish me for what I did. I can’t believe you’d do that,” she whispered.

Christ, what was the matter with her? Was she mad?

“I
didn’t
do it,” he bit out.

“Yes you did.”

“How could you think that?” he clipped.

He could barely hear her when she finally explained, “You didn’t kiss me.”

But he heard her.

And his body went solid.

For a second.

Then he relaxed, buried his face in her neck and burst out laughing.

He felt her stiffen again in his arms.

“This isn’t funny,” she whispered.

He lifted his head then he pulled her away from the wall. Then he walked with her in his arms to the bed.

“Prentice –”

His mouth came to hers. “Baby, I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to watch you come and I can’t do that when I’m kissing you.”

He heard her sharp inhalation of breath and her fingers curled into his shoulders.

They reached the bed and without hesitation he took them down, him on top.

His hand went to the side of her head, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he looked into her eyes in the moonlight.

“This time, you can come while I’m kissing you.”

“Prentice –”

“But you’ll be naked,” he went on.

“Prentice –”

“And so will I.”

“Pren –”

She didn’t finish his name because he kissed her quiet. And he remembered he used to do that all the time too. And he remembered how much she liked it when he kissed her.

Because now, immediately, as she had done twenty years ago, the minute his tongue touched hers, her soft body melted into his.

And he kissed her a lot. And he did it everywhere.

And, much,
much
later, when they were both naked, he was rocking deep inside her tight, wet silkiness, he knew exactly what she looked like with her hair spread across the bed and her body underneath him, Prentice made her come while he was kissing her.

And that, too, was phenomenal.

* * * * *

Fiona

Fiona was back in the place she went to when she died.

She hadn’t been there in ages.

It was nice enough.

Well, actually, it was lovely. With a gently rolling stream, trees in fragrant bloom, abundant wildflowers, the grass so green it nearly hurt her eyes and it was so thick, you could sleep on it.

There was a big tent there, made of silk, next to an apple tree, its blossoms carpeting the roof of the tent and all around. The flaps of the tent were opened wide and inside there were soft rugs, a comfy armchair with ottoman next to which there was a ready supply of the grisly crime novels Fiona liked to read. There was also a lovely guitar she could play and a big bed with a downy mattress, stacks of pillows and a fluffy duvet.

Fiona was real there. She walked with her feet on the ground, she didn’t float. Her body was solid, not see-through. She could feel things and move things without concentrating.

And there was night and day and she slept there.

She went there directly after she died and she thought, at first, it was heaven.

It was heavenly enough but she was alone and she didn’t think heaven would be eternal solitude. That would stink, and heaven, in her mind, didn’t stink.

But she’d been tired back then, tired from fighting the pain and tired from knowing what her body’s weakness was doing to her family.

So, when she first arrived, she slept a lot. And she slept well. And she got used to no pain and tiredness (but not to being dead).

Then one day she was walking along the stream and trying to figure out the different scents of the trees (because what the bloody else was there to do?) and
zip
, all of a sudden she was a ghost in her great room watching Prentice and Jason, both looking handsome but haggard, in dark suits, and Sally, looking confused and exhausted, in a pretty little black dress, coming through the front door.

At first, she didn’t know she was a ghost and thought she’d been granted a reprieve.

She was back, she was in her home, she had no pain and there was her family.

It didn’t take long to realize they couldn’t see her because, looking down, she could barely see herself and that she was dead, dead,
dead
because they’d just arrived back from her funeral.

It
did
take awhile for her to get used to this cruel twist of fate but she did and she’d been with them ever since. She spent her time haunting them (of course), being pissed off (of course) and learning how to materialize and dematerialize, not only in her house, but anywhere in the village.

She tried to go somewhere else, like Los Angeles where she’d always wanted to go but she couldn’t leave the village even in the company of, say, Prentice or her sister Morag when they left town. Any time she’d try, she’d automatically dematerialize and end up back at the house (which also pissed her off).

She hadn’t been able to be seen or heard, not that she tried too hard because she’d involuntarily damaged her family psychologically enough without them hearing her ghostly voice or seeing her ghostly body.

Now, with Bella around, she’d been so excited about her new abilities, she’d spent the last two days testing them.

And she’d spent that time watching Prentice and Bella play their crazy game.

The abilities part was good. She was getting stronger, understanding the focus she needed to manipulate things, happy that her anger, frustration and grief at being dead had
some
use. She got so good at it, she couldn’t only move things; she could even pick things up and hold them.

She was also able to talk to Bella. Bella
definitely
heard her. That was why the laundry got done, the ironing got done, the vacuuming and sweeping got done (her house was going to be taken over by dust mites if Bella didn’t do something about it, and she did, without hesitation, after Fiona screamed at her that it had to get done) and Sally got a chocolate cake (her favorite) but
only
after she ate her broccoli.

Of course, Bella did these things for other reasons too. Fiona knew that. After all she saw and heard these last days; she knew Bella wasn’t what she’d thought Bella was for all those years.

Instead, Fiona knew Bella’s soft heart and unique understanding meant Bella would have taken care with Fiona’s children, even if, perhaps, she wouldn’t have ironed Prentice’s shirts while she was doing it.

And Fiona had to admit, she was grimly fascinated by Prentice and Bella’s game.

They bickered a lot.

And Prentice obviously enjoyed it.

In the time Fiona and Prentice were courting before they married and a few years after, Fiona had worried she’d never live up to all that was Bella.

Prentice and Bella had an obviously passionate relationship. Everyone knew it because they saw it and they were amused by it because, even all that fighting and bickering was somehow sweet especially considering, when they weren’t fighting and bickering, they were clearly deeply in love.