Page 19 of The Fae Queen's Captive
“Isn’t she pretty?” Idalia says, pulling back to brush my hair from my flushed face. Her own face is hauntingly beautiful in the mingled gold and silver glow of the chandeliers and mycelium threads. High, rounded cheekbones, a full mouth in the shape of a heart and painted bright silver. Long lashes and eyes a deep, deep brown. Her pewter dress is thin enough that I can see the press of her own nipples against the fabric.
“She is,” Maynard agrees. His hand has gentled between my legs now, but it doesn’t feel like it’s out of kindness or care for how sensitive I am after coming. It’s so he can study me, so he can observe which caresses make me strain against the hands holding me in place and which give me time to breathe and compose myself.
Then he looks back to the queen, who lifts her fingers from the arm of her throne. I don’t know what the gesture means until I do: Idalia’s hand joins Maynard’s, and I feel the warm slide of her fingers inside me at the same time as Maynard starts thumbing my clit without mercy.
I peak even faster this time, my body trying so hard to curl around itself, a cry spilling from my lips as my pussy squeezes around Idalia’s fingers and my heart hammers against my chest. The orgasm abates, but as usual, it leaves hunger in its wake. Hunger for more, always more. The kind of more that tires out lovers and kinksters and entire rooms of partners.
Excepttireseems to be the last verb I’d use in this room—far from it. My little demonstration seems to have energized the banquet; the music is louder, the fucking at the tables more vigorous. Even the languid orgy behind me has changed: I can feel the pants and rocks of the fairies holding my thighs and kissing my back as they’re fucked from behind, feel the eager way they fondle and lick at me.
The queen lifts her fingers again, and this time, Maynard moves off the platform to kneel in front of me. His mouth is at the level of my sex. A thick erection presses against his breeches.
Idalia reaches down and spreads my intimate flesh as much as it can be spread, until I know my erect clit and glistening entrance must be painfully available for viewing. The sheer lewdness of it is arousing, the shame of it like a drug I’ve been searching for my entire life.
The queen is still sitting as regally as ever, but I see the rise and fall of her chest, even from the platform some ways away from the throne. She’s breathing harder. And her hand—where it rests on the arm of the throne, it’s now curling into a tight fist.
Maynard leans in and gives me a long, savoring lick, slick and ticklish, and then wastes no time getting to business. He dips his face low and starts feasting on my pussy, with laves and circles that have my toes curling in my slippers. Pleasure twines through my belly once more, stoked by shame and the wonderful, horrible feeling of being spread and on display, and it’s too much to take in, not only the fucking around me and right behind me, but Maynard’s head moving between my legs, the sight of all those hands on my thighs, the bloodstained skirt of my fairy-tale dress shoved up to my waist to make room for it all.
Idalia takes hold of my jaw with the hand that was inside me just a moment ago and forces me to look straight ahead.
At the queen.
“Eyes up, Janneth,” Idalia purrs. “Eyes on your queen.”
My queen.
It doesn’t sound wrong at all, and that’s what I’d essentially promised, right? To be the queen’s in exchange for her keeping me safe until my release? And once again, I think about how it’s not that bad a deal when it’s all said and done…I mean, I would rather have not been kidnapped at all, but all things considered, there are worse fates than being a fairy queen’s sex pet.
The queen’s stare trails up from where Maynard’s head moves between my legs up to my face, and then our eyes meet and lock. Her eyes are as wet and black as the sea at night as she watches me, and when the next climax rolls through my body, brought on by Maynard’s clever mouth and her cool appraisal, I feel something almost like awe, like reverence.
Like relief.
The rolling waves of pleasure push their way out from my center to the soles of my feet and the tips of my fingers, and I am past soft cries and bitten-off moans now, I am whimpering, I am keening, I am making noises that should embarrass me—thatdoembarrass me but that also feed the sweet, hungry shame that makes all of this so much closer to my fantasies than anything I’ve found in the real world.
The climax recedes, and though I know I could happily take more (and more still), I’m also shivering and spent in the arms of the fairies holding me.
For the first time since I entered the hall, the queen stands. She descends the dais with eerie grace and strides to the platform, where I am half-undressed, wet, and restrained not by cuffs or bonds but by hands. Hands that sometimes have too many knuckles or claws instead of nails. Hands that seem to have acted with her will and at her behest.
The queen stops just in front of me, the silk of her gown swishing against the rush mats on the floor. Though she seems as remote as ever, up close I see the thrum of her pulse in her neck. The rose bloom of color on her cheeks.
She lowers a hand and then runs her fingers through the wet mess of my cunt. Her touch is curious but also laden with prerogative. I’m hers to touch as she pleases now.
I start panting, as much at that thought as at the actual touch.
Without a word, she presses her fingers—slick with me—to my lips, and when I open for her, she pushes her fingers into my mouth.
I suck, obediently, instinctively, and though it’s a tiny, tiny thing, I see her swallow.
“Fine, then, Janneth Carter,” she says, pulling her fingers free and leaving my mouth too cold and too empty. “You have my agreement. You shall be my pet, my everything, until the final night of Samhain, and you will not be harmed until you leave Faerie.”
She steps back, and to the rest of the hall, she says, “This is my consort, a mortal worthy of a stag’s heart and a stag’s kiss. So too shall she be worthy of a stag’s fate. Feast her well.”
Cheers resound around the room, as if I’m being welcomed into a sexy but proud family, and she touches my face with wet fingers.
“You’ve done well,” she says softly. “And I greatly look forward to seeing you on the morrow for the hunt.”
And then she sweeps away with her guards and leaves the fairies to their dark, dangerous revels without her supervision.
Chapter8
